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fairytsuk1 · 6 months

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alex kept his car neat and in good condition, he was certainly wealthy enough to be able to replace it should the time ever come but he preferred to keep his things as long as possible. Especially when it had so many memories attached to it.

“this is your car?! It’s so nice!”

It was the car he picked you up in for your first date, he recalled you wearing the prettiest sundress that, when the wind picked up just right, nearly showed the lace of your panties. He’d swallowed and nodded, the nerves of seeing a pretty girl smiling at him and the way he was beginning to fill out in his boxers was making him light headed.

“yeah, you like it? I just got these little, these fucking car things so it smells really good.”

You nod and lean forward to inspect the hanging heart that emanated, is it called “Ambrosia?” You’re racking your brain for the definition while Alex clears his throat and looks at everything that isn’t the way your tits fill out the dress perfectly.

“Isn’t ambrosia a sex thing?”

“...What?! No, no! The–the lady said it was just a nice smell I don’t even think–”

You burst into laughter, the poor girl probably felt so rejected after Alex was clearly clueless to what she was implying by giving him this car scent. It was embarrassing for him, but it started the date with a lightness that made the whole thing seem like water off a duck’s back.

He asked you to be his girlfriend two weeks later, and in that very passenger seat; you rewarded him with the sugariest kiss he’d ever gotten. Even your lipstick stuck to his cheek, he almost didn’t wipe it off because who would?

“I just think, like, for Las Nevadas you should…”

“Should…?”

Getting fast food late at night was a simple pleasure that he didn’t always give himself, but after a day of wandering and driving, the Wendy’s fries seemed too irresistible to not buy them. Plus, you’d given him puppy dog eyes, so maybe there were other forces at work.

“Sorry, I was looking for ketchup! Anyways, you should give him a happy ending! Maybe.”

“Hah, that’s never happening. It just doesn’t fit! A happy ending for character Quackity? Maybe when the world ends.”

He realized he might have loved you when you shrugged and said, “maybe I just want to see Alex and Quackity happy.”

Maybe it was stupid to change your lore for your girlfriend, but he at least gave it some consideration. For you, anything. It was no surprise that eventually, you two would fuck like rabbits in his car. It was only natural, you looked amazing in your black dress you wore for dinner and every time Alex shifted in his seat… his gold chain made you want to ride him till he fainted. Having it dangle in your face as he fucked into you seemed nice too, safe to say, you two were pent up.

His hand lay firm on your thigh, tips of fingers just going under the hem of your black dress because he knew it teased you just enough to imagine him moving higher, he knew that you knew how much he liked it when you begged. Then, he’s pulling into the driveway and taking his hand away to put you two in park.

“I’ll let you say it,” he gives you a goofy smile but his eyelids are low and his legs are suspiciously spread on the wheel, “do you wanna go inside?”

You don’t even verbally reply, just immediately taking him into a gasping kiss as the tension boils over and bleeds into the passion that courses through your veins. He nearly whimpers, and his hands immediately go to your thighs that he pulls over onto his own lap, “wait, gotta, ngh, the seat.”

“Don’t wanna wait, want you now,” you plop yourself down and immediately grind your clothed clit on his bulge, lips kissing every inch of bare skin you could find.

He adjusts the seat so he can lean back, and pants with the way you needily grind yourself down into his lap, “you’re so needy, can barely adjust my seat and you’re already, fuck, you’re already grinding on me like I’m some kind of pillow.”

Alex is so wordy, it eggs you on and you almost think you could cum like this until strong hands are gripping your hips and bringing you to a standstill.

“What did I say? I wanna hear you say it,” his forehead touches yours as you squirm in his grip, “tell me what you want.”

Nearly salivating, you feel yourself grow smaller as his voice hits you hard with the ruggedness and pure dominance dripping from every word.

“I want, want you to fuck me! I’m so wet for you, I’m a mess! I wanna cum all over your cock, I wanna…wanna feel you inside of me and want you to,” you lift your dress up and his eyes are nearly popping out of his head, “I didn’t even wear them for you. ‘Cuz I knew, I knew you’d wanna do it here. I know you think about it.”

You were right, and it made his cock even harder that he immediately took a hand off you to work on unzipping his dress pants. It was sweet, in all your neediness you took a hand down to help him out, both of you working together to free him from the confines of his underwear and pants.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. You smell so good, and I wanna, just wait. Need to prep you, make you feel good for a bit.” Thick fingers rounded your thigh and came to brush a finger through your folds, gathering the wetness that he was sure you were nearly dripping onto him to feel how badly you wanted him. Stuttering, you spit on your hand to work his cock and feel the precum drip down to his balls and make a mess on his seats.

“Alex,” you panted in his ear when he curled his fingers inside you to feel the way your gummy walls fluttered around him, carving his name inside of you with his fingers and soon his cock, “love it. Love your fingers, love you…”

#quackity x reader #quackity imagine #quackityhq x reader #quackity scenario #quackity smut #quackityhq smut #quackity thirst

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natsfirecat · 2 years

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Ruined Photoshoots

summary: natasha is adorable, whether she admits it or not

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader

word count: 758

warnings: none, lmk if i need to add any!

“Head lower,” “Chin up,” “Turn to the side,” “Perfect,”

You poked your head around the corner, quickly moving back at the bright flashing lights going off again and again.

You leaned forward, paying extra attention to the photographer so that he wouldn’t notice you. Then, you practically tip-toed a few steps forward until you reached a wooden table.

At the clicking sound, you quickly ducked behind the chair. Gripping the side of the table tightly, you patiently waited for the flashing lights to stop.

When they finally did stop, you pushed yourself up to get a better view of what was happening without getting caught.

There, you finally saw the scene. Your lips automatically curled into a grin at the sight of your girlfriend posing for the camera.

Natasha held her knife up and tilted her head to the side, staring straight into the camera lens. Her eyes were cold and dark, as if she were staring down an enemy mid-battle.

You noticed the tiny lines near her eyes, which looked similar to that of when she was playing Mario Kart with you and got hit by a red shell.

“So adorable,” you muttered under your breath. You couldn’t help but blush at the memory, especially when you thought about how she shoved you off the couch when you called her anger cute. You seemed to be the only person in the world who thought her ‘scary’ looks were the cutest thing ever.

In the midst of getting lost in your thoughts, you failed to realize they had stopped shooting. You were only brought back into reality at the clacking sounds of Natasha’s boots heading straight towards you.

“Detka, what are you doing here?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well you see, I missed my girlfriend,” you replied nonchalantly.

“I missed my girlfriend too,” she replied. “But I was planning on coming back to our room once this was over and watching Grey’s Anatomy together,”

“I didn’t wanna wait,” you said, shrugging. “And you looked super cute just now so it was totally worth it to come and see you!”

“Hey! I wasn’t super cute! I was a badass! I am a badass!”

“You are, but you’re my adorable badass!”

“I don’t think the knife gives off adorable vibes,”

“But your little tough fighter look does!”

You stood on your tiptoes, cupped her cheeks, then leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her nose.

“You’re just adorable!”

Natasha stuck her bottom lip out and furrowed her eyebrows. She stared you down the same way she stared down the camera just now. You simply looked at her with pure love and adoration.

“I…need to get back,” she said, taking a step away from you and back to the photography background.

Seeing as your presence was now known, you decided to sit on top of the table instead. Your legs swung back and forth as you rested your chin on your hands.

With each pose, your heart eyes seemed to get bigger. Every time the camera clicked, a new memory came to mind.

Natasha holding Liho the first time she saw her The way she looked at you with pride when you learned a fighting move she taught you When you became girlfriends and couldn’t resist the urge to kiss one another for at least three hours afterwards

You heard a loud sigh from the photographer, distracting you from your daydreams.

“Miss Romanoff, I need to see the Black Widow here. What you had earlier was perfect,”

Her cheeks turned slightly red, but she nodded in understanding.

Then, she looked back at the camera and held her knife up again. Try as she might, her tough looks would never scare you.

Her face hardened, and your face softened. Out of the corner of her eyes, your smile shone brightly.

Her cheek muscles tensed up, and she furrowed her eyebrows even further. Her girlfriend wasn’t right behind the camera, smiling her down. Her heart wasn’t melting at the way you looked at her. Nope, not at all.

“Miss Romanoff, do we need to take a break?”

She let out a long sigh before nodding.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Within a split second, she made her way over to you and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You’re no longer allowed at photoshoots,” she said against your neck.

“Aww,”

She brought her thumbs along your cheekbones, then leaned her forehead against yours.

“You’re adorable,” you told her.

“No I’m not,”

“Yes you are,”

A long moment of silence passed.

“Only for you.”

taglist: @lyak12 @thewidowsghost @murderistheonlysolution @zombies1ayea @plasticl0ve @romanoffscottage @atlas-nex @plasticnacho @ria900 @readings-stuff @chiyongberry @xxromanoffxx @milfloverslut @gimaximoff @adi06lena @sayah13 @queerrowantree @bentleywolf29 @Animealways @thatonebrazilian

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha rormanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x yn #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x fem reader #black widow x fem!reader #black widow x female reader #black widow fluff #black widow imagine #natalia alianovna romanova

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thetismcave · 6 months

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Another dramatic drabble with some more headcanons

Session 7 spoilers :)

It really is an apocalypse, Scott thought, watching the carnage from atop the cliffs.

The world had gone mad. The plateau below was splattered with blood, and death was spreading like an infection through the ranks of the players.

He was hiding in his own base, from his own teammates. Maybe it was stupid to keep hanging around, but he knew this place well, and he was pretty sure they didn’t think he’d come back. He’d nearly been killed getting chased out by his own teammate, for fucks sake.

He’d gone to ground after that, but he knew that without info he was a sitting duck. So, here he was, on one of his increasingly rare ventures to the surface, crouching in a tree and watching the grasslands below.

When Cleo dug through their wall, he couldn’t help but be relieved. His instinctive reaction was affirmed when they, treading just as lightly as he was, showed no signs of hostility or of alerting the hunters.

“Hi,” he grinned at her.

“Hi, hi!” They replied, a stressed little laugh in their voice as they creeped through the new opening.

“What’s happening? Why is there a Warden now?” Scott asked softly as she filled in the wall behind herself.

“They’re trying to get me,” she grimaced, easing into a crouch beside him, sheltered under the trees. “As the last- the last green.”

Scott hummed a tense reply, leaning against the rough bark of the oak, slowly creeping further into his- the base.

“Gem also has no band loyalty anymore,” he said nonchalantly, not looking at Cleo, “Because she died, came back as a red, and tried to kill me. So, I had to flee. I’ve been skulking around my own base all day.”

He said it offhandedly, like it was just another anecdote. Like it was an interesting tidbit instead of a near deadly betrayal.

He knew they could see right through him.

She knew what was genuinely laidback and what was a coverup. She knew how much he hated this, how deeply his loyalty ran.

“Widow’s Alliance?” She offered, holding out her arm. The shifting moonlight hit a tattoo, a blue rope winding down the inside of her wrist, its end frayed and orange. He’d known it was there. It’s partner was on his arm, after all. He could barely see his own now, however. The lava from his latest capital ‘D’ Death had burned away most of the skin on his arms. It was there though, the orange strands twisting along his forearm, just a little buried by scar tissue.

(The care was still there too, even though at the start they’d promised to go their separate ways. Even though their bond had been tried by nearly five of these damned games.)

If there was one constant in this mess, it was Cleo, and he could really use a damn anchor right now. He trusted her, and he hoped the feeling was mutual.

“I guess so.” He took her forearm, and the frayed ends of their ties met.

Later, after they joined up with BigB, the infected began closing in again. As they took shelter behind the walls, Scott let the other two know about his makeshift bunker, the one not even his teammates knew about.

“You know me, I’m not gonna go after you.” Cleo said, casually, as if it was a given, a law of nature that he could show her his secrets, his backup plans, without fear. And really, it was, wasn’t it? Even if Cleo didn’t have clear memories of the games before, they knew, somehow, that they could put their back to his and be defended.

He’d wondered sometimes if Cleo, ever the survivor, trusted him as implicitly as he trusted them. As they descended into the mines, he realized that now he knew. Even if neither of them realized it, they were each other’s safety net, a soft place to fall that went beyond alliances, or games, or even memories.

And even though they were being hunted, even though the rest of the world was baying for their blood, Scott felt, impossibly, like they could weather anything this apocalypse could throw at them.

#life series #scott smajor #fanfiction #secret life #zombiecleo #dangthatsalongname #smajor1995 #Tal writes #they got the tattoos after double life :)#platonic soulmates who defy fate itself for each other <3 #a sort of sequel to the other drabble?#and ig it could technically be part of an au??

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gaffney · 8 months

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Which Power Ranger color would every Duck be?

this is the best ask i've ever gotten lmaoooo

OK SO… jesse is the red ranger, no doubt. charlie is the green ranger. connie is the pink ranger. guy is the yellow ranger. fulton is the black ranger… they find him like 2 eps later because he wasn't with district 5 when they got their morphers, and we get an entire episode dedicated to the rangers teaching him how to ranger while he's like "wtf is going on". apparently this is now a show with episodes. goldberg and averman are bulk and skull.

adam is the silver ranger who also wasn't with them but, unlike fulton, wasn't found by zordon bombay. he was found by rita reilly repulsa!!! so adam was under the influence of Evil since day 1. he infiltrates the power rangers under the guise of being Good. they think it's odd but warm up to him except for jesse. adam doesn't turn Good until the penultimate ep where he realizes everything he's been told is a lie!!

in season 2, because this is now a show with several seasons, lord zedd "the dentist" stansson arrives to earth to see if reilly repulsa has taken over the world yet and is displeased to see that he got his ass kicked by a bunch of kids in colorful tights. so he tries to do it himself. to counteract this, zordon bombay calls in help from... more rangers... somewhere... this is a new season so they recycle the colors but idk maybe they've added a little white to the outfit. julie is the pink ranger but she removes the skirt. kenny is the blue ranger. dwayne is the yellow ranger and keeps the skirt. portman is the black ranger. russ gets added later as the quantum ranger which is really just red but somehow no one ever mentions that.

in season 3, zordon bombay dies. jesse mysteriously disappears with him, but it's like he was never there because they don't mention him ever. the kids think their days of fighting Evil as the power rangers are over but then ivan rick ooze tries to take over the planet. he's very slimy. charlie takes over as the red ranger. the team is out of whack. they don't understand their new mentor, orion, but they're just grieving their old one. he doesn't get a name because i can't think of any. adam's power suit won't work and he has to go into a cryogenic sleep coma and we barely see him the entire season. the kids go on a spiritual journey and get ninja powers or whatever the hell happened in mighty morphin power rangers: the movie (1995). after zordon bombay talks to him in a weird ass dream, charlie realizes he does not need to emulate jesse and is perfectly able to lead the team his way. they defeat the ooze.

in the scrapped season 4 we find out that zordon bombay is alive but was hidden somewhere in space for protection. he asked jesse to do this, but in the process, had to erase him from the other rangers' memories so they wouldn't try to find zordon bombay or jesse. this is why no one remembered him. unfortunately something went wrong and now zordon bombay AND jesse are corrupted by evil/brainwashed and now jesse calls himself astronema astrohall. astrall. idk. the rangers set out to save them... will they have to kill their old leader????? will adam wake up from his coma???? find out next on mighty duckin power rangers!!!

#the mighty ducks #😭😭😭#jesse gold ranger arc incoming!#is it obvious that i am sleep deprived???#i was just gonna assign them a color i swear #apologies to the d1 ducks who i didnt assign a color #eta: and luis....

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believingispowerfulmagic · 1 year

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Beyond the Call of Duty

Summary: Season 1 AU. The night of the fire at Town Hall, Regina is treated by a dashing EMT named Robin Locksley. They have an immediate connection and Regina pursues it, going against everything she has been taught by her mother and Rumpelstiltskin. With Emma Swan threatening to end her curse, will Robin help Regina learn what a happy ending truly is?

Chapter 1: FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Chapter 15: Beyond the Curse

FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Excerpt:

Trapped.

It was the only word that came to Regina's mind once it had sunk in that her curse had been broken. Her car was still parked outside the library, meaning escape from the hospital to the safety of either her house or vault was impossible. She couldn't risk walking through town, not when everyone had their memories back. They would likely attack her and she would be dead before she got even a few blocks from the hospital.

Not that the hospital was much safer. The change had been almost instantaneous after the burst of magic had pulsed through the room. Whale and Mother Superior had been dazed at first but their eyes had cleared with a couple blinks of their eyes and in their place stood Frankenstein and the Blue Fairy. Confusion and shock filled Frankenstein's face as he looked around the room while still staying a good distance from Regina.

Blue, though, had no problem approaching Regina. Her eyes were cold as she smirked. "Looks like good once again defeated evil," she said. "You're now the most hated person in Storybrooke. I would suggest you run, Your Majesty."

"Mom?" Henry asked, drawing her attention. She looked down to find him watching her with anticipation in his eyes. He was waiting to see what she did next.

She then looked at Emma, who no longer resembled a deer in headlights and now had the same cold look in her eyes that Blue did. Just as she told Henry, she believed that fairy tales were real and Regina was the villain in this one. Emma was the hero destined to return all the happy endings.

And destroy Regina's.

The ground shifted between her feet as she realized that she was powerless in this world. Her magic was gone and her peaceful home was now filled with people who no longer viewed her as their dedicated mayor but the Evil Queen. Emma now held all the power – no doubt her parents were already reunited and would come for their daughter while the townspeople rallied around them. Regina was without magic or weapons of her own.

But she will not go down without a fight.

Nor would she be a sitting duck.

She swallowed before gently gripping Henry's chin. Looking in his eyes, she said: "I love you. No matter what happens next, I want you to remember that. Nothing will ever change that."

"I love you too, Mom," he told her with warmth in his eyes and a smile on his face.

"Tick tock, Your Majesty," Blue said tauntingly. "Everyone is coming for you."

Regina kissed Henry's forehead again before backing away. Glaring at a smug Blue, she left the room and decided she would figure out some way to get back to her car and then to the safety of her house.

John, though, intercepted her. He took one of her arms while Tuck took the other. They walked with her toward the elevator bank. Robin was waiting there in his wheelchair, a steely look in his eyes. "We need to move fast," he said.

"What do you mean, we?" she asked, confused. "You can't leave the hospital!"

"Neither should you but I think everyone has made it clear that they aren't going to take care of you," he replied, pushing the call button. "So we need to get you to safety."

John frowned. "I have to agree with Regina. You shouldn't put your own health at risk for her."

His words felt like a punch to her stomach. She always knew that breaking the curse would change her relationships with everyone in Storybrooke but it still hurt to experience it. John had been concerned about her mental health only the day before and now he didn't care about her at all.

"I don't like that tone," Robin said, glaring at John.

"I don't care," John replied, tightening his grip on her arm. "I know you have your memories back too. You know who she is."

Robin pressed his lips together, his eyes looking over her with an unreadable expression. "That's not the issue right now."

It wasn't a very comforting statement but at least he wasn't throwing her to the wolves. That had to count for something, she guessed. She had a feeling they needed to have a very long conversation. Regina just wasn't sure she would be able to have all the answers Robin likely wanted or needed.

But that wasn't her immediate concern. His health was more important to her than anything else, except for Henry's safety. "You need to stay here and make sure nothing else happens to you," she insisted.

"John and I will take her to safety," Tuck said, his grip not as tight as John's. "And you can stay here until the doctor clears you."

"Please, Robin," she pleaded, hoping they were starting to get through to him and convincing him to stay. "You're already here because of me. Don't make yourself worse because of me."

His expression softened and he nodded. "Alright," he agreed.

John looked between her and Robin before saying: "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone here. I'm pretty sure I've seen the Sheriff walking around. Now that he has his memories, if he knows you're in no condition to flee or fight, he might come after you." "You stay with him, John," Tuck said. "I'll take Regina to safety."

"Agreed," John replied, releasing her arm and stepping back just as the elevator doors opened.

Tuck gently guided Regina onto the elevator. She turned back to Robin, who rolled himself closer to her. He reached out and took her hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. "Milady," he said, his voice warmer than it had been.

He then released her hand and the door closed, leaving Regina to stare at her own pale reflection in the metal doors.

#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #first curse au #oq ff #beyond verse #beyond the call of duty

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fandom-hoarder · 2 years

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Thinking about John coming back in the Lebanon episode and realizing San is pregnant

And then realizing that it's Dean's baby

❤

At first, he's too caught up in the shock of the general situation to notice. But then he's hugging his weeping son in the library and can't help but feel the curve of Sam's belly against him.

John's thoughts flash to the way Dean had babied Sam after their blind skirmish when he arrived; the water Dean handed his brother instead of whiskey earlier; the way Dean's hand had supported his brother's back ever so slightly as they'd left the kitchen, so naturally.

He's just had a good talk with his younger son, though; said some things he never thought he'd say out loud; connected. He doesn't want to ruin that by letting Sam see his worry, but he can't help wondering what happened to Sam's partner since Sam hasn't mentioned one.

"You didn't say anything about this yet," John says, spanning a hand over Sam's belly and rubbing, trying for lighthearted.

Sam gasps and flinches back, but seems to catch himself and moves back into his touch. Clears his throat and tries out a sheepish smile as he offers, "You're gonna be a grampa?"

"How far along?" John looks into Sam's eyes, hoping he'll answer what John's not asking.

There's something dark and complicated in Sam's eyes, just before he blushes and ducks a smile. "Almost five months."

Then Sam begs off to find Dean, and John is too distracted by Mary to ask her anything about their children. Besides, he'll have plenty of time to find out now that he's here.

Turns out he doesn't have all the time in the world, so he just wants to make some happy memories before he leaves them. They didn't bring him here to pick apart their lives, and there's already enough unraveling around here from his time traveling. But--

'I have a family.'

There had been such openness in Dean when he'd said it. A depth of meaning and context John will never get to learn. But he'd seen just an edge of worry there, too; an edge of guilt.

John had figured it was because Dean knew John didn't just mean for him to look after his little brother his whole life -- that John wanted him to have his own wife and home and kids. But again John had chosen peace over arguing for the time he had left here.

But now, John's eyes keep catching the way Dean pays extra attention to Sam as they eat dinner, helping him with food and getting up for things so Sam doesn't have to. The way Dean's arm stays mostly draped behind his brother, their chairs closer than his and Mary's. Sam makes a small noise or movement and Dean is shifting to respond with a hand on Sam's belly, rubbing or chastising Sam for eating too quickly.

And still, no one has mentioned the other parent of Sam's baby.

It's when Dean looks eagerly across at him and says, "Dad, come feel your grandson kick!" with all the audacity of a proud papa that John starts to think his subconscious had a different reason for not asking any of those questions...

Dean, not Sam, directs John where to put his hand. Then Dean snugs his hand below John's, and John knows he didn't imagine that adoring look he saw Sam give Dean as he groped for a spot.

But surely this is just more of Dean's protective big brother behavior. John can see, for all the good his sons have done for this world, he did set them up for this apparent codependency, didn't he?

"A son, huh? What are you going to name him?"

John directs the question to Sam, but Dean answers, "Well, we already named a kid after you--"

"--and Bobby," Sam cuts in, with a look that John labels "wifey" with a sinking stomach.

"--and Bobby," Dean agrees, with the tone of a humoring husband. "So we were thinking Henry..."

And it's at that point that John really starts to hope this is a dream...

#asks #wincest #spn: lebanon #lebanon au #me.txt #john finds out #mary knows #mpreg

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uppastthejelliclemoon · 1 year

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@storyweaverofgondor's cats-pril day 15: pirates

am i 95% sure this was a day supposed to be abt the pirate crew in the musical? absolutely

am i going to use it as an excuse to write more for @queen-with-the-quill and i's pirates and sirens au? ofc i am

"You know, my aunties joined Macavity's crew for a while."

Hestia was sitting beside the small pool, her pants rolled up to her knees, feet dipped into the water.

The hidden cove had been a blessing for the two pirates and the mermen who followed them. The pools went deep, connecting back to the ocean, which made for an easy way for Hestia and Jubilee to spend time with Tumblebrutus and Mungojerrie without having to fear that their plans were being watched or overheard.

Tumblebrutus had perched himself on the rocks beside Hestia, his lower half submerged, his head resting on his arms as he looked up at the red-haired pirate. A few feet away, Mungojerrie was guiding Jubilee on how to hold her breath for longer periods of time (Hestia had a sneaking feeling that the two were simply looking for an excuse to sneak giggling kisses beneath the water).

At her words, Tumblebrutus cocked his head. "Really?"

Hestia nodded. "He was recruiting people close to him, at first. My aunties went with him, and left when they realized what he was doing... what he was trying." She remembered the story as though she lived it herself.

Demeter and Bombalurina came back onto shore, just barely surviving on a leaking rowboat, a bundled baby strapped onto Demeter's chest.

The sisters had spilled every single one of Macavity's secrets through traumatized tears, tucked back in the embrace of their family. Jemima, the little baby who would grow up to be one of Hestia's best friends in the entire world, was the only good that came from the experience.

"And... your mother?" Tumblebrutus prodded gently, watching Hestia with warm eyes.

"After getting Auntie Dem and Auntie Bomba, Macavity tried to get my dad and my mama to join him." She tilted her head back, feeling the sun's warm rays on her face. "He tried to get them both on the same day. Dad and Mama separated to get back to Papa, and Mama had to go back to the inn to get me and my siblings. Macavity's followers beat her there, though, and by the time she showed up, I was the only one left."

Her voice shook, and Tumblebrutus reached out, taking her hand and holding it tightly. "Breathe, Firecracker."

The nickname made her cheeks warm. "Papa and Dad were planning on marrying my mama, you know? They loved her, and Mama loved them. And Macavity took her and my siblings away from us." Hestia let out a heavy sigh, glancing to the side as she heard Jubilee's laughter as Mungojerrie splashed her teasingly. "But he didn't get Jojo."

"The rest of your family are pirates, right?" Tumblebrutus' question was soft, pulling her out of the memories of screams and sobs.

"Uncle Straps likes to say we're the respectable type of pirate." Hestia huffed out a laugh. "We're each other's crew. 'The Junkyard' is our family ship, and Jojo and I are meant to be taking over once Dad and Uncle Straps retire."

Tumblebrutus nudged his shoulder against Hestia's. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you two make pretty perfect captains."

Hestia's heart swelled with affection, and she ducked down, hiding a shy smile. She looked down at her free hand, watching as her magic spread beneath the skin, creating glowing cracks. Once again, she found herself wondering at how Jubilee could ever see her as anything but a monster. How Tumblebrutus could hold her hand so freely and look at her so lovingly. How Mungojerrie could tease her as though she was his own long-lost sister.

A squeeze on her hand pulled her attention back to Tumblebrutus, and she found him looking down at her, a soft, bittersweet smile on his face, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

He lifted himself up to sit directly beside Hestia, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

She leaned into his side, resting her head against his shoulder. "I need to find them, Brutus. We need to find them all."

"And we're going to." Tumblebrutus responded, voice firm and reassuring.

"Together?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, but she could feel Tumblebrutus' responding smile, and a soft kiss brush the top of her head.

"Together."

#i'm imagining the pools looking similar to the ones in 'on stranger tides'#tumble seeing an incredibly traumatized pirate captain searching for her family: i am Available. i am Single. i am begging for a chance.#cats-pril2023 #cats the musical #hestia the hearth cat #jubilee the library cat #tumblebrutus #mungojerrie

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theoriginalladya · 2 years

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WIP Whenever

Ever since @mtreebeardiles asked about Reyes as a fighter pilot in the RAF in my WWII/ME 'verse, I've been trying to sort out how to make it work. I spent much of the weekend watching Battle of Britain documentaries on youtube to refresh my memory (all while spinning for Tour de Fleece! lol), and while some aspects of it are still needing to be worked out, I think I've got a rough idea how it will go.

Last night as I headed to bed, one of my OCs in this world (Serafina MacKinnon's twin, Sean) started talking and so I got about 1300 words written for a part of the story. This is a small piece of that from Sean's point of view.

Setting: England, late August 1940, Sean MacKinnon, Scott Ryder

~~~

Sean entered the dispersal hut, cup of tea in hand. He was on a mission, though he doubted he was going to get the results he was looking for.

The small building – all of one room – was dim; storms had kept them grounded most of today and, thankfully, most of the Luftwaffe on the far side of the Channel. That meant a good day for catching up on paperwork and other administrative responsibilities.

And God alone knew, if Director Tann had anything to say about matters, it was that they had to keep the paperwork up to date. In and on time. Someone needed to remind the man that there was a war going on out beyond his office.

Setting the tea on the desk within easy sight and reach, Sean now waited for a sign. Any sign. An acknowledgement. Recognition. Even a scream – of anger, frustration, pain; Sean wasn’t particular at this point, just some sort of reaction. He’d take whatever he could get at this point and be satisfied because anything was a start.

Without a word, Scott reached for the cup with his free hand, taking a sip then setting it back as he continued to scratch away at his reports with his pencil.

Sean sighed. He knew what Scott was writing, of course. Two more planes lost. One pilot killed. One pilot missing in action. Operational strength down to six. At current rate, we will be out of pilots by the end of the week. We need replacement pilots; six at minimum.

It wasn’t difficult to determine what was being written. From the beginning, the Andromeda Initiative had promised much but delivered little. In the overall grand scheme of things, it appeared that Tann, Addison and the others in the administration were expecting miracles out of bare minimum.

Maybe we ought to go behind Tann’s back and check with Fighter Command directly…?

The jangle of the phone yanked Sean back to the moment as a surge of adrenaline raced through his blood. Habit had him taking a step over to answer, but Scott’s hand reached it first.

“Tempest Squadron?”

A moment passed. Then a second. Sean remained where he was, but kept his eyes on Scott’s face. It was relief he read there, not adrenaline or panic.

“Thank you.”

As Scott replaced the phone, Sean dropped into the empty chair in front of his friend’s desk. “Who was it?”

To his credit, Scott didn’t go back to writing; still, he didn’t meet Sean’s gaze either. “Cora. Addison’s seen fit to finally send us replacement pilots. Cora said Kallo should arrive within the hour.”

There was an ache and exhaustion in Scott’s tone that answered the question of how many, but a number was still needed. Rising to his feet with a nod, Sean took a step towards the door. “I’ll go clean out some bunks. How many?”

“Three.”

Not enough.

Outside, Sean ducked and dodged his way towards the barracks. He was halfway there before he realized that the relief he’d seen in Scott’s eyes wasn’t due to the fact they were getting replacement pilots, but that it wasn’t a call to scramble. The war was taking it out of all of them, mostly their commander. He was going to have to come up with another way to convince Scott he needed to relax or he was just as likely to end up as a statistic in the reports as the others had.

#WIP Whenever #ladya writes #mass effect/wwii crossover #Mass Effect Andromeda #Battle of Britain #On a Wing & a Prayer #snippet #Sean MacKinnon #Scott Ryder

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astreviix · 6 months

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Thanks for being my friend.

heyy this is literally my first post ever so um erm yeah, also this is more of a vent kinda about losing an actual friend irl, or well cutting it off so hes still alive dw!! but i like to use my ocs to cope so uh um yeah i hope you guys enjoy :3

tw: death, loss of loved one, mentions of suicide, mentions of self harm, angst, swearing

(the person telling the story is my main oc Suki, and her friends name is Sterling, might not be his actual name but still deciding)

(also best paired with this song!)

—————————————————

Waking up, knowing I’ll never see you again is what hurts the most.

It had been two years since the crash, two years since the funeral, yet I find myself visiting your grave nearly everyday.

I play music, bring my guitar, clean your grave and watch shows next to it. It’s how I feel close to you still, I’m worried if I stop doing this I’ll forget about you. What if I forget the memories we made? What if I forget your face and voice.

I play the stupid videos we made together everyday, and I always make sure to look at photos of us before I go to sleep and when I wake up. It’s how I’ve been ‘coping’ I guess.

Everyone’s worried about me, I can barely move out of bed, but it’s hard to even get out of it when I see no reason. You were my best friend, you listened to me, you understood me in a way no one else could, a friend who was there for me during my weakest moments, who let me cry on his shoulder in the little spot we grew to call ours.

That’s where we buried you, where your family asked you to be.. where you asked to be if it ever came down to it.

I remember how I looked at you when you said that, that you wanted this to be your final resting place.

“What? Why are you acting so melodramatic Ster?”

“I’m not.. it’s just you know anything can happen Suki.. and if it does, this is where I wanna be.”

He’d look at the view, it was a little meadow they had found together years ago, with a large willow tree hanging over them. A small pond with frogs, sometimes even ducks was directly in front of them, what a relaxing area.

“Don’t say that! You’re gonna scare me you asshole!”

I’d punch his shoulder, a large chuckle coming out of his mouth

“Yeah yeah, I’m just saying!”

I never thought that we would’ve actually had to have buried you. I mean, I thought you and me were gonna grow old as best friends, together in the nursing home, we’d be arguing over who was better at chess. I never wanted to admit it, but it was you, though you probably already knew that.

I remember how you would always make fun of me, but deep down, you had a spot for me that no one else gave you, you were actually vulnerable around me, and that’s how I felt around you too. I could just, rant to you about how I felt, no matter how dumb, you’d listen. You’d always listen, and that’s what I needed, someone who didn’t try to force themselves to understand or give me some bullshit advice.

You just sat there and saw me me, you actually saw me for who I was, and I felt good, I finally felt good about myself because of you, you made me feel heard and seen, you understood me in ways I don’t even think you knew. You never ignored me, never pretended that I breaking down sobbing and never forced me to speak about my issues, only when I felt ready.

Because of you, I learnt to trust, because of you, I realized not everyone in this world is awful. So you can imagine how much it hurt when I heard those words.

“Suki.. I hate to be the one letting you know but.. Sterling.. he passed away at 5:34AM.. his wounds were so severe.. there was nothing they could do.”

Numb, is the best way to describe how I felt after I heard that.

I dropped my phone, my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest, gone, just like that? I couldn’t believe it.. I even refused to believe it for a period of time. Your poor father nearly broke down over the phone when I begged him to tell me he was lying.

I’ve lost people before, but I’ve never experienced loss this severe. The day I lost you was the day I died along with you. I couldn’t eat, sleep or do anything, I just stared at the ceiling for hours, the pain was was so overwhelming.

At one point, I considered relieving the pain by hurting myself instead, I somehow puzzled together that if I could feel physical pain, that it’d help me move on. Of course, nothing came out of it, I was too numb to even do that.

And within a few weeks, my mind wandered off into ending it, I had no one that understood me the way you did, sure I had my dad and friends but, they weren’t you. Everyday I had a mental battle, to not just jump off a cliff. What would you think of me if I did?

I nearly did it anyways, I remember staring down the edge, the call of the void nearly deafening me.. but I just couldn’t, I finally dropped to my knees, feeling tears begin to slide down my face. I remember how I let out painful sobs and cries, screaming and cursing at god for taking you away from me. You were my best friend, how could you just be taken away like that? It wasn’t fair, it’ll never BE fair.

I know people say moving on isn’t easy, but I was never told it’d be this hard, you and I were so young. You were taken away from me when you were only twenty and I was only twenty-one. I always thought we’d move in together, living lives as two idiot friends, but we’d be happy at least.

Summer was the hardest, knowing I didn’t get to spend time with you anymore, driving around the city, throwing eggs at random assholes on the streets, not being able to spend most of our days at the spot we claimed as our own. I had no idea how to cope.

But one thing was for sure, I always spent time at our little meadow, it was our spot and ours only, of course your family and friends now knew about it too, flowers and cards decorated your grave. I’d always be making sure it stayed intact, and everytime I visited, the pain would always hit me like a train again.

But lately it’s been different. I’ve been feeling less numb and broken, and more of a bittersweet feeling.

It’s been three years since the crash, three years since the funeral. I visit your grave less often now, and instead focus on our memories.

Though they may still sting, they’re memories I’ll forever cherish. The times we spent trying to beat each other at chess. The games we played together, how you always said I was bad. The times we’d drive around the city at night during the warm summer days. The times we’d just lay on the beach, staring at the fireworks on the fourth.

“How’s that rockstar dream working out for ya’ Suke’s?”

“IT’S. Working out just fine, I-I mean honestly I don’t know if I’m really ever gonna be one but, it’d be nice you know?”

“Well, I think it could work, just do what makes you.. well you. Follow your heart, be your own person yeah? Or whatever people say.”

“OH you’re just saying that because others say it?”

We’d both loudly laugh

“No, I really do mean it, I just don’t know if that’s how others put it or not.”

I remember how he put his hand on my shoulder, looking at me with a sincere smile.

“Just know, I’m proud of you, and I’ll always be proud of you. I’ll always be right behind you.”

That’s what he told me, the night before he died.

But the pain has been lessening more, with each song I play, I put my heart into it because of you Sterling, because of you, I followed my dreams, and I know, if you were around to see me today, you’d be proud.

Life is hard, it’ll always be hard, but you taught me that not everyone is cruel, you taught me that I’m enough reason to live, that I myself deserve to be happy and alive.

It’s been five years since the crash, five years since the funeral.

And because of you, I know what it means to be happy now. I know what it’s like to love myself and finally see that the world isn’t this cruel and awful place.

Because of you, I followed my dream.

“Thanks for being my friend, Sterling.”

————————————————————————-

AHHH heyyyy i really hope you enjoyed this, this was honestly a vent combined with oc stuff, so its pretty sloppy and i made this in like an hour, i really do hope you guys liked it though :))

lmk if yall would like more!❤️

#angst with a happy ending #angst #oc #my ocs #bittersweet

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 10 months

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You wrote such a beautiful piece on Lennie Gallant, thank you so much for sharing it! I first discovered Lennie Gallant very recently, after Kate Beaton's book Ducks won the Canada Reads this year I picked it up and there's a moving scene where she is reflecting on her Maritime home and she sings lyrics from Lennie Gallant's song Peter's Dream. Truly a lovely beautiful sad song.. not sure where I am going with this, I feel jealous you've seen Lennie live so many times! He seems amazing.

Wow, thank you! I absolutely love this, this is one of my favourite messages I’ve ever received on this blog. To be honest I’m not sure exactly what post it’s talking about, I haven’t said anything about Lennie Gallant on here recently. But I searched my own blog for Lennie Gallant, and based on that, I’m guessing you mean this post? Linking for the information of anyone else who would like to read a post I made last spring, that talks a bit about Lennie Gallant and Ron Hynes and how they fit into the Canadian East Coast music scene, and then the post takes a bit of a sharp turn and becomes about grief and mourning lost loved ones. It wasn’t a hugely coherent post, and given the unreliability of Tumblr’s search function, it’s possible that it may not even have been the post that the person who sent this message was talking about, maybe I wrote another one about Lennie Gallant that I didn’t find when searching.

Anyway, I love this, and I really think Lennie Gallant is one of the greatest singer/songwriters in the world. An absolute giant of Canadian East Coast folk music, which I realize is a fairly specific genre, but it’s also such a massively thriving music scene, with so many things going for it, the way Celtic influences blend with Acadian and other Canadian influences, to create some of the best music you’ll find.

Lennie Gallant was the first person I ever referred to as my “favourite singer”, starting when I was about nine. There were a lot of years when he was my instant answer to that question. Since then it’s maybe changed at times, and now I’ve expanded my music collection too much to pick just one favourite, but he’s still among my very favourites. Seeing Lennie Gallant in as many places as I can find him every summer has been a wonderful throughline in my life.

I would have loved this message at any time, but to be honest, you’ve caught me at a time when it means even more than it would have otherwise, because I just missed him. My parents are out East right now, and on the weekend they went to a folk festival in Nova Scotia with an incredible lineup, including Lennie Gallant. I haven’t seen Lennie Gallant live since 2019, I’ve hardly seen any live music at all (compared to how much I used to see, at least, with two or three folk festivals most summers) since pre-pandemic, and I felt really sad about missing that one. I got my dad to record some of it for me and I got fairly emotional listening to the recording and thinking of how much I miss this stuff, and that was just a few days ago so getting this message now is absolutely loved. One of the recordings my dad got was of Lennie Gallant playing Peter’s Dream and Which Way Does the River Run, which are two songs I think he’s played live every single time I’ve ever seen him, it’s been a running joke between my dad and I since about 2002 that he always, always plays them. And you are right about Peter’s Dream, no matter how many times I hear it, it’s still beautiful.

I've had some Lennie Gallant memories on my mind since this weekend, because of that folk festival I missed. Will you indulge me if I take this message as a fairly flimsy excuse to tell some of them?

I’ve been following Lennie Gallant around the country for decades now. One year, I saw him at a tiny folk festival in a tiny town called Perth, Ontario. After his set, I went to the CD tent and bought the only CD I didn’t already have. It was Breakwater, his first ever album, and the reason I didn’t already have that CD is that we had the cassette tape instead, but the tape was getting worn out from overplaying and I wanted the CD. So I bought that, then waited in line to get him to sign it. I told him that this CD completed my collection of all his CDs, and I can still see the way he looked up at me, saw that I was about 13 years old, not his normal age demographic, told me he was happy I loved his music so much.

A month later, my parents and brother and I went out East to visit our extended family in Nova Scotia, but we made a detour through Rustico, Prince Edward Island, because that’s the little village where Lennie Gallant is from, and every year he does a giant homecoming concert there. We went to see it, and it’s one of the top few live music experiences I’ve ever had. A three-hour concert in this tent, where he kept bringing up different people on stage. “This is my cousin.” “This is my brother’s wife.” “This is my niece.” “This is the guy who taught me guitar when I was a kid.” He’d play all these different songs with all these different people he knew, had a giant collection of instruments on stage and showed off his ability to play them all (at a normal folk festival he’s only got his guitar with him, and sometimes a hand drum), went through a massive chunk of his catalogue, as it got dark around us.

I’d brought my copy of his Lennie Gallant Live CD specifically to get him to sign it, but my mother warned me that singers do post-concert CD signings as a way to sell albums, so he might be mildly offended that I was asking him to sign an old CD, and hadn’t bought anything new at that show. When I got to the front of the line, I self-consciously apologized for asking him to sign something old, and explained that the only reason I hadn’t bought a new CD is that “I already own all your CDs.” He looked up at my thirteen-year-old face, and said: “Didn’t I see you in Perth?” I was so excited to be remembered that I could hardly answer, my dad said that yes, I’d been there. He signed the CD and told me he appreciated me in his audience and was happy to sign anything I wanted.

Ten years later, I lived for one year in Halifax, Nova Scotia, which is also where he lived at the time. Lennie Gallant played a concert at a pub just down the road from me, because that’s what fucking happens when you live in Nova Scotia, it’s so incredibly cool out there. I went to the concert and had an amazing time, he played all my favourite songs, the atmosphere was brilliant. Afterward, I picked up his then-new French album, which I’d already bought for myself on iTunes, but my dad didn’t have it yet, so I figured a signed copy would make a good Christmas present. I went up to him and asked if he’d sign it, and he asked who to make it out to. I told him my dad’s name, and then said, “I’m not [my Dad’s male name, which clearly did not fit that 21-year-old woman standing in front of him], but I already have all of your albums. This is for my dad, who hasn’t gotten this one yet.” He looked at me, surprised again, because 21 was still several decades younger than his normal demographic. He asked me if I was from Prince Edward Island, clearly thinking that being from his hometown would explain it. I said no, I’m from Ontario. Which made him look even more surprised, and he looked like he was going to ask me something else, but I was so overwhelmed from how cool it was to talk to him that I panicked and turned around and immediately ran all the way back to my university dorm. It was the best fucking night.

Anyway, you are so right about the lyrics to Peter’s Dream working well in a book, this also seems like a good time to mention that I have on display in my bedroom a book of Lennie Gallant lyrics, illustrated by his sister Karen Gallant, in a traditional Acadian art style (it’s not appropriation or anything, Lennie Gallant is from an Acadian family). You can see a picture of its cover here, it’s lovely and the whole book is like that. Highly recommended as a gift for anyone who likes that sort of thing.

All right, I'm ending this post on some songs. I love too much music to pick just one "favourite singer" anymore, but Lennie Gallant is still the most important musician to me, throughout my life. I've seen him in Ontario and in mainland Nova Scotia and on Cape Breton Island and in Alberta and in Quebec. In 2000 and in 2010 and in 2019. In French and in English. In tents and in concert halls and in theatres and in basements and in pubs. Oh, did I mention on of my parents' cats is named Rustico? Because they let me name him and I named him after the East Coast town where Lennie Gallant is from, where he sings about a lot and where I saw my favourite concert.

The eternal classic, Peter's Dream:

youtube

Lennie Gallant doing his song Selkie at the Celtic Colours folk festival on Cape Breton island fairly recently, with Mary Jane Lamond doing the Gaelic vocals:

youtube

Lennie Gallant's take on the Scottish-inspired Canadian folk classic, because you legally cannot be and East Coast folk singer unless you've released a version of Farewell to Nova Scotia:

youtube

Saying Goodbye to Ron, his beautiful tribute to Ron Hynes that I once heard in my head all day after waking up from a dream about something similar:

youtube

Maybe my favourite of his French songs, Briser Les Murs, performed at the Acadian Festival in New Brunswick:

youtube

Lennie Gallant at the same Nova Scotia folk festival my parents were at this past weekend, but the one from 2012, doing the song that made me first get attached to him. I have clear memories of being nine years old, in 2000, and hearing my dad play this song off the Lennie Gallant Live album, and asking him what it was because it was the most beautiful music I'd ever heard. And the rest is history. It's called The Pull of the Fundy Tide, about the Bay of Fundy in New Brunswick. I once got to go rafting on the Bay of Fundy and it was so fucking beautiful but somehow the most exciting part was being pulled by the Fundy tide like the Lennie Gallant song.

youtube

Back to Rustico, his song about his beautiful hometown on the Canadian East Coast, after which I named my parents' cat:

youtube

Rustico's the black and brown striped one who's falling off the chair:

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asestos · 1 year

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"The first time you ever used magic... what was it like?" Information does not come free in this city, that much it didn't take long to learn, but naught other than a harmless genuine curiosity burns in Bethany's eyes. A desire to learn more about a new friend who at least outwardly seems to have had far less trouble embracing his 'gift' compared to her own inward turmoil. How gratifying it must be to feel such freedom. "Wait, let me guess... did you make flowers then too? No — sparks. Set anyone on fire?" A small grin, hiding her own internal contemplations and comparisons. "Am I close?" @hopewrought

She's teasing him, and he takes the jibes with a shake of his head and a good-natured smile. He ducks his head to hide the way the tip of his tongue runs along his teeth as he lets her finish clowning on him. "Not anything as flashy as all that," he admits honestly, his eyes finally meeting hers now that he's regained a small modicum of dignity. "It's not the magic that's flashy. Really, it's all in the application of it. And as I have the spirit of a carnival barker at a two bit funfair, it just ends up being as entertaining as it is." He shrugs. "What can I say?"

The initial question, however, is not one that he easily shrugs off. Even in the ensuing momentary silence, it's all he can think about. Mostly because no one's ever asked him about it before. He's contemplative, brow purling lightly as his pale eyes get a faraway look about them, reaching back to the expanse of too many memories to find that first recollection of what it meant to be a mage.

"Magic was an ability that was taught to me," he answers slowly, abstractedly. As if he were being careful with his words for the first time in too long. "But I can't quite recall if magic was always something I had within me, or whether I learned it so young that it just feels like it was always with me. It felt strange, the first time I conjured a little lopsided dog so I didn't feel so alone."

"But wasn't the magic I remember, though," he goes on. "I mean, I remember the way something felt different under my skin, like some current I was suddenly aware of was suddenly inexorable. That it flowed within me, and without of me, and that I could do ... almost whatever I want with it. What I remember is this comprehension of possibility. Of what magic could open up. And I liked that world, that was full of possibility. I think differently of it now that I've lived a little too much. But I still kind of hope

He blushes, realizing how much he'd spoken. It wasn't like him to do so. Often times, it was his him asking the questions, giving the other the opportunity to talk about themselves, while he was afforded the opportunity to learn about others. Who he was and how he saw himself were philosophies kept close to the vest, not for just anyone to know. But Beth wasn't just anyone. Not when she was one of the only people he could remember to ever ask any questions back. Like she cared, or something. So maybe ... sharing a little might not kill him. This time, at least.

His grin turns effulgent again, as he looks at her sidelong. "What about you? Force mage. Tell me what that was like. Did you spill your brother's drink in his lap when he hid your dolls? Smashed his toys in revenge?" He leaned in, scrutinizing her. "Or were you a good girl?"

#hopewrought #i could fucking kiss you for this ask #because what do i love?#CHARACTER EXPLORATION #anyways you're a fucking delight and I can't wait for Beth to throw him around like a clown

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spynorth · 1 year

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@northliights “You look like a zombie. When was the last time you had proper sleep?” (wolf)

He almost doesn't hear her, too engrossed with sneaking furtive glances around what can be seen of the flat for the words to register, blue eyes flickering from wall decor to the framed photographs sitting on a nearby table while he does his best to appear as if it's nothing more than bored half-interest. When the question registers, it's chased by a flush of color that paints the sweep of his neck and jaw with a warmth that he can only hope isn't as obvious as it feels, and Lucas ducks his head slightly, gaze suddenly far too fascinated with his own nail beds. There's dirt in the corners, faint marks of a life spent hiding from the world that no amount of scrubbing in a petrol station restroom can coax off, and he furrows his brows at the memory of the way he had wished for the courage to hold her hand a just mere hours before.

Idiot.

Zombie. He thinks about the word, what he knows of it, turns it 'round his head while thoughts try to make sense of why she would compare something like that to someone like him ... but then he remembers. A night in the lab, couldn't sleep...two technicians had been talking near him about how tired they were ... one claimed she felt like a...zombie. Brows rise at the realization, muscles twisting with tension as shoulders curl ever so slightly. A lie is there, ready and waiting .. an answer that is simple and direct and enough to throw her off the scent before she uncovers the truth. His .. brother... is far too important to risk for an angel in a village ... and yet.

"A day, maybe." It's almost as if he's asking her a question and Lucas shrugs his shoulders, unsure of how to explain why. "I had work and then I just ... couldn't sleep." A lie. He had taken his turn at watch, stayed away while the stars moved overhead and the sun kissed the horizon and when he had finally been relieved of duty, the bed of leaves that beckoned had held no comfort for him. He wanted this, wanted Aurora ... wanted to listen to her talk, to sit inside the walls that smelled of her and soothed his aching heart with a comforting balm. The forest floor will always be there ... she will not.

"I was worried about seeing you today." The confession is there before he can stop it, but one corner of his mouth twitches in a hesitant grin and he feels a huff of laughter bathe his next words. "I was afraid you'd think I looked like a corpse .... guess zombie's still one step above that. At least I'm moving."

#northliights #is this bad? idk babe it might be bad lmaooo #you don't have to make it a thing but i tried to keep it open so you could #since we dont have many early things for this verse <3 #i hope its okay. i love you.

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fiveminuteswithelissa · 1 year

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4-17-18 for myself

The moose and the goose wandered around with nothing to do,

Until they drank at a lake and across was you know who.

They traveled together all the way to Timbuktu!

Sharing stores of past loves and laughs,

Not knowing why their life brought them to this path.

Miles and miles they walked as the days seemed to get longer,

But they just kept on going not letting that bother.

From time to time they would stop to rest,

Assure themselves they were doing their best.

When they got to this gully, they saw a bully.

And teamed together to stop him from hurting;

Brought him on their adventure,

And let him talk of what inside was turning.

At the end of their walk;

the moose and the goose realized why they had met,

To take the time to help someone else realize respect.

Respect for themselves and the beauty around them.

That bully for a moment took in his surroundings a bit

Only to realize no matter what his new friends looked like

He finally seemed to fit. 💜

When the lamb met the lion he asked

What there was to life after this

Nothing just be happy and be free

He replied

That story has already been written for thee

Take this life

Make those wishes

Raise those hopes

For when the day is done

And the sun starts to fade

Life is a game

And you my little lamb you are the arcade. 💙

4-18-18

The little bunny looked so funny playing with the duck

Rolling around on the ground having so much fun

With smiles in tacted and laughs in progress

They were so care free it sent chills down my spine

to be so pure and full of life

is to say be the least the best

not knowing what this world beholds

not knowing what the future holds

just knowing how it feels to see Mom smile

knowing how it feels to laugh with Dad a while

endless possibilities all at her fingertips

lessons and triumphs in her abyss

it is these fine little moments

I have no doubt as a mother

I will truly miss. 💜

I'm so happy I take photos

Capturing memories for fun

And at the end when all is said and done...

no matter how we felt in those prior moments and days

even when our minds felt like a circus of parades..

Sometimes the past we all wish to go back to. 💜

4.19.18

missing my family a bit more than I would like to admit. in life you have the family you are born into and the family you chose, at some point they mesh together as the pieces begin to fuse.

the more you pull away, the more they try to stay. to prove to you that you are worth the greatest things life has to offer even when things seem to dark to try and bother. there is a bond between those who share blood, those who share memories full of life and love.

tears, years, pains, gains and far from un heard screams. all I want for you is to find YOUR happiness and to fulfill YOUR dreams. I may take my space, I may sometimes hide. but it is only to protect myself, protect my pride. To hold onto what I have built to survive but please never for a moment think I don't hear your cries.

When you are growing up you are led to believe motherhood comes so easy - from breastfeeding to diaper changes and all the oddities in-between - it wasn't until I held you in my arms that I knew what kind of mother I was. I was your mother and that was as perfect as it will ever be. Everyone does things differently, everyone second guesses if they are doing things right. But for what reasons when in retrospect, it's only our actions and thoughts that bring that fright. yes other people and places may have painted things a different color but it is from inside your character, inside your being that shows you your true mother.

your true nurture by nature and all that is glory

4.20.18

consider yourself blessed to be able to touch feel smell taste & experience the outside world - some people never get the chance. trust me and all my scars that depression can be a serious life changing thing and sometimes getting out is harder it seems than breathing since that just kind of happens and thus we keep on living.

4.21.18

Some moments are harder than others

Some hard to grasp

As they vanish so fast

My how fast they flee

While emotions take a hold of thee

Are you supposed to have a button

Which just brings you to center

In moments of intense uninvited endeavor.

Tossing and turning

What is sleep anymore

All for this little bundle of joy

All for this little girl

All for this tiny human being

who has completely changed my world.

Oh how I cherish you.

Tales of a shattered heart

A misguided judgement of unspoken terror

not knowing where exactly this life took error.

The tales of a brand-new mother.

4.22.18 7am [bathtime]

Man I haven't scrubbed walls since 2007

By this day and age I thought I'd be in 'heaven'

not saying I'm not happy I am here

Just back then my mind was filled with such fear

Do any other moms just wake up and start to clean?

without a second thought about it

Eyes open like..

"Oh shit those clothes...they need folded"

As you float out of bed..

Talking to yourself over and over in your head

"But I just want to sit" "But I just want to not" "But can't someone else do it" "But I just want to cry" "But I just want to be" "But does anyone else feel like this or am I all aone"

My head filled with so much "but"

Yet sometimes I don't like the one I have to sit on.

Sometimes I wish things were much easier

Yet there is so much harm in that..

I wouldn't be the amazing person I am today

Had I not gone though all that crap.

All those things that made me stronger

All those things that made the nights seem longer

Made days never ending and life seemed like one big book.

Until I stepped back and took a hard look..

Went to rebab and back to find who I am

Yet..I'll always be wandering.

I'll always be wondering.

I'll always be t h i n k i n g

What if things were easier?

Constant battles in my head.

One fighting the other to leave things unsaid.

I miss having people.

I miss having friends

I pushed people away when I needed them the most.

I hit the panic button and my being went ghost.

Over the years I disappeared more and more.

Doing drugs to numb the core.

Til one day I woke up again..

Woke up wanting to feel,

Not wanting to suffer,

Just wanting to heal.

Take time i said.

It will be your longest journey

But at the end of all of it

Hopefully you'll figure out why you're hurting.

Come to terms with the past

As they lay where they do

Just keep turning the pages

In that book that is you.

4.23.18

Sometimes I just want to cut my wrists open

Just to see how much I bleed

It's like unless I feel the pain on my flesh

My mind will never find ease

I smoke away the pain

Day after day

But when all the demons manifest

When the next day comes to play

Open my eyes to a world full of options

And yet to no surprise -

All I want to do

Is lock myself in the bathroom

And take some time to myself

I need those few moments to recollect my health

I know I am a wonder woman

Full of so much strength

But when the darkness tries to take a hold

It's so hard to keep my eye on the gold

More distant and cold it feels

As the days turn into months

Not knowing when I can speak

Just knowing when to keep quiet

Knowing when the darkness comes

I can't do anything but hide it.

I wonder who I was before the harm

Before those moments that stole my charm

Took me away from reality and set my mind in a twirl

The someone I never got the pleasure of meeting

That undisturbed Elissa, that quiet little girl.

I wonder if why I starve myself

I think it's the only way to hide

to hide the hurt, the pain, I really feel inside.

When things get really bad

I need to physically feel pain

So I sit alone day after day

Not allowing food into my brain.

Because razors show blood and blood shows scars

But as my insides lay dying

And a smile on my face

Noone can tell that inside my soul

Is a sprit that needs ecscapes.

I write, and I just want to be heard.

They are truly beautiful writings.

Even if some are disturbed. 💙

4.24.18

So much distress

So much anxiety

When you walk through the door

And I don't know what to say to

I can't imagine a life without you

But I know I deserve the best

Is it that you truly don't want to be my one and only

Or are you too broken inside to try to figure out the pieces

I decided to have a family with you because you are my best friend

I thought you went out and realized it was me you wanted in the end

My mind just races with un happy thoughts

Reminiscing on the faces that we have seen in the past

Wondering why I was so broken I tried to distroy the one I loved

Why I ever did the things that scared your being so much

You question our love

You question if it's right or wrong

You question if you really mean to inflict harm

All I want is for you to find happiness

But in doing that allow me to be myself

Allow me to have friends and not question my intentions

But if you do have fears, call for interventions

I want to have this life with you

I want to continue making memories

But now with our daughter

Who needs the both of us

And if this isn't something you see for the longrun

Than I have to do what's best for her

I don't want you to pack your things one day when she is four

And all she knows is dad's gone, he went out the door

She seems him sometimes but mom seems sad

Never having the real answers of why things went so bad

I'll allow her to ask questions as I wish I could

To pry and to analyze

What happened to her.

When you came back into my life,

And the fire in my heart grew bigger again,

We decided to start a family.

But for some odd reason

That doesn't seem to be your winner

At least not anymore.

Is it because anytime you have tried to change

It's all lead to sadness?

Well guess what sweeite -

The world is full of that shit,

It's all maddness

But sometimes you stumble

Sometimes you find

Someone you become passionate about

And you suddenly become humble.

I just want to be that person you trust

The person you can talk to

When your whole world starts to crumble.

4.26.18

I feel like an unfit mother

Just going through the waves

All of the days turn to nights

With in between bits of rage.

Do I want a different life?

No, I just want things to change.

I want to have more opportunities for myself

More things to do with my daughter.

If you don't want to be part of this life

The one I thought we created together

I'll be okay, I know that to be certain

Doesn't mean it will be easy or won't be a burden.

I would have never done this

if I didn't want to work through things with you

But as time journeys forward it seems clear what to do.

It feels like you need to be alone,

Shit maybe we both do

To take the time to look inside

To see what's just a true

I won't keep her from you

I wouldn't ever wish that on anyone

I know what it was like to have one parent,

You do to - only opposites and look how great we turned out.

I will always question what it's like to have a mom

To have someone comb your hair for you and

Not just pop back into your life when I'm 13 and smoke a bong

And you'll always wonder what it was like to have a dad

Someone to go pick bugs with you out the grass

I never wished this upon my children but I understand

That when we are so close together

Things get tangled and it feels hard to breathe

Sometimes you just need a break but here we have no space

Even with all the miles and empty roads here in Hagerstown.

5.5.18

I love my birthday

It's like every year I have an excuse to grow up.

5.6.18

As the dust settles and we wind up back "home"

I can't help but feel distance

I can't help but feel alone

Like I am on this journey with two shadows

One whom can't speak

And one who can't seem to enjoy the things I keep.

TIRED. FEARFUL & ALONE

How is one supposed to call this place home?

Just back from such a lovely adventure

Made memories in which I'll forever treasure

Blessed beyond belief to experience this life

So compassionate about having our own child

In which to provide courage and protect

Not show weakness and disregard and disrespect

From someone who claims to love or even try and care

Yet when shit hits the fan and the mask of happiness is removed

You don't wish to see the tears I hide and the madness I keep inside

I know you don't know what it's like to have family

But I know what it's like to have someone who cares

I know what unconditional love feels like and I need that again.

I found it in my father. I thought I found it in you, friend.

In these bodies we will live

In these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love

You invest your life.

5.8.18

All these songs about drugs money women and sex

What about self love, good nutrition and self respect.

What about not second guessing your intuition.

What about making the best of every situation

and leading your own life instead of fallowing others limitations?

Instead of how to numb yourself on every radio station..

Why don't we teach our youth about hardships and self preservation?

I was always so back and forth about having children

Knowing this world we live in

One full of such fear and constant strife

I just know I don't want my kids to live the same life.

If there is anything I wish to teach my daughter,

It is how to love herself.

For friends, family, pets, flowers -

everything comes and goes and you only get one you.

So please if you can do one thing for yourself,

Forget what standards other people hold you to.

Take those moments for yourself.

Take that quiet time.

Take those little steps you must,

In order to feel prime.

All you have is 24 hours to do things differently.

To serve a different plate

And taste a different life

To do things to center yourself

To make sure you're alright.

For if in every 24 hours we could listen to ourselves

We could take out those memories and dust them off the shelf

We could make new memories and not stay so stuck in the past

We could make those memories self sufficient and kind

We could take those moments and change the ripple of time.

we all have our moments. that is what makes life worth living. If things were always beautiful, there would be no room for growth :)

5-21-18

I miss people. I miss human contact

Someone to listen to me and not zone me out

Someone to hang out with and talk about what life is about

I find myself waiting as soon as you leave

For you to return back home

But for what?

It's not like when you return I feel less alone.

Hours and hours spent waiting for the door to open

Only to have it happen and I feel even worse

I thought it was a blessing

Maybe it is a curse.

How does one make friends these days

When we are all hiding behind our phones

Day after day I just want people to talk to

So I don't feel so alone.

5-22-18

Little Leighra Nova

You are the light of my world

You are everything I ever dreamed a child would be

And I am beyond words blessed to be able to call you my daughter

You make me want to live everyday like the last but work harder

I love you endlessly and you are my ray of sunshine

Never for a moment doubt my love for you

For it's one I have never known

But inside me each and every second

My admiration for you has grown.

I love you to the ends of the Earth and back again

You are my favorite person in this universe,

And maybe the next.

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curekibouka-writing · 2 years

Note

Hello, may I request a continuation of the head cannons where Floyd and Jade get bored of reader?

I love reading hurt/comfort, so perhaps Floyd and Jade both realize their mistake/misses the reader, and tries to reconcile?

Thank you!!

> Anonymous request: “very good, i loved your writings of the leech twins getting bored of Y/N, can there be a sequel? One where the twins realize they still love Y/N and want to get back together with her/he?”

Requests are referring to these headcanons.

A/N: Hahahaha :D Happy (late) April Fools! (I definitely know what these requests want me to do, but there’s no point in a sequel that revokes the central idea of the original after all fufufu (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵))

Those hands that clawed your heart open piece by piece before… would you take them once again?

Jade Leech:

Jade welcomes you to Mostro Lounge as if nothing happened between you those few days ago. He seats you in the usual seat, serves your standard order before you order it, and smiles wickedly when you ask him to sit with you.

“What are you up to?” you challenge. You think you see him clearly enough now — he wants something from you, “I thought you had no time to waste on me.”

“My, what an accusatory way to put it,” you perceive his tone as wounded though his eyes are unwavering. He tells you he is balancing between many obligations after all, and it was a good breather for him when he got to hear your stories. So won’t you entertain him today?

If you take his hand, are you still confident you can toss him away again? He can cut the string whenever he wants, but you can’t escape being a jester juggling stories on his palm on your own. Or perhaps you knew from the beginning, and you still let his honeyed invitations root deep within your ears. Perhaps you’re going to make the same mistake now, perhaps you’re beyond saving.

You take his hand, and you convince yourself that deep beneath his perfectly repeated smile, he still loves you.

Floyd Leech:

Floyd rests his chin on your head like he always did, and you hate how you immediately know that’s a sign he’s bored.

You duck away and ask if he was driven out by whoever he was taunting, and while you were mumbling “serves you right!” under your breath, he answers otherwise.

“Nope! I’m just in the mood for you!” He declares with the greatest amount of child-like mirth you’ve ever heard from a 17-year-old as his long arms trap you in a soft but inescapable hug.

And indeed, hadn’t he discarded you in the same way a child would throw toys into the attic? “I don’t want it!” when he gets tired of the latest action figure, but “You were my fav after all!” when some random snippet of memory hooks him back.

If you take his hand, is that what you will become? An object? A dead thing? A toy that has to wait without a sound or a movement until his eyes stops on you and he picks you and suddenly your world means something? Or perhaps you were already that before, and now that you’ve escaped, do you want to go back to the attic?

You tap lightly on his arms for him to release you. You’ve given him enough chances. For the first time, you look away and whisper what he would say so often—

“I’m sick of this.”

A/N: So... this wasn’t supposed to be an April Fools prank. I have a genuine reason to write this the way I did, and if you’re interested, you can find my explanation post here ^^ Thank you for reading!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #jade leech #floyd leech #twst writing #requesting comfort sequel from me carries the risk of getting hurt more so pick your poison wisely dear readers~#twst x reader #twst headcanons #octavinelle #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #twst requests #twst angst #twisted wonderland x reader

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cherryjuicegf · 3 years

Text

death of a poet

for @whataboutthebard september 16 whump prompt: major character death || geraskier, T, 1.8k, angst, implied/referenced suicide (kind of)

ao3

The greatest act of love, they say, is to die for it.

Jaskier laughed, always laughed at this concept. There’s no doubt, of course, one’s whole life lost as a declaration of love, the highest sacrifice. But not the only one. And it amazed him, how people never seemed to acknowledge anything else, how fairytales of noble knights ended with them throwing their lives away, and for what? For love. Always for love. There was no doubt, and if there was, who was he to utter it?

Still. He wondered, the roots of the poet he was meant to be growing inside him, blooming since childhood. And he wondered, why, why die for love, why not live for it? Why waste this blooming of hearts in the eternal darkness, in grief and the wailing complaint of what could have been? Why, when there is so much beauty in the love of living things? He wondered, always wondered. And his mother smiled, with this faint bitterness of unexpected knowledge, and whispered, you can live for love if you want, sweet child, but one day you’ll understand.

Yet he didn’t understand. And he hated it, hated that he didn’t. Hated that he couldn’t find anything to try and understand in the first place. One day he would understand, yet people smiled at him, flowers bloomed in spring, birds sang on the branches, the wine tasted so sweet and the strings of the lute sounded so magical in the evening hush. And he wondered, always wondered, when would the day come, and what greater love there is, that you’re willing to die for it, even if you don’t lay eyes upon it ever again?

The fire in the hearth suddenly goes out.

A tragic fate, the mage had laughed. True love’s kiss. No one could ever love a monster.

I love him. He’s not a monster.

He’s not?

Geralt’s eyes are glowing in a light Jaskier hasn’t seen before, in a light he never wishes to see again. They’re glowing, and something unworldly glows with them, laughs with the evil memory of fairy tales, and evil sorceresses and true love’s kisses. As the blade glistens dangerously close to his eyes, as he walks backward in trembling steps, he thinks they’re so far away from what would make a beautiful fairytale to tell children before sleep. There will be no happy ending here. Somehow he knows.

There’s a tickle on his fingertips, burning.

The sword whips beside his ear and he stumbles back once more, panting, breath coming out strained. He raises his head, looks at Geralt. Or what he remembers was Geralt. Because now what he sees seems foreign, cold, and the amber in his eyes doesn’t warm him like the sun anymore, instead burns, like a fire which he willingly, inevitably steps into. There’s a lump caught in his throat, a sob screaming to get out. And, as though on instinct, with the strongest pang of guilt numbing his bones, he has to remind himself. He’s not a monster, he’s not a monster. He’s not Geralt. Geralt is not a monster.

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he meets Geralt’s, no, the man’s eyes and, like the fool, like the poet he is, he hopes. “Geralt,” he says and his voice shakes weakly with the terrifying hint of denial, “Geralt, it’s me, please.” The air is ripped by the blade once again, he steps back, eyes still locked with amber. A whimper. “Come back to me, love, please. I love you, come back.”

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, the sun entering from the narrow, stained window reflects on Geralt’s eyes and something familiar glints behind them, a distant scream of a heart wailing to get out. But it’s only for a moment. Because Geralt growls and lowers his sword again with maniacal force and Jaskier screams, ducks and falls on his knees in an ironic parody of a plea for mercy. There’s a feeling of wetness on his bicep and he hisses as crimson blood stains the white sleeve. Not his fault, Jaskier reminds himself, not his fault.

It’s not his fault, yet he wants to cry as he stares into his eyes, cold like the blade that threatens to tear him to pieces, cold like the countless winter nights he’s spent without him, cold like his hand as he grasps it desperately, pushes him back in a failed attempt to trap him, in a foolish, hopeless hope of making him throw the sword away.

A true love’s kiss, he thinks, and almost laughs, because it sounds more like a death wish. And he’s starting to think it will be.

And then he sees Geralt raising his hand and before he has time to think about it, he’s being swept back with the most violent wind, and falls head first on the wall behind him. And slumps to fall on his knees. But there’s a sudden sting on his abdomen and he opens his eyes just in time to see the silver blade pointed on tender skin and jolts back with a gasp, stuck on the wall. “Fuck, Geralt,” he pants and looks at him and, for some reason, he expects his stare to be requited. It is. But it’s empty. It’s empty, and the sword on his stomach tickles painfully and the room is whirling. He blinks hard, gasps again. He can’t hold on, he knows.

And as he gazes at Geralt, he remembers. Warmth. Faint smiles, fingers down his back. Lips tasting of sweet wine, and flowers on his hair, and sleepy eyes staring at him before dropping, and love, and safety, and home . And finally, finally he understands.

He hates that he understands. But then again, the blade is cold like a hug full of regrets and Geralt’s eyes are empty and, oh, what he wouldn’t give to see those eyes, familiar and warm and looking at him again, even if it’s for the last time. He hasn’t much left to give, truth be told. Only his hope, and his life, and he feels them both competing for which is going to reach the end of the line.

“Geralt,” he whispers, again, and that spare root of hope he had starts to rot. “Geralt, please, don’t...” Are those tears? His eyes are burning. “Wake up, love, it’s me.”

What hope? He knows there is not. He knows, because it’s empty, forever empty, and the blade stings deeper and he pleads, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, as if it means anything anymore, as if it’s Geralt.

He understands. And knows, if he’s to die, he has to die the way he lived, by love, as a poet. For love, then. As a poet, and for love.

So he straightens himself, eyes steady on Geralt. And takes a step forward against the blade.

It’s numbing, the pain. Another step. He gasps, chokes on his own blood. Another step, and Geralt stares, empty, blade steady in place as though on purpose, but there’s a familiar glint somewhere in there now, a familiar fear. Jaskier is close. His feet are giving in, his breath is shortening, and it’s a pity really, such a torturous death.. He’s close. So close that he can rest on Geralt’s shoulder, and he feels the blade ripping his flesh, his insides, his everything. He coughs up blood, chokes, eyes rolling to the back of his head. And he feels the blade dripping behind him. And he feels Geralt’s breath on his skin. So he cups his face in a shaking hand, and leans in.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips, tender in all its agony. It’s nothing. The world is blurring. It’s love.

It’s nothing.

The sword slips away as he falls, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of unending blood and slowly consuming darkness and he thinks, it’s supposed to be bright, it’s supposed to hurt less now.

He thinks, he’s supposed to spare himself from Geralt’s anguished look when he comes to, and realizes.

Instead.

“Jaskier!”

He doesn’t feel the pain. Only his body, lifted from the floor, and the scorching blood and the arms, those arms that hold him so tight he wants to scream all the apologies, all the regrets of the world. He doesn’t need to. They all echo in Geralt’s eyes.

It’s sweet, the pain. It’s melodic, the plea. Jaskier, please, stay with me, you fool, you’re alright, stay with me.

He wants to laugh. He’s long gone.

The greatest act, to die for love. A fitting ending, for a poet. He wishes someone will write it, this story, their story, and maybe give it a happier ending. Maybe they will go to the coast. Maybe they’ll end up closing their eyes together, holding each other tight, and maybe there’s no blood, only bitter tears of happiness.

It’s a fairytale. It can’t be tragic.

I love you, you’ll be alright, please, please don’t leave me alone.

A forehead pressed against his and he stares at Geralt and, oh, how he misses him already, and how bright he looks in his sorrow, how beautiful behind the veil that slowly falls between them. Jaskier parts his lips, chokes. “Geralt,” he croaks and it sounds like a sob uttered by every single wilting flower in the world. “Geralt, look at me.” He raises a trembling hand on his face, his fingertips leaving smudges of blood over the falling tears.

Geralt doesn’t look. Only stares at the wound, and back at Jaskier, unfocused, horrified, numb, as though it won’t happen if he doesn’t acknowledge.

It’s darker now, and there’s a last grip holding him back, and Jaskier knows it’s the warmth of Geralt’s hug, always is. “If I die for you, will you live for me, love?” he whispers and finally, finally Geralt turns at him, eyes wide, and Jaskier smiles, something close to a wince, as though it’ll hurt less like that, letting go.

Geralt shakes his head. “If I refuse will you stay alive?”

A huff. Painful. “No. No, I don’t think so.” It’s silent like the breeze now, his voice. Jaskier wipes the rivers of tears on Geralt’s cheek and smiles again, and this time it’s genuine, probably because it’s the last one. “It’s alright, hush. You’re not alone.” Shaking, he removes silver strands away from Geralt’s eyes, and slumps, leans on his shoulder as though finally resting. “Hush now, my love. Let me look into your eyes one last time.”

He does. He looks. It’s the same eyes, same as always, warm and loving, like a tender caress.

To die for love. How tragic. But what is a poet’s love, if not the most heart-wrenching tragedy?

The bloodied hand gently falls on the floor.

There’s a streak of red light coming through the stained window, and rests on blue eyes, mistaking them for the peaceful sea after a storm in their stillness.

They stare, forever open, and somehow forever warm.

They stare, and Geralt finally stares back. And slowly, agonizingly, like a sob echoing in eternity between the pages of every promised fairytale, he screams.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #major character death #cursed geralt #chrysa writes #what about the bard #watb #fic recs #angst #you know i had to do it to em #i don't really like this but ehhh

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