had a smidgen of a dream about chapter three and needed to illustrate it

if you ship scc please don’t interact w me 👍

Chapter 8- The End

Ch.1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7

——

The condition of the earth had worsened in the short time they were inside, somehow. Xisuma hasn’t been lying about the raining backwards thing- there were now distinct holes in the ground where blocks had once been, and said blocks were not coming back down anymore.

“Holy shit.” Cleo exclaimed, and a grass block flew up right past her face. “Holy shit!”

“There has to be a way to get you out of here.” Joe was leading the way back to the castle, walking fast.

“Absolutely not.” Michael said firmly, making both of them turn to look at him incredulously. “It’s like a sign from the universe or something. I said I’m not leaving you, and I really mean it.”

“Michael, this is no time to be a martyr!” Joe cried, raising his hands in exasperation. “You don’t belong here! You were only supposed to come and try to help, and then leave! You’re supposed to just be a guest!”

“But I failed.” Michael whispered. “The moon is coming, and there’s nothing that can be done to stop it from coming or me from staying. It’s the twelfth hour now, guys, and it’s time to accept it. Whatever happens next, we’re going together.”

Just then, there was a message in the chat.

<mumbojumbo: hermit meeting at spawn in twenty minutes, come if you are still around>

“Why the hell do they think now’s a good time for a meeting?” Cleo griped. “What, are we gonna be indecisive about the moon or something?”

“I mean it get it, since it feels like the last hurrah- as for spawn town, I don’t-” Joe suddenly stopped dead, frozen with one leg off the ground kind of comically, mouth open.

“What is it, Joe?” Cleo asked, stopping too.

“Spawn… tell me, Michael, where is your spawn set right now?” Joe put down his foot and looked right into Michael’s eyes.

“Uh, I think in the tavern. Why?” Michael asked.

“And if you died, you would respawn there, assumedly, correct?”

“Yeah…”

Joe began to pace. “But what if your spawn anchor was destroyed? You would go to your spawn chunks, right? Would you end up in the Hermitcraft spawn? Or-”

“Or back to the Dream SMP spawn since that’s your real spawn!” Cleo gasped. “Oh my god! That’s so convoluted it just might work!”

“What, are you gonna kill me to test it out?” Michael asked, trying to make a joke. It sounded ridiculous to hear them talk in such ways.

Cleo and Joe looked at each other. “The end fountain.” They both said.

“The fucking what?”

<mumbojumbo: meeting in ten minutes>

Joe took Michael’s hand and began to run. “We need to go, now.”

--

When thinking of apocalypse, there is a certain kind of movie expectation of how it is going to go, how everyone is going to act. This had, for the most part, held true, what with the panicking and the insanity and the general fear. What Michael hadn’t expected was two things. One, how fast the end was coming; the sun had set by the time the three got back to the castle, and the moon seemed to have doubled in size- not only that, but the ground around them was disintegrating so quickly that walking was more of a hopping dance. Two, Michael hadn’t expected the brief reprieve. 

Spurred on by Joe and Cleo’s stress, the deadline of the hermit meeting, made Michael, despite his reluctance, run up the stairs of the tavern to his bedroom. He opened the door and slammed it shut, and there it was. The brief reprieve. Michael just breathed for a moment, and it was like everything was alright again. With the curtains on his window shut, and Joe and Cleo at the castle breaking their own beds, it was like he had come back from another night of observing the moon and singing songs around the campfire. With slow, almost defiant movements, Michael reached for the leather jacket he had come here in. He looked around at the rest of his stuff, clothes mostly, strewn about the room, and chuckled. Messy rooms didn’t matter when he was going to die. Because that was just it, wasn’t it? He, Cleo, Joe. They were all going to die. No use taking any clothes with him. 

Michael broke his bed as they asked and paused at the door. At the last second he grabbed his journal of moon observations, and closed the door behind him. One way or another, he assumed, he would not be coming back to this cozy tavern. 

--

The End, as Michael would later come to understand, was another dimension, like the nether, which was accessed through a structure called a stronghold. Similar to elytras, the dimension seemed to be something off-limits on the Dream SMP. Not that it looked like an interesting place, really. Pale yellow stone and obsidian pillars and endermen. And the giant portal-looking hole in the ground under a small bedrock structure. That’s about it.

“Guys, I don’t know about this…” Michael said, approaching the portal. “Seems pretty far-fetched, no offense Joe. Maybe we should just go to the meeting.”

“It’s the twelfth hour like you said, Michael. We gotta try this to get you out, at least.” Joe replied.

“I’m not leaving you!” Michael said for probably the tenth time in the past half an hour.

“Like hell you are!” Cleo did something she had never done before- she strode forward and hugged Michael very tight. Michael instinctively put his arms around her. “Michael, you have to go. You were never supposed to stay here, and I’m not going to have you die because of us.”

“You have a way out, Michael. You’ve been nothing but selfless to us, but you need to be selfish now.” Joe joined the hug, and the three sunk to the ground, while blocks rose all around their huddle.

“We’ll go with you to see if you end up at Hermitcraft spawn or not, hold your hands until we can’t anymore. But you have to leave us, if you can.” Cleo whispered into his hair. “We lo-” she stopped herself, clearing her throat instead.

Michael grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and then reached for one of Joe’s. They stood up together and looked at one another, watery smiles on their faces.

“Wait! I meant to give this to you ages ago, but kept forgetting!” Joe suddenly said, letting go of Michael’s hand to dig around in his pockets, and pulled out a CD labeled “Sean Hills sings Joe Hills: volumes I and II”. “It’s all of my songs, sung by my sibling Sean. Maybe you can add it to your music collection.”

The three floated up into the air as Joe handed the CD case to Joe, and they both held onto it until they were dropped again.

“Oh my god, Joe, this is… I’m gonna treasure this.” Michael slipped the CD into an inside pocket of his jacket, right by his heart and next to his journal of moon notes. He let out a long breath. “Okay. I think I’m ready now.” He stepped up to the edge of the end fountain, and he felt Cleo and Joe join him on either side, grasping his hands again. And then, they jumped together.

--

The end fountain portal is different from other portals. Nether portals are purple and wavy, sickening in their patterns as you travel through them to a reddish hell. But the in-between here was something different entirely. A more fitting ending, if this really was the end.

Michael, Joe, and Cleo were floating in an inky forever, with rainbow flashes of zeros and ones flying over and around them. And they were still here, together, holding hands. Cleo and Joe moved to grasp each other’s hands as well, so they formed a triangle.

“I’m so sorry.” Michael told them. Their faces blurred, and Michael desperately blinked back tears. He didn’t quite know how, but he knew this really was goodbye. It all seemed very real suddenly, in this mysterious, beautiful nothingness. 

“Go now!” Cleo said, and she let go of his hand first and cupped his face with her hand momentarily before pulling back, red hair blowing all around her as they floated through whatever space this was. She kept her head high, those green eyes searching his face as if trying to memorize it. A storm of a woman, with a heart of solid gold to match, words forever unspoken stuck in her throat.

“You have everything you need, and one hell of a story, if you choose to tell it.” Joe said. “Goodbye Michael. I hope the music is sweet to you.” And he too let go, tears freely falling under his cartoonish glasses, and redoubling his grip on Cleo’s hand.

There was a sudden static sound so intense that he couldn’t even think, and then, Cleo and Joe were gone, and Michael fell into nothingness.

——

It was a rainy night on the Dream SMP, and Alesa had a chill playlist of songs going on the radio. She had the fireplace roaring, and was doodling mindlessly on the wall.

The scraping of a key in a lock cut through the silence, and Alesa jumped to her feet, running across the small house just in time to see Michael walking through the front door.

“Michael! Holy shit! What the fuck happened to you?”

Michael strode past her in silence, soaking wet, stringy hair a curtain blocking his face, and headed straight for the radio studio.

“Michael?” Alesa closed the door against the storm and followed him into the studio. Michael sat down, and turned to finally look at her, and Alesa was shocked to find tears in eyes that looked like they had aged many years. He then turned his attention to the microphone, lowered the song volume to mute, cleared his throat, unmuted the microphone, and began to speak.

“Creatures, humans, gods, and whoever else is out there in the weird, wide world, it is December twenty-second, and tonight, I’m going to tell you a story. A story of horrors I hope you, dear listeners, will never have to experience. But, really, it is a story of strength, love, and friendship. You may call me a myth-maker, always with the conspiracy theories, but tonight, I promise you that I tell nothing but the truth. Either way, sit back, as I tell you the story of Michael and Joe and Cleo’s super big adventure...” Michael paused, and he smiled just a little bit, “featuring the moon”.

Father’s Day

Peter Parker x Frank Castle (Platonic)

Summary: Set a few months after Spider-Man No Way Home, Peter goes to the last person he knows for help, someone he knows will be at a carousel on Father’s Day.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of major character deaths, Peter reaching out to Frank

Notes: I’m a week late, but it’s Cancer Season, and I’m in my feels. I’ve never written Peter before, but for some reason, I got possessed by the idea of him seeking out a father figure in Frank on the saddest day possible. This was going to be a drabble and got away from me. Forgive me.

WC: 1.7k

Tags: @letsby @likedovesinthewnd​ @genevievedarcygranger​

The tinny tune of the carousel rang through the humid air of the park, children's laughter and babies crying mixed in with the song as it created its own odd melody. Dozens of different types of families were scattered in the picnic area between him and the moving circle, those closest to the ride absorbing most of the sound before it reached his sensitive ears.

“Can I sit here?” His voice shook as he pointed to the empty spot next to Frank, the summer sun beating down on the rubber-coated metal of the bench.

Peter remembered him mentioning this place a year or so ago when they were fighting King Pin’s men on top of a roof at four in the morning. Or maybe it was a little bit longer ago than that? The current state of things made it difficult for him to remember everything that happened before he made that stupid wish that turned his life upside down. He’d get things mixed up sometimes, wracking his brain to remember if certain things he recalled happened before or after the change, or if it was nothing more than just a dream.

Frank looked up and over at him, eyes pinpoint and defensive until he saw how young he was, his lip twitching in annoyance before his face finally relaxed along with the rest of his muscles. He didn’t recognize who he was; so much for hoping that there was still someone out there who did.

“Sure, kid.” Frank’s voice always reminded him of what a grizzly bear might sound like if one ever learned how to talk. He was big and scary despite not having any ‘real powers’, but he was always nice to Peter, seeming to sort of… soften a little when he was around him.

“Thanks.” Peter sat down next to him, not too close, but just close enough to relish in the feeling of sharing a space with someone he used to call a friend.

It was the little things that he missed the most as the days passed by alone. He missed being able to recall shared memories with someone, to notice the little things about them that no one else seemed to pay attention to but him, and vice versa. He missed high fives in the hallway with Ned, hugs from Aunt May and the long warm kisses he used to share with MJ. Most of all he just missed being seen, understood and cared for in literally any capacity.

The utter devastation he felt when MJ looked at him with cold and distant eyes, as if he were any other stranger walking down the street made his heart sink into the bitter acid of his stomach. How could he convince himself to explain their situation and bring things back to normal, chopping up their years of bonded experience to a few short sentences? How could he make someone love him who didn’t even know his name? He couldn’t, and he was going to have to learn to live with that. Every time he looked at her, though, whether from across the street or on a faraway rooftop, he knew that he could never get back what they used to have. Not the way he wanted, anyways.

He tried going to support groups on the outskirts of town, ones for people who’d lost their parents or for those who lost relationships during the blip and couldn’t quite get over the loss. No matter what the degree of tragedy he shared with them, no one could quite understand what he was going through. No one had lost everyone they had ever gotten close to before, only to have their identity completely eradicated as payment for saving the world.

He couldn’t even get a respectable job without a proper ID, and all the work he’d done at school and with Tony? Wiped clean from existence, as if he was never even born. The only person who would remotely know how he felt right now would be Frank, no stranger to devastating loss, false identities or going off the grid from time to time. If Peter was going to get out of town and start fresh, he was going to need Frank’s help.

Peter opened his mouth to introduce himself, coaching himself mentally with the details of his fake identity as he paused, thinking better of his initial plan of attack. Frank was a wild animal, one who had to be approached in just the right way in order to earn his trust and not get his arm ripped off or eaten for lunch. “You lost somebody, too, huh?” he asked.

So much for playing it cool, Peter.

Frank scoffed, putting something into his pocket before leaning back in his seat. “Do I know you?” His tone wasn’t angry, but it sure wasn’t friendly, either.

Peter wanted to say yes, to geek out about all the times they fought together alongside Daredevil against the worst of New York City, but he didn’t want to scare him away. He didn’t want to seem like some kid who wore a Punisher t-shirt to bed every night before kissing his Momento Mori poster, either. He really hated having to lie all the time, especially to people he knew or cared about. Sure, he had to do it to protect his identity when he was Spider-Man, but this was different. This was a constant, every second of everyday kind of lie. One that tied itself around your ankle and pulled you down to the bottom of the ocean until you couldn’t breathe anymore, kind of lie.

“I guess I just know that look when I see it,” Peter confessed, thinking of all the pain he’s had to endure since his parents passed away, now compounded a hundred-fold. He wondered how Frank had gone so long without totally collapsing in on himself the way he did every night when the world stopped spinning.

“Yeah?” Frank continued to look ahead, his jaw clenching as he clasped his hands together and leaned forward.

Oh God, he hated him already, didn’t he? The only reason he ever talked to him in the first place was because he saved his life when he nearly fell off a ladder that one time. It was pretty obvious that he wanted to be alone, that he didn’t want to be bothered, especially by an annoying kid like him. Why did he come here in the first place thinking this was going to be a good idea? Why was he so stupid?

Focus, Peter. If you can save the world as many times as you have, you can definitely do this.

“And what look is that?” Frank brought him out of his thoughts, bouncing his knee up and down.

“The one where you keep waiting for them to come out of a crowd somewhere… anywhere, really. At a park like this one, a mall, the subway, a busy street, anywhere you go could be the last place you’ve looked until one day you finally find them, even though you know that you never will.” He faked a cough to cover up the lump in his throat, wondering just how much worse he would feel if Tony were still alive and looked at him as if they had never met.

“Yeah,” he resigned, swallowing hard and dropping his head. He took in a deep breath, slow and steady as he smoothed over his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger.

Peter had never seen Frank this pensive, but then again, they were usually fighting bad guys when they were together, not mourning their loved ones on a summer’s day in the park. “I’m sorry, Mr…” he bit his tongue, barely stopping himself from calling him ‘Mister Punisher, Sir’ like he always used to.

“I’m Pete.” He sat up straight, placing his folded hands in his lap.

“No shit,” Peter whispered under his breath, wondering if his alias had anything to do with him at one point or another. Probably not. But what if? “I’m Michael,” he lied for the twentieth time today.

“Well Mikey, that shit they try to feed you about it getting easier over time ain’t true, not even a little bit.” He ran a hand over his head, brushing his fingers through his overgrown locks as he squinted toward the setting sun. “You just learn how to deal with it better.”

“Oh,” he sighed audibly, slumping his shoulders. He’d heard the same thing from dozens of other grieving sons and daughters in his support groups, but was secretly hoping that Frank had some trick up his sleeve to help him get over this pain a lot faster. Although it was looking more and more like the only way out was through. “How did you deal with it?”

“Look,” Frank sucked the air in through his teeth, shaking his head in a pained smile. “You seem like a nice kid and everything, but I’m not the one you want to take advice from right now, okay? Why don’t you try going to a priest or a rabbi or…”

“But I’ve tried all that.” Peter cut him off, the thought of Frank dismissing him forcing tears into his eyes. “It doesn’t work. I tried getting new hobbies, going to therapy, going to group, but nothing helps.” He blinked a few times in an effort to absorb the tears into his eyelashes, only to force one down his face. “I need your help.”

“What?” He turned to face him, his features barely changing as he realized that Peter knew who he was this whole time. “You want me to kill that guy who hurt your family for you? Hmm? Make him pay for what he did? It’s not gonna bring them back, and it’s definitely not gonna make you feel better.”

Wow, he just jumped straight to murder, it’s a miracle we were able to work together at all.

“No, not that.” He wiped the stream of saline off his cheek with the back of his hand. “I need a new identity, and Mr. Murdock said that you could at least help point me in the right direction?”

“Fucking Murdock,” Frank grumbled, rolling the idea around in his head before looking back at the carousel that seemed that much farther away now. “Whose after you, anyways, kid?”

Peter thought about lying to Frank again, about telling him it was the Gnucci gang or hell, even Wilson Fisk that was after him. He thought about every single smile he’d lost over the years, about every sound of Aunt May’s laughter and sting of Tony’s snark that he’d no longer be able to keep for himself.

“Everyone.”

Belphegor x Beelzebub x reader (princes/peasant one shot)

SMUT WARNING 

You were poor. Dirt poor. You had nothing to your name but the clothes on your back and a necklace around your neck. It wasn't made with a golden chain it was just a piece of binder twine tied to you, only the sparkling silver charm making it look even somewhat decent. It wasn't worth anything of course, it was just something that you came across one day and you thought it was pretty. You considered it to be the most beautiful thing that you owned. Granted there wasn't a lot to compare it to. You lived in a very small house, in town next to the bakery. Your Aunt and uncle worked there with their two children. You were never allowed to help. Even though you were a teenager, they treated you like a unless baby, never letting you in the store, afraid you might mess something up. It didn't really bother you. They gave you food and a place to sleep, that was all you needed. As for entertainment, you found most of your hobbies out in the woods. Your uncle had warned you about getting too close to the castle. The Nobels were cruel and didn't take too kindly to peasants like you. However his words didn't affect you. The trees next to the castle weren't only prettier than the ones near your home, but some of them also grew apples and oranges. It was the only place to pick sweets. You never seen anyone else picking the fruit, probably because it wasn't allowed, like your uncle said. You thought about how it was actually pretty genius of you to come and sneak fruit in the middle of the day. If everyone was really as scared of the Nobels, then they wouldn't dare come and steal the fruit. So why would the trees be guarded? You were quick and quiet, taking what you wanted and then hiding somewhere off into the woods where no one would disturb you. Today you settled a little closer to the castle than you usually did. You wanted to eat your prizes and watch the birds that flew in and out of the castles garden. You wanted more than anything to go in there and see. You fantasized about what the flowers and plants would look like. Sadly the tall and thick hedge wall made that an impossible dream. You leaned against a tree, closing your eyes, full and ready for a nap. The birds were chirping and the shade was keeping you cool along with a soft breeze. You dozed off in a matter of seconds and would have stayed sleeping for hours if it wasn't for the lifting of your skirt. You're eyes shot open, your legs instinctively kicking. For good measure, you also hucked an apple at the creep in front of you. Once you calmed down, you noticed that it was a boy. He had his arms covering his head, scared of getting attacked by you. You scooted back against the tree, wrapping your arms around your knees glaring at him. When he lifted his head, you realized that he was clean, no dirt or dust covering his face. His ginger hair was washed and shiny, and his eyes were bright. A bit scared of her of course but he should have known better. He cleared his throat, about to speak. His voice was deep, you were guessing that he was a few years older than you. "I'm sorry, I thought you were sleeping..." He admitted. You stared at him in disbelief. He was kneeling on his knees, his hands fiddling with each other in his lap. You huffed. "That's not an excuse to be a pervert!" you snapped and the boy blushed, looking away from her. "I'm not a pervert, I just..." He trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You rolled your eyes. He was a pervert. You looked over him some more. Seeing his nice clothes, that seemed a bit too tight for his shoulders. He must have had some muscle. You questioned him some more. "What are you?" She asked and the boy glanced at her momentarily. "I'm a prince." He told you, but regardless of his fancy clothes you doubted that. "If you're a prince, then where is your crown?" You asked and he finally looked at you fully. "I don't get to wear mine, I'm clumsy. Barbatos says that I'd break it." he explained and you hummed in thought. "Barbatos being?" "My butler. He takes care of me and my brother." he told her and before you could ask, a few leaves from the tree above you started to fall next to you. "Brother?" You mumbled before a boy swung down, hanging from his legs, upside down like a bat. "Me!" he joked and laughed as you yelped in fright, crawling away. "Oh shoot, Beel grab her!" He shouted and before you knew it, the ginger boy had grabbed your ankles, pulling you back towards the two strangers. You squealed, not liking being handled like that. "Geez, she's really loud." The boy from the tree muttered, covering his ears. The one named Beel crawled over top of you, holding your wrist to the ground so you couldn't fight him. You struggled against him, feeling his crotch press against your ass. You feared the worse, screaming until he covered your mouth. "Please don't yell, you're gonna hurt our ears." He told you and you whined, wiggling underneath him as the other boy walked around the two of you. He kneeled down in front of you, slapping his brothers hand from you mouth. "Don't cover her face Beel, I wanna see her." He examined you, resting his fingers underneath your chin, lifting your head up. He smiled smugly, turning your head from side to side. You examined him right back, noticing how his hair was longer than the other boys, more messy. It was a dark black with white tips. it covered his face well but you could still see his handsome features. He let go of you and gave a look to his brother. "We should keep her, she's really cute." He told him. You blinked out of shock. "W-what?!" You stuttered. Beel stood up, picking you up too. You allowed him to lift you, but the second you got to your feet you bolted into the woods. Beel's jaw fell open. "Dammit Beel." His brother scoffed. "It's ok, let's go catch her." He patted his shoulder, reassuring him that it was just a mistake. You on the other hand were rushing through the trees, wanting to be as far away from those weirdos as possible. Your aunt and uncle were right. The Nobels were crazy, you learned your lesson. You forgot to watch where you were going, stumbling right over a drop off and plunging head first into a small creek. You splashed in the water getting fully emerged before coming back up to the surface. You gasped for breath, tears dripping down your face. You lifted your arms, seeing a few cuts and bruises from the rocks you landed on. You were pissed. Today would have been another perfect day, and if it wasn't for those boys you would have still been napping peacefully no problem. It wasn't fair. You were looking over your injuries when you felt your body getting lifted and dragged out of the creek. You flared your arms and kicked your legs but this Beel kid was strong. He hugged you close to his chest. "Beel don't let her go, she's too fast to chase, let's get her into the garden before dad returns. ------------You were shaking, your naked body fully exposed in the garden's fountain. Belphegor and Beelzebub were pouring in soap, rubbing shampoo and conditioner into your hair. You tried slapping their hands away but that only earned you a smack to the side of your head. You curled up into a little ball, insanely embhassased that they were treating you like an animal. Beel was the one cleaning your wounds, he was very gentle but you refused to appreciate the gesture. Belphegor was humming happily, grabbing a towel he had. "Alright, come, we better get inside before you catch a cold." You were pulled to you feet, Belphegor wrapping you up and cradling you in your arms. He held you bridal style, carrying you into the castle. You hid your face in his chest, scared and cold, hungry and stressed. You didn't trust the boys, they were aggressive and entitled. You weren't an object, even though you had give up on fighting them. If they really were princes then what would you be able to do about it? Beel walked by your side, he smiled at his brother. "She's kinda small, I bet she'd fit in your old cape, that would be adorable." He told him and Belphegor laughed. "What if we dress her up as a little knight? We could teach her to use swords and ride horses, that way she'd be able to come on hunts with us." He elaborated. Beel nodded, opening a door that you assumed was to their room. You felt a warm waft of air hit you as you entered the room. It smelled so unfamiliar. You had boy cousins of course, but their room never smelled this good. It was musky, manly, strong and hot. You felt a bit dizzy as Belphegor laid you on the bed. You rolled over onto your stomach, trying to avoid looking at him. When you face pressed against the soft pillow, you inhaled deeply. You felt like the pleasure would knock you out, you didn't even realized that Beel had crawled into bed next to you. Belphegor was looking through his drawers, trying to find clothes that would fit you. Belphegor approached the bed, giving your butt a light smack to catch your attention. "Up," He ordered and you whined, snuggling into the bed. Beel chuckled and lifted you up for his brother. "She's so light, like a little doll." He mumbled and Belphegor nodded, slipping the long sleeved, blue shirt over top of you. You huffed, swatting his hands away once you were less exposed. Beel grabbed your wrist to get you to stop. "No hitting." He scolded you, your head turning away from him, uncomfortable with him being so close. Beel took this to his advantage, his face pressing against your neck, making you squeal. Still, having a hold of your arms, he kept you still, nuzzling you affectionately. Belphegor smiling at your feeble attempts to fight him off. "What should we name her?" He asked his brother. You and Beel looked up at him, you in confusion and Beel in thought. He let go of you, allowing you a chance to crawl up further on the bed, sitting on the pillows and leaning against the headboard. Beel stared at you, and gave a small smile. "I like bunny. She's wild, soft, and..." His eyes trailed down your body, making you uncomfortable. Belphegor started to laugh. "Beel you're such a pervert." He joined you two on the be. Beel frowned at him. "I'm not...You don't know what I was gonna say." He complained and Belphegor chuckled, leaning his forehead against his brothers. "We are twins~I know everything that goes through your head, Just like you know what's going through mine." He purred and Beel smiled, and the two held each others hands. You mentally awed at the scene in front of you. "So...You two are twins?" You asked, your voice a little shaky. The boys looked pleased to hear you speak again. "Yes we are." Belphie smiled. Beel spoke up next. "Do you have siblings?" He asked and you shook your head. "I live with my aunt and uncle, but I have cousins that are sort of like my siblings." you told them and the boys nodded. Belphegor grinned. "That's good, so you're not going to be missed." He reached up to touch your leg and you kicked his hand away, glaring. "I will too be missed! The second my family notices I'm gone they will come and get me!" You yelled at them. Beel had a sad expression, looking to his brother from help. Belphie quirked an eyebrow. "As if, peasant. If they aren't your real parents then you'd be nothing but a burden to them, especially acting the way you do. Such a pig." He hissed. You were taken back by the cruel words. Beel stepped in, "No Belphie don't make her cry." He begged and You frowned at him. "I'm not crying." Belphegor rolled his eyes. "You can't let her walk all over you Beel, she's a pet, don't take her seriously." You crossed your arms angrily over your chest. "I'm not your pet, I'm going to wait here and be difficult until my uncle comes to find me." You sassed and Belphegor reached into his boot, pulling out of knife. The blade made a sharp sound as it brushed against it's holder. He pointed it at you, his eyes burning with seriousness. Meanwhile you and Beel were nearly shaking with nerves. Belphegor spoke. "You better hope they forget about you. If anyone tries to take you away, I'll murder them." He growled and you trembled, not liking how he was threatening you. Beel nibbled at his lip. "But, not her though right Belphie? Just the ones trying to steal her back?" He asked and Belphegor tucked away his knife. "Of course, I'd never hurt your bunny Beel." He told him and Beel smiled, grateful for his brother. The two shared a moment before their eyes landed back onto you. You felt tears well up in your eyes. Beel noticed this and reached for your hand. "Don't be upset Bunny, I promise you'll love it here." He assured but you only sniffled, wiping your face with the long sleeve of the shirt. Belphegor tilted his head at you curiously. "Have you ever kissed a boy, bunny?" He asked and you fiddled with Beel's hand nervously, shaking your head. Belphegor nodded, a small smile on his face as he leaned into you. Beel stopped him, for the first time glaring at his brother. "I want to be her first kiss!" He whined and Belphegor sighed. "Fine, how about a compromise?" Beel gave you a look before nodding at his bother. You struggled as each of them straddled one of your legs so you couldn't kick and each of them holding your hand so you wouldn't hit them. You couldn't get away, closing your eyes, not wanting to have your fist kiss be stolen from you. You whimpered as you felt two pairs of lips on you. Beel's first quick one on your cheek before joining his brothers on a side of your mouth. It wasn't intense, it was soft. Both of them were taking their time, pressing their lips against you softly, over and over again. You were getting a bit dizzy, Beel's hips beginning to rock against your thigh. You whined, snapping your head to the side to get them to stop. Beel growled, not wanting to stop. Belphegor placed a hand on his shoulder. "Easy Beel, she's ours now, we don't have to rush into anything." He reminded him, and Beel nodded. "I know." He mumbled and Belphegor leaned up against him. You were so taken back by the situation. It was scary, being around there two strangers, but it was also intriguing. You didn't know what was going to happen to you, but it couldn't be that bad....Right?

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

Compassion, hierarchy and misconduct. Let’s see how you do with those :3

update: now on ao3!! with updated grammar!!

shushi you should know by now that big words scare me /j. think i managed to think of a good idea for it, though!

warning for dehumanization and selling another sentient being,,

————————————

ranboo knows he shouldn’t be out here — if the palace finds out he went out into the town, he knows he’ll be in big trouble.

but.. it was just so…. boring in there.

nothing exciting ever happened, it was just tight schedules and meetings. he didn’t even have any friends, the closest he ever had was his older brother, but dream was always busy, whether it be with his friends or with his duties as the successor to the throne. he hadn’t seen much of him since he had earned his wings.

dream always made sure to try and spend time with him when he can, and he appreciates that, he really does, but that didn’t change the fact that ranboo was still pretty lonely most of the time.

and so, that lead to now.

it… well, it wasn’t particularly easy to get out of the castle, but it wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, either. the guards never paid him mind too much, they usually let him do his own thing when he wasn’t busy. all it really took was waiting until the perfect moment, and getting out of dodge as fast as he could. from there, all it took was a shortcut and an inconspicuous hood he managed to snag, and he was out.

and it was wonderful out here.

or- okay, if he were to really compare the palace to the rest of the kingdom, he would have to admit that the palace was certainly the.. neater one, out of the two, to say the least.

but having lived his entire life in a palace, anything else might as well have been a wonderland.

there were people everywhere, going about their day. there was a small band out in the streets, playing music better than anything he had ever heard before — it was leagues beyond the prissy music that played in all the balls and galas he had attended. he couldn’t help but leave some gold coins among all the copper and silver coin in the tray in front of the band, though he chose to ignore the wide-eyed look their guitarist gave him.

the atmosphere around here was fun, almost lighthearted even. better than the thick air that always seemed to surround the palace.

..surely it’s okay if he stays here a little while, right? no one will notice, surely. he’ll be back at the castle as soon as he can, he just.. wants some time to relax, maybe be himself for a bit.

it’ll be fine.

————————————

it’s been a few hours now, and ranboo’s been enjoying himself immensely. he had found a bakery a while ago, and managed to get his paws on a pastry — a croissant, apparently. that’s not to say he hasn’t had a croissant before, but they’ve always been…. plain. he didn’t particularly mind it before, but this…

it was sliced in half, almost, filled with banana slices, peanut butter, and a hazelnut spread, both inside and drizzled on the top. he didn’t even know that you could do something like this, not with a croissant of all things.

he made sure to tip the baker as much as he could, she absolutely deserves it.

maybe he could convince get dream to commission the baker for future galas?

after that, he had mostly been walking around the town, taking in the sights. it still didn’t get old, seeing everything.

though… he swore he felt eyes on him…..

whenever ranboo scanned the crowd, he never saw anything that stuck out, but the feeling of being watched never quite went away.

maybe.. throwing his money around wasn’t quite the best idea, if he wanted to be inconspicuous. not that the hood really helped, either.

oh dear. was he gonna get robbed? he hoped he wasn’t about to get robbed. dream would absolutely kill him if he got robbed(after making sure he was okay, of course).

he looked around the area, hoping for some way to lose sight of the eyes — there wasn’t a whole lot of people around, he wouldn’t be able to make himself blend into a crowd — and found himself looking at a particularly dark alleyway.

in all honesty, going in there would absolutely be a bad idea, that was just asking to find himself getting cornered. but he couldn’t really find any other ways that could help him. so…. dark alleyway it was, then.

quickly, he sped his way over to the alley, and found that it seemed to split off into multiple passageways. perfect! perfect for losing whoever was watching him, and perfect for totally not getting lost!

regardless, he continued, taking the many twists and turns with an almost-confident stride. he didn’t quite have a rhyme or reason, he just walked and walked, and turned whenever he felt like it.

the feeling of eyes had long since faded away by now, but he kept going, since he certainly didn’t want to meet whoever was looking for him.

finally, after a couple minutes of wandering, he slowed down his pace, finally satisfied at losing the feeling.

but uh….

…….how………. how does he get out………….?

……….hm.

oh dear.

…well, uh..

…wait, he thinks he hears….. voices?

a way out!

quickly, he finds himself following the sounds, eager to get out of the alleyway.

as ranboo gets closer, he hears the voices get louder, though the words don’t get any clearer — it sounds as if there were multiple conversations going on at once, like at a gala or in the town.

after what feels like forever, he can see a faint light ahead.

(only faint? he swears it was only noon when he had left..)

he turns one final corner, and finds himself staring at a bustling market.

it looks nothing like how the town looked before. before, everything was bright, cheery, and overall had a welcoming vibe to it.

now? it was dark, as if hidden from the rest of the world, and seemed almost gloomy, sinister even.

oh.

oh dear.

he was in a black market, wasn’t he?

shit.

he wasn’t even aware the kingdom had one.

he needed to get out, as soon as possible — if the kind of people that came here knew that the prince was nearby, that could spell out all sorts of trouble.

he couldn’t just walk back out the way he came, though — that would look beyond suspicious, and not to mention that whoever was watching them might still be there.

the only way out would have to be through.

and so, he pulled his hood on tighter, and walked swiftly through the crowd.

this can only go well.

————————————

ranboo tries his best not to look anyone in the eyes, both because of his species, and because he doesn’t want anyone to look too closely.

he doesn’t look up from beyond the path much, only to scan the area for an exit — the longer he’s in here, the more at risk he is.

he’s been trying his best to not let anything in the market entice him, any interaction could spell disaster for him, but as he’s looking around, he can’t help but glance over one booth, turning away— before whirling his eyes right back over to it.

there’s a bunch of creatures in cages, some that were hard to catch, and some he never knew existed. the cages certainly weren’t big enough to hold each animal it was containing, but he supposes the seller didn’t really care for their comfort.

but as he looked over all of the cages, he couldn’t help but lock his eyes on one in particular.

it.... it was a person?

no.. a tiny person? with.... wings?

ranboo couldn’t see them all too well, but.. no, no that was definitely a person, size be damned.

this.. are all these people really okay with seeing this??

..oh, who was he kidding, some people would do anything if they could.

he found himself moving closer unconsciously, only noticing when he was right up to the stall.

“something catch your eye?” a raspy voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned towards the stall owner. he didn’t pay too much attention to their appearance, only enough to know they were human.

“uh- i... suppose.” ranboo muttered, his gaze falling back into the tiny. by now, they had noticed his staring, and had puffed up their wings, almost as if trying to make themselves bigger.

the wings themselves were beautiful, he couldn’t help but let them be the first thing he notices about them. they were red, fading into a dull yellow-orange, before finishing with a vibrant green. they had a tail, too — blue, along with blue feathers along his face, as if they were freckles.

they had blond hair, messy, pulled up into a ponytail. they had bright blue eyes, and though their face was full of anger, he could see those eyes held a deep terror in them.

terror of him.

he didn’t like that.

“ahh, you’re eyeing the bird, huh?” the owner pulled him out of his head once again.

“maybe i am.” ranboo said, not letting his eyes leave the tiny.

“well, i gotta tell you, it ain’t gonna be cheap.” they grinned at him. “five hundred silver. nothing less.”

he whistled.

damn. that is steep.

it’s not like he can’t afford it, though.

but the question is, does he want to?

ranboo takes one more look at the winged-person. they’re terrified, he can see that clearly, with their wings shaking slightly.

he doesn’t want to know what would happen to them if anyone else took interest in them.

“nothing less, huh?”

“not for something like this, no.” the shop keeper shrugged.

“well, all i’ve got is a fifty, sorry.” he pulled out a fifty gold pieces, and clattered them onto the stand.

the owner’s eyes widened. they glanced back up at them, before counting the coin.

soon enough, they looked back up, leaning back while pushing the pieces closer to them. “eh, i’ll take it. go ahead, thing’s yours.”

the tiny stiffened, pushing itself further against the back of the cage — not that it had anywhere else to go, really.

his tail flicked in anger underneath the cloak.

he pushed those feelings down, though, and instead walked up to the cage, carefully picking it up. and soon, he quickly made his way out of the stand, eager to get as far away from that booth — and the market in general — as he could.

he could feel the tiny shaking inside the cage, and as much as he wanted to comfort them, he wasn’t in the clear yet. he could see people eyeing him already, probably itching to steal away a prize now that it was far from it’s old warden.

he attached the cage to a belt beneath his cloak, and continued on his way to find an exit.

————————————

finally, he found a place that looked similar to the place he had entered from, and after wandering that labrinth, he finally found himself back in town, albeit a completely different part.

he could hear the rattling of the cage, reminding himself of the companion he had on him.

he found another secluded alleyway, one that doesn’t lead to a secret black market — hopefully — and brought out the cage carefully.

the winged-tiny stared at him. he stared back.

“uh..” ranboo started. shit. he didn’t think this far ahead. could they even understand him? “hi?”

a pause.

“fuck you.” the tiny spit out.

well. they’re off to a great start. at least now he knows they can talk.

he could tell immediately that the tiny regretted what they said, stiffening further.

suddenly, he realized he still had the hood on. that, probably wasn’t helping calm the tiny down any.

he pulled the hood down, revealing his face to the tiny. “i’m, uh- i’m not gonna hurt you. promise.”

the tiny froze, before flaring their wings out.

“how can i trust you? you fucking bought me!” they snarled, and ranboo winced. it was a fair point, but-

“i wanted to get you out of that situation — i couldn’t just- walk on by after seeing you.”

“so, what? am i just your fucking pet now?” they hissed out, hunching in on themselves.

“no- no! no, of course not! i was planning on letting you go, after!”

the tiny paused.

“….bullshit. there’s no way you’d spend that many coins, just to let me go.” their eyes narrowed at him.

“well, i mean.. it’s not like i don’t have the money to.” ranboo shrugged.

the winged-person blinked.

“who the fuck even are you?” they asked. “how can someone just, throw away money like that?”

“my name’s ranboo,” he answered, “and i just can. what’s your name?”

“…..tommy..” the tiny- tommy- relented. ranboo grinned politely at him.

“nice to meet you, tommy!” he turned his attention towards the cage. “now, let’s get you out of this.”

he grabbed the key that was hooked to the top of the cage, put it in the lock, and turned it. a click, and the door opened. slowly, tommy climbed his way out, and onto ranboo’s awaiting hand. he stretched his wings, flapping them a bit, and ranboo noticed something.

“are your wings clipped?” he asked with horror. tommy stared at them for a second.

“oh. yeah, uh.. they are.” tommy said, as if he was just remembering. “well, that’s not gonna make getting home any easier.” he paused. “not that i, really have a home, anymore, i guess.”

ranboo could feel anger swelling up inside of him, but he pushed it down, not wanting to scare the tiny any more than he had already.

“..well….” ranboo started. “you, could stay with me for a bit? until your feathers grow back?”

tommy stared up at him apprehensively. “i… are you sure….?”

“yeah! i can keep you safe while you heal, i promise.”

“…alright then.” tommy relented.

carefully, ranboo lifted him up, and gently slid him into his bag, before securing his cloak. he made sure to leave the cage and it’s key behind.

“you know,” ranboo started to walk out of the alleyway, “if you’re hungry, i can get you something to eat. i know this really cool bakery around here that has amazing pastries-” and suddenly, he could feel the sensation of being watched again. before he could do anything about it, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. he whirled around, ready to fight, when-

“ranboo.” a stern, yet familiar voice said.

ah.

sapnap.

one of the royal guards.

one of dream’s best friends.

“uhh,,, heyyyyy, sapnap,” ranboo said nervously, giving him a half-hearted finger gun, “fancy, uhm, fancy seeing you here. hey, uh, could you do me a favor and,,, not tell dream i left for the town?” he grinned.

sapnap gave him an unimpressed look.

shit.

————————————

sapnap told dream, the traitor.

dream ended up grounding him for a week.

luckily, though, he had a friend to pass the time with.

An Offer

Warnings: coercion, threats, slightly blackmail-ish, intimidation, entrapment, implied noncon

This is dark!(lumberjack/nomad) Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve makes you an offer you can’t refuse.

Based on this drabble request:

Nomad Steve Rogers + “You'll never find anyone better than me.” + Lumberjack AU + Smashed and broken dreams of a good career forces reader back home. With a degree in her hand but no real chance of finding a good job reader has to accept any job she finds and Steve isn’t making it easy cause he wants her so he sabotages any job opportunity to make her depended on him. This really hits home 😭. Sorry 😭.

When you sat in your college lectures, you never expected to end up there. Never expected to be carrying armfuls of wood to a large stack, splinters catching in your gloves as each piece clacked between the noise of the logs being split. You didn’t expect to be working for pennies, busting your ass for hours, just to pay for the room above the liquor store in your hometown.

You didn’t expect any of it. It was a surreal nightmare. It was as if that purgatory could never let you go. The small town’s always claimed what was theirs. Blood grown of that soil could not venture far before the roots dragged them back, a constricting coil around the throat.

Another log split, almost exploding as the two halves fell on either side of the stump. Steve took one and chopped it again, then the other. Perfect quarters for you to pile in your arms and add to the mounting stack. Your sweat soaked the flannel coat, the same kind your father wore when you were a child, the same that everyone in town seemed to have somewhere in their closets.

Steve rested the head of the axe on the stump and leaned on it as he watched you.

“Think that’ll do,” he said as you heard him scratch his beard, “supposed to be a mild winter.”

“Mild? Around here? You know that just means the snow stops at the knee, right?”

You carried the last of the wood to the pile and laid it out in the niches perfectly. It was like a Tetris game, every piece had its place. You clapped off your gloves and looked back at Steve as he shook out his jacket and pulled it back on. Even as his work left him sweaty, you didn’t know how he could stand to take it off and bear the bitter winds in only a tee.

“My knees are higher than yours,” he said, “think I’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh,” you put your hands on your hips and looked out at the trees, the sun setting behind them in an amber haze.

“Hey,” he interrupted your sightseeing, “how about you stay for dinner? I finally tried that chili recipe…”

“You? Cooking?” you shook your head, “so that’s why I’m out here lugging wood.”

“Is that yes?”

“Do you have pepto?” you joked, “sure, guess I could. Save me the trouble of opening a can at home.”

You followed him inside as he held the door for you. You shoved your gloves in your flannel pocket and hung it as you wiggled out of your boots. Usually you tidied and did the household chores as Steve worked outside. It wasn’t much of a job but there was nothing to be had in the lifeless town. Still, even with the work you found in the city, you couldn’t afford even a closet to live in.

The house was nice, big. The country land was cheap and as Steve told it, he built the entire thing himself. It was a wooden castle with better amenities than most of the antique houses in town. He bragged about how he chose every countertop and cut down every leg of every chair and sanded and polished the thick table over a willowy fall.

But you wondered how he ended up there. He wasn’t from the town and his accent was not of the nearby metropolis. He must be from far away. You could see it was an escape from the life he didn’t talk about.

You sat at the table as he clinked around in the kitchen. He came out with two red bowls and set one before you as he sat at the corner near you. He handed you a spoon with a wooden handle and you twirled it as you watched the chili steam.

“Did you make these too?” you asked.

“Ha,” he said dryly and stirred his bowl.

“Well…” you shrugged and looked around.

He smiled at you and leaned his head back until his neck cracked. He let his spoon rest and rubbed his jaw. It twitched and he looked out the big bay windows of the dining room, the ridged bark and overgrown grass staring back.

“I…” he shifted and leaned on the arm of the chair, “I slipped your pay in your jacket.”

“Oh, thanks,” you were embarrassed to talk about money. He knew how little you made even if he did pay you generously for the work you did.

“But… I did want to talk about it, er, about…” he sighed and rested his chin in his hand as he traced his lower lip in thought. He sat up and cleared his throat, “we get along, don’t we?”

“Sure,” you blew on a spoonful and tasted the chili. It was spicy but not bad.

“I know how hard it’s been, Maggie, Lester, Jeff… tough break.”

You swallowed and sat back. You frowned. “How did you…” your resume had been turned down by almost every business owner and manager in town.

“It’s a small place, like that box you’re living in.”

“Steve--”

“I’m not saying it to embarrass you but… because I… want to…” he gripped his spoon, thought about having a bite, then let it go again, “I want to make you an offer.”

“You pay me more than you should for doing your chores,” you left your spoon in the bowl and ran your nails up and down your jeans, picking at the little metal snap by the pocket.

“That’s not--” he squared his shoulders and all humour left his face. He bit down and the vein in his head surged, “you could live here. The place is more than big enough… lonely.”

“I can’t--”

“Please, just listen,” he raised his palms, “I’m lonely and you’re in a bind. We could help each other.”

You squinted and shook your head. He took a breath and leaned forward. He reached under the table and touched your knee. He slid his hand up your thigh until it met yours and you stopped him.

“What--”

“You don’t even have to keep on cleaning or any of that,” he said quietly, “just be mine. You’ll be comfortable here. All you have to do is… be here… with me.”

“Steve,” you held onto his thick fingers, “maybe you don’t mean it that way but I’m not… not a prostitute.”

“It wouldn’t be that,” his throat constricted, “it would be convenient; practical.”

“I should go,” you shoved his hand off of you and stood, “you did a good job with the chili.”

The chair scraped behind you as you stepped out from between it and the table. Steve was fast and caught your shoulder before you could evade him.

“Go where? Do what exactly?” his voice was stern and stolid, “huh? No one in town’s gonna hire you, we both know that. And you can’t make it in the city.”

“That’s mean, Steve, I want to go,” you pouted, “let me go.”

“Why can’t you see I’m helping you?”

“You have helped me but what you’re… offering is insulting, don’t you understand?”

“It’s generous is what I’d say,” he grabbed your other arm and pulled you close as he snarled down at you, “I can give you everything you need and want, all you have to do is give me…” his eyes crawled down your body, “a little sweetness.”

“Steve--”

“You’re proud, I get it, you don’t want to admit you have no choice but what happens when Fletcher needs that room for storage or he rents it out to a higher bidder? Where do you go then? Huh, you keep handing out that resume and what has that degree got you but sorrys and no thank yous?”

“Get off--” you pushed on his chest as he squeezed your arms painfully.

“Let me tell you I will be the only yes you ever get,” he growled, “I made sure of it.”

“Wha-- I--”

“I’m not driving you back to town,” he released you, “so if you really wanna go, if your pride is worth all that, you can walk and see if you beat the wolves. Or you can stay and earn that extra bill I put in your pocket.”

“Steve, what the hell?”

“Your call,” his fingers stretched around the waist of his jeans as he flexed his chest, “reception’s shit so good luck getting a ride.”

“You can’t--”

“Let me make this easy for you. Walk and see if you make it home, stay and you’re already home.”

You searched his face. You’d never seen this side of him. You blinked and spun on your heel. Fuck him. You’d drive yourself and he could tell the police you stole his truck. You ran to the front door and snatched his keys from the hook. You bent to grab your boots but his hand on the back of your neck stopped you. 

He wrenched you back and tossed you against the wall. The keys tumbled to the floor and he kicked them away, “no cheating,” he said, “you wanna go then?”

Before you could answer the high whine of a coyote cut through the air and the glass slats of the front door dimmed. You faced him and your heart beat wildly.

“Why?”

“You going?” he asked again.

“Steve--”

“Well?”

“You can’t do this,” you pleaded, “keep your money then. Just take me home.”

“No,” he marched towards you and pinned you by your neck against the wall. His hand threatened to stifle your breath as he leaned in, “go or stay?”

You batted away tears with your lashes. You turned your head as far as you could whimpered as the sky continued to darken through the marbled glass, “Steve.”

“Go or stay?” he rasped as his breath tickled your cheek.

You trembled and touched his wrist. He squeezed just a little and you gasped, “and if I get lost? If I die out there?”

His lips curved and he chuckled lightly, “you willing to take that risk?”

You watched him, looking for any crack in his veneer, looking for an ounce of the man who’d been your godsend in that desolate town. He wasn’t there. It had all been an act, a trick. He had you in his snare like any good hunter.

“What choice do I have?” you whispered.

He pressed his forehead to yours and his large nose brushed against the tip of yours, “I’m not that bad,” his other hand crept along your stomach, “you’ll see that,” he played with the ribbed cotton, “you'll never find anyone better than me.”

🪓🪓🪓

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed. Thank you 💕

Can I please have 4,5 and 8 with hyunjae 🥺

4. You're staring again

5. Wow. You look stunning

8. Don't smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy

»»————-　♡　————-««​

notes; MIGHT HAVE NEARLY SOBBED WRITING THIS, THIS IS SO CUTE, AM DYING, HOPE YOU LIKE. Tbz and royalty aus are just a perfect match in my brain.

Thank you for requesting!!

wc; 1633

Drabble Game Requests | OPEN | Drabble Prompts; fluff | angst | funny

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You’re staring again,” Younghoon elbowed Hyunjae in the side, nearly causing the prince to drop his drink. Hyunjae shot a glance at his oldest friend, eyes wide as he was caught watching the far door.

“Was not,” Hyunjae mumbled, his cheeks tinged a light pink as he quickly averted his gaze anywhere else.

“She’ll be here.” Younghoon told him, voice softening as he realized what the prince was doing. Hyunjae didn’t respond, his attention now very focused on the glass in his hand. He had already brushed off half of the ladies at the ball, wanting to save his first dance for the special one he was waiting for.

“We are late because you spent so long with those hair curlers,” you hissed at your friend, hurrying up the palace stairs. “Beauty comes at the cost of time, my dear y/n,” the girl responded, batting her eyelashes at you. A smile threatened to pull at your lips as you rolled your eyes.

You were honestly foolish for even coming here, for assuming that the prince would be expecting you. He had his pick of all the unwed ladies attending, there was no way he would want to waste his time with you. It was really a miracle you had even spoken with him at all, a chance of fate some might say.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were here far too late, but the head baker had left you with a seemingly endless number of tasks to complete before you could leave. Granted, the tasks had been left to your entire team of bakers, however, as the youngest of the bunch they had graciously left them for you as an ‘initiation’. You supposed that taking advantage of the new staff was nothing new.

You worked on rolling out the dough for rolls, your arms screaming in pain after being worked for nearly 16 hours straight. Part of you wanted to leave, quit this job and go back to your town. Forget about your dreams of becoming head baker at the palace and admit to your family that they were right. Blinking back tears, you shook your head, no, you could do this. You wouldn’t let them force you out.

“Gods! You scared me half to death,” a voice cut through the silence, your eyes darting to a figure in the doorway. It was nearly 3am, no one should be awake right now.

“Don’t the baker's shift end at 6? You are either here very late or very early.” The voice commented, walking toward you. As they entered the light you realized, to your horror, that it was the prince. You were very aware of the fact that you were covered in flour and probably had horrendous dark circles under your eyes. You quickly wiped off your hands and bowed, your shoulders tensing up.

“Your Majesty” you greeted, voice wobbly and uncertain. He waved a hand, leaning against the counter you were working on.

“No need for the formalities…” he smiled at you and you could have sworn your heart jumped at the sight. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before… and I am a frequent visitor of the kitchens” he hummed, reaching under the counter to retrieve a glass before filling it with water.

“I just started working here… my name is y/n, your ma-“ a quick glance from him cut off your honorific. You shut your mouth and relaxed a little bit. You had always heard wonderful stories regarding the prince, both in reference to his kindness and beauty.

“You can call me Hyunjae” he said smoothly, chuckling when you quickly shook your head, mouth open in shock. You could never.

“So Miss y/n, what keeps you here so late or early?” he inquired, his eyes fixed on yours, nearly causing you to choke when you began to answer him. Why did your name have to sound so pretty on his lips?

“I stayed late to finish the work assigned to my t-“ you quickly cut off your words, you couldn’t rat out your team to the prince, that wouldn’t look good on you. “Assigned to me today” you quickly finished, hoping he did catch your slip up.

“Hmmm, a bakers’ assignment shouldn’t take into the night to finish” he mused lazily, moving around to stand next to you. He was quiet for a moment, sipping his water, either waiting for you to explain further or giving you time to think of a better answer. When you didn’t say anything he simply smiled and set his cup down, you were thankful he didn’t press the topic further.

“Would you like some help? I haven’t been able to fall asleep so perhaps a little bit of work might be good” he explained, causing your eyes to widen. You quickly shook your head, struggling to find out how to respond to such an offer. What sort of prince offered to help those working in his castle?

“I simply couldn’t… It wouldn’t be fit… You…” you struggled to supply, mind reeling with how close in proximity he was to you. This prince was going to be the death of you if he kept this up, your heart couldn’t handle it.

Hyunjae merely smiled at your weak protests, rolling up his sleeves and dousing his hands with flour. “An extra set of hands will make the work go faster” he offered, pulling off a piece of dough you had been kneading and began working it on the table.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You had been in shock that night, and the weeks after only showed you that the prince would not run out of ways to shock you further. Your nightly rendezvous in the kitchen became nearly a daily thing, him helping you with your tasks and the two of you chatting about everything and nothing.

You hadn’t planned on attending the ball, unsure if you would even be allowed to do so. Then Hyunjae asked, and you were learning that it was impossible for you to say no to him. He looked at you as if you weren’t a baker and him a prince, but as if you were just another lady and him just another gentleman.

That being said, you knew how foolish it was to come here tonight. Stolen moments in a dark kitchen were one thing, but a ball where there were dozens of other ladies in beautiful ball gowns… you wouldn’t stand a chance in your simple white lace dress. And yet, you found yourself utterly excited about the event, about the possibility and of course, about the prince.

“Thank you… for attending with me” you told your friend before the two of you stepped through the doors. “I don’t think I would have been able to do this alone” you admitted, sheepishly looking down at the floor.

“Don’t let the other ladies intimidate you y/n, you look absolutely stunning” your friend said with absolute certainty before pushing the large doors open.

You stepped through, the bright lights filling your vision before the ball came into view. Many eyes snapped up to yours before retreating, but as you slowly descended the stairs you found a pair of eyes focused entirely on you. Your cheeks flushed as you focused on not tumbling down the staircase, the prince maneuvering through the crowd to meet you at the bottom of the stairs.

Upon reaching the bottom you took Hyunjae’s outstretched hand, your eyes focused on him as the rest of the guests faded into the background.

“Wow.” He swallowed, his eyes momentarily flashing down to your feet and back to your eyes. “You look stunning” he breathed as your heart raced. You smiled softly, nervously glancing down at your gown.

“It was my mothers,” you said softly, unsure if why you had even said that as if he would care. He simply smiled at your words, leading you out onto the dance floor.

“She must be proud to have such a beautiful daughter” he commented, his eyes sparkling in the brightly lit room. You flushed once more, allowing him to lead you onto the ballroom floor.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his eyes trained on you as he held out his hand. You nodded a little too quickly, not trusting your voice to provide him with a verbal answer. When he pulled you in close, you could have sworn that time itself paused around you. You were entirely unaware of what was going on outside of you and the prince.

“I saved my first dance for you… I am so very happy that you decided to come” he admitted, his lips close to your ear. Your breath hitched and you nearly tripped over your own feet. Not only had he been waiting for you, he hadn’t danced with anyone else… If your heart hadn’t been racing before it certainly was now.

When you didn’t answer he leaned back a little bit as he looked down at you wearing the most dazzling smile you had ever seen.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy” you breathed before you could even register what you were saying. You flushed and his smile only grew… gods you could have sworn there were stars in his eyes.

“Like what?” he promoted, amusement swimming in his gaze. You look a steadying breath and brought your eyes back up to his, getting lost in the depth of them.

“Like I’m the only girl in the room” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. He let out a breathy laugh, his arms tightening around your waist.

“In my eyes, you are” he stated, the sincerity in his voice washing over you.

All Things Come to an End

A/N: This is my collab piece for @quirkyseastone 's milestone event!

Enemies to Lovers + Fairy Tale AU + Bakugo

Synopsis: When it is time for the heir to the throne to seek a spouse, one champion a month is chosen to go through a series of challenges. Bakugo is the first champion from his village to be chosen in several years and he will do anything to win. You, the heir to the throne, are terrified of change, and will do anything to keep it from happening.

Word Count: ~3.5k

The buzz of the hall came to an abrupt halt as he came onto the stage; Yagi Toshinori, the previous champion had at long last come to pick from their village.

“Hello, citizens of Eikka! As you know, the royal family is still looking for a worthy partner for the heir. Many of you are gathered here today for a chance to join the family, whether that be for social reasons, for wealth, or just to prove you can. Regardless, only one of you has been chosen.”

“This month’s champion, from the village of Eikka is…”

Amidst the anticipation of the announcement Bakugo balled his fists, hoping no one would take notice of the way his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms. His eyes darted from person to person, heart racing as they waited.

“Katsuki Bakugo!”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, had he heard right? Was it actually him? Arms shoved him towards the stage and he stumbled up the stairs. The lights were blinding, he’d waited for this moment for so long, and now it had finally arrived.

“Bakugo, what are you hoping to achieve this month? Not just for yourself but for your village?” Yagi asked, eyes fixated on the young man.

Bakugo blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the bright spotlights.

“Honestly, I just want to win. I will give this village the honor of having its champion become the first in its history to become a part of the royal family.”

Yagi smiled, nodding at his answer. He then grabbed Bakugo’s arm, thrusting it up towards the sky,

“Citizens, your champion!”

-

You sat leaned back in your chair, feet on the desk as you read the file you were given. You sighed, giving an incredulous look to your first knight, Keigo,

“This is this month’s champion? How boring.” You tossed the file onto the desk with the others from the previous months, “He’ll probably give up within the first week.”

Keigo tutted, “Now now Y/N, I would give him more credit than that. He is ranked number one in his village in all the important areas.”

You scoffed, “Except in diplomacy. How am I supposed to lead beside someone who can’t negotiate his way out of a paper bag without ripping it?”

The corners of Keigo’s mouth twitched, “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

-

Bakugo walked home, chest puffed out and heart soaring. Midoriya, his childhood friend and rival, walked with him, a much shyer figure compared to the newly chosen champion.

“I always knew you could do it.” Midoriya said, eyes sparkling.

Bakugo laughed, “Of course! I always knew I was worthy, now’s my chance to prove it.”

Midoriya paused, shoulders tense, “Aren’t you afraid you might die? The last champion didn’t come home.”

Bakugo stopped in his tracks, causing his friend to nearly stumble.

“Why would I be afraid of a silly thing like death? I’m way too good to die.”

Midoriya straightened, extending a finger and poking him in the chest, hard.

“You better not. I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

-

Bakugo stood at the edge of the forest, heart pounding as he prepared to set off on his journey. This would be it, the fruits of his labor, everything he had been working towards would be decided this month. Everyone in the village had come to see him off, but he had shooed them away, telling them he needed his concentration. Even though it appeared they had left, it still felt as though there were eyes watching him, studying his every move, waiting for him to fail.

He walked, careful to move as silently as possible; oftentimes champions were ambushed in the forests outside their towns, usually by a nameless jealous person who was afraid of their dreams of wealth and fortune being dashed. There was a large crack of wood, and Bakugo spun around, knife clutched tightly in his hand.

“There’s no need for all that, it’s only an old man.”

Bakugo studied the figure before him, it did appear to be an old man, harmless enough, but there was no telling if he had allies in the woods, waiting, watching.

The man laughed, a gravelly sound that grated in Bakugo’s ears. “I brought you an amulet.” As if sensing his inevitable protest, the man continued,

“You may not think you need it, but every little bit of protection helps doesn’t it?”

Bakugo frowned, head cocked to the side as he studied the situation, worst case, he could die, but then again he had a real possibility of doing so in the challenges, or best case, the amulet really would protect him.

He took the amulet from the man’s outstretched hand and put it in his pocket.

“I can’t promise that I’ll wear it, but thank you.”

Bakugo turned on his heel, knife still clutched tightly in his palm, and set off on his journey.

-

“Lame!” You threw a piece of popcorn at the crystal ball you were watching Bakugo through. “You can’t just take the amulet, you have to at least say no first.”

You looked at the papers on your desk, the final preparations for your challenges were made, all it needed was your signature and everything would be complete.

Stealing a glance at the crystal ball showing his progress you smiled, “Ah, I can’t wait to crush another one.”

-

The path to the castle was steep and winding and Bakugo’s legs were aching by the time he reached the gate. A pair of trumpets announced him and the gate opened to reveal you standing there, your first knight just behind your shoulder.

“Greetings champion, I am the royal heir, Y/N.”

Bakugo bowed his head and opened his mouth to introduce himself but you waved him off.

“I know who you are. Katsuki Bakugo, selfish man with an artificially inflated ego who thinks he is better than everyone else.”

His cheeks burned at your words but he held his tongue, there was no way for him to talk back here, you were royalty and despite appearances, Katsuki knew his place.

You smiled, “Congratulations, you just passed your first challenge.”

Katsuki’s head snapped up, “Really?”

Your smile immediately disappeared, “Of course not. You really think winning my hand would be that easy?”

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that he had fallen for such a petty trick.

Waving your hand in the air, you turned to walk away.

“This will be hell, I’ll make sure of it. Keigo will take you around the grounds and show you to your quarters. I expect you to come to me at 7 sharp in the morning.”

Keigo bowed as you walked away and you were quickly accompanied by several other attendants.

Keigo took a moment to look over Katsuki with his keen eyes, narrowing them, he cleared his throat.

“Y/N is really something, don’t you think?” He said, an almost daring tone in his voice.

Bakugo’s brows furrowed as he studied the older man, “Yeah, something.”

Keigo turned and set a quick pace, enough that Bakugo had to jog to keep up.

“Here are the training grounds, you can use them at your leisure though I can’t say how much good it’ll do you; for most of the challenges you aren’t allowed to use weapons. The castle gardens are that way, the heir can often be found reading there. There is the castle, obviously.”

Bakugo tried to take in as much information as he could in the short span he was given. Keigo led him inside and the pair walked up a long staircase. A simple door lay in front of them, wooden and unimpressive looking.

“Your quarters are here through that door, try to get rest when you can, you’ll need it.”

Keigo pointed down a hallway, “Down there is the tower. You’ll go there to meet with the heir to get your challenges. This is where I leave you, there is a kitchen stocked with food in your quarters, I presume you can make your own meals, yes?”

Bakugo nodded and Keigo nodded in affirmation.

“You shall meet the heir in the morning to receive your first challenge. Get some sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

-

The door to the tower stood large and intimidating; he knocked once and the door opened, revealing a long winding staircase. When he reached the top, he hesitated, thumbing at the amulet that lay under his clothes. This is stupid, how is an amulet going to help me?

The door opened to reveal Keigo, and Bakugo strode in after a quick bow to the heir.

“Greetings Heir.”

You smiled but it lacked warmth, “Good morning Champion. Are you ready to receive your first challenge?”

“Yes I am.”

Your smile widened, “Glad to hear it. Just to refresh your memory, you have 5 challenges to complete, with varying degrees of difficulty.”

“Yes Heir.”

“Your first task will be to retrieve a pearl necklace from the bottom of the nearby lake.”

Bakugo stiffened, it was winter outside, the water would be ice cold.

“Yes Heir.”

-

Bakugo tried to hide how he was shivering, but the erratic fog of his breath gave him away. The knight accompanying him tried to reassure him with a smile.

“There are 85 pearls in a necklace.” The knight said quietly, as Bakugo stood at the edge of the lake.

Bakugo turned to look at him, “Excuse me?”

The knight said nothing further.

-

He could feel the icy water in his veins, in his very soul. It was cold, so very cold, and he had only found 20 pearls so far. He swam to the surface once more, adding a singular pearl to his pile on a tree stump.

Before he dove again, he tapped the amulet, secretly hoping it would bring him strength through this trial. This time when he dove, the water felt warm and when he reached the sandy bottom he found a long strand of pearls.

When he emerged to count them, he was delighted to find that it was a string of 65 pearls, missing 20 to make an even 85.

-

You hissed as he pulled the long string of pearls from the water. How did he get that? I cut those off myself.

There was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal Bakugo, dripping icy water on your floor while holding a complete pearl necklace. He walked towards you and bowed at the desk you sat behind.

“May I put the necklace on you?”

You hummed an affirmative, and he came behind you, shaking hands dripping ice cold water down your back as he tried to clasp the necklace. You hissed from the cold, but the more overwhelming feeling was the heat that seemed to radiate from him. He was so close, for some reason it made your heart beat faster, and that made you seethe with anger.

“Congratulations, you have successfully completed the first task. Go rest and save your strength for the day ahead.”

As soon as he was out of earshot you stood, slamming your hands on the desk.

“Keigo!”

“Yes, my Heir.”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, “Was that just a fluke? I cut that necklace myself, there should have been 85 individual pearls and one string with a clasp at the bottom of that lake.”

Keigo’s expression was unreadable, “I don’t know, but I shall endeavor to find out for you.”

He left you sitting at your desk, chewing on your lip in frustration.

-

“Your next task is translating a love poem into the ancient language.”

The paper given to him read as follows,

‘I have loved you since before my first breath and will love you long after my last

You are like the breeze on a hot summer's day, refreshing and just what I need

I will be by your side until the end and beyond it, we are bound by fate forever’

He had spent hours in the library, flipping between pages and pages of books that might give him an answer.

-

You smiled thoughtfully, “Look at him Keigo, so lost in thought. He should be stuck on this one for a while.”

-

As Bakugo pulled book after book off the shelf with no success he absentmindedly thumbed the amulet. He turned the corner to make a pass at a bookshelf he had cleared and there was a single book still left on it. A quick glance showed it was exactly what he needed and he had to restrain himself from running back to his work station.

-

You frowned as you watched him and it deepened as you realized which book he was reading.

“I don’t understand, I removed that book from the library myself.”

Your brows furrowed as you rewound the footage, it was subtle, but you saw Bakugo’s hand briefly go to his chest. There was a flash of silver and you gasped, “It’s that damned amulet, it must be.”

“Keigo!” You called, he appeared at your side at once, “I need you to do something about the amulet that boy is wearing.”

“I shall take care of it at once.”

-

Bakugo examined the manuscript. The poem was somehow more beautiful after you read the translation. He went to the tower with paper in hand, heart hammering at the prospect of reading it to you. The door opened for him immediately and he did the customary bow.

“You were able to translate it?” You asked, an almost imperceptible quiver in your voice.

“Yes, shall I read it to you?”

When you nodded, Bakugo held the paper before him and took a deep breath,

“I love you from my first breath and I love you after my last breath

You are like the wind on a hot summer day, refreshing and exactly what I want

I will be with you until the end, and we will be bound forever”

He hoped you couldn’t hear the shake in his voice as he read it.

You paused, cheeks hot with embarrassment,

“Congratulations Champion, you have successfully completed your second task.”

-

You sat on your balcony watching the moon when Keigo appeared next to you.

“Is it done?” You asked, not bothering to hide the shake in your voice.

“Yes.”

Keigo sat next to you on the lounge chair as you patted for him to sit down. You leaned against him, a silent plea for support.

“Keigo?” You asked after a while.

He hummed in response and you took a shaky breath.

“Is it wrong to be scared? There’s a very real chance he could win.”

Keigo wrapped his arm around you, it’s weight was a welcome comfort.

“Not at all, if he wins, your life will change. But all things must change at some point or another.”

You grabbed his arm with your own, holding it tighter against you.

“But I’m not ready to leave you yet.” You said quietly.

Keigo smiled sadly and kissed the top of your head, “Oh little bird, all things must come to an end. But I will be here always, your faithful knight, nothing more, nothing less.” We were never anything more.

You let the tears flow down your cheeks, Keigo held you as you cried long into the night.

-

The next challenge was to move a pile of boulders to the top of a tall hill without them rolling back down. Bakugo carried boulder after boulder up the hill but no matter what he did they would roll back to the bottom.

One of the boulders split and he got an idea, a sudden spark of innovation.

“Am I allowed to use items for this one?”

The knight nodded and Bakugo jumped up, grabbing an axe and a flour sack. He hacked at the boulders until the sun sank low in the sky and his shoulders were on fire, but when he was finished he had a large sack of pebbles.

He took it easily to the top of the hill and laid it down flat, it wouldn’t roll down the hill.

-

You couldn’t help but marvel at his idea, it required adaptability and working with materials you had that weren’t necessarily suited to the job.

He entered the tower with a bow, and you smiled a genuine smile.

“Congratulations Champion, you have successfully completed your third challenge.”

-

Bakugo couldn’t get your smile out of his head, now that he had seen it for real he never wanted to let it go. He somehow wanted to be the reason you smiled, and he would do anything to see it again.

-

“Your fourth challenge is to save someone in distress. Go to town and see what you can do.”

When Bakugo made it to the town he was surprised to find it remarkably empty for a place that was usually bustling. He wandered the city, and only found a dog with a hurt paw.

He sat down and pulled the medicine kit from his bag, coaxing the dog towards him. He gently cleaned and wrapped the dog’s hurt paw and sent her on her way, with a bit of food first.

-

Bakugo was sent to the gardens instead of the tower to receive his judgement, he arrived a bit early though and stumbled across you tending to your plants as you hummed. His heart clenched, it was a little adorable, seeing the normally closed off you so open while by yourself. There was something remarkably authentic about it, seeing your slumped posture, your genuine smile.

Once you noticed him you straightened your posture and your clothes, expression returning to the neutral one of a ruler.

“That was an interesting loophole you found there. Congratulations Bakugo, you have successfully completed your fourth challenge.”

My name. The Heir said my name.

-

“I think I want him to win, Keigo.” You said softly, voice scarcely above a whisper.

Keigo smiled, “That’s wonderful Y/N, I’m so glad.”

You didn’t notice the sadness as he left, nor the tears brimming above his cheeks.

-

“Your fifth and final challenge is the most difficult. You must bring me back a ruby from a dragon’s horde without weapons.”

Bakugo nodded and went to gather the necessary provisions for the journey.

It took four days to reach the mountain where the dragon lived, now he stood at the mouth of the cave, trying to stifle the nervousness threatening to explode from his chest.

He entered the cave with his hands up to show he was not a threat, all weapons left at the entrance to the cave.

The dragon regarded him curiously, “Who are you mortal? Why have you come to this place?”

“I am no threat to you. I only wish to make the one I love happy.”

The dragon chuckled, pillars of smoke rising from its nostrils, “Oh? You’ve come here for someone else? How selfless of you.”

Bakugo shoved his frustration down in favor of taking a deep breath. “I only wish to make the one I want to be with happy.”

“And how can I help with that? Wouldn’t your lover be happier if you returned alive.”

Bakugo remained steadfast, stilling his rapid heart.

“I only wish for one ruby from your horde.”

The dragon laughed once more, this time emitting sparks, “And what shall I get in return?”

Bakugo somehow stood even taller, “An ally, who will make sure you remain unbothered on your mountain.”

The dragon considered his offer for a moment then nodded.

“Very well, you may have a ruby. Be warned though, if I find anything else missing our agreement will be void and I will attack your kingdom.”

He nodded. “Of course, thank you.”

Bakugo picked up his weapons and prepared for the journey back to the castle.

-

You couldn’t help but run to him as he knelt at the gate with the ruby in his hand. You waved him up with your hand and wrapped him in an embrace.

“Congratulations Katsuki Bakugo, you have successfully completed your fifth and final challenge.”

The king came out, announced by a fanfare of trumpets. “There will be a ball tonight in your honor.”

-

Bakugo took your hand in the empty hallway, wanting to pause before you went into the eyes of the public.

“Remember when you hated me?”

You snorted, “I never hated you Katsuki.”

He turned to you with a raised eyebrow, “Oh really? Then what was the artificially inflated ego comment about?”

You gave him a coy smile, planting a kiss on his cheek. “That was a test.”

You opened the door and stepped into the light, hand in hand, until forever.

-

All things must come to an end, but sometimes the good leaves to make room for something better.

Soulmates

JJK X Reader soulmate AU

Warnings: Minor character death(car crash, only mentioned nothing graphic), Drinking

I don’t know if this is what you (the requester) were going for? this is somehow where I ended up

Everyone in this world has a soulmate. Someone that is meant to complete them and make them feel whole.

Your other half can be identified by the matching birthmark hidden somewhere on their body. There are also a lot of people whose marks are so close to matching that it almost feels like the real thing… almost. Sadly, many don’t ever get to experience the love of their true soulmate, so they settle for the closest they can get.

Jungkook was convinced he was one of the lucky few. Looking at her made his heart feel like it was going to burst. Every time he saw her the world got brighter, the birds started singing a little louder, and his stress nearly melted away entirely … nearly. But at 17 no one is going to pay attention to nearly.

Their birthmark’s matched so closely, each sporting a small puzzle piece on opposite wrists. You wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at the loved-up pair as they walked together hand in hand. And he loved her so completely, and her him, that they never thought to question it. Madly in love until the day she died.

Jungkook spent weeks almost comatose when the news of her car crash reached him. Couldn’t move, eat, sleep. To lose your soulmate so young was said to be a fate worse than never finding them at all. Even after coming through the other side people could tell he wasn’t the same carefree young boy he had been, most likely never would be again. His eyes’ looked far older than his years now, his soft features much more angular.

Three months after her death he resolve to never fall in love again, happy in the knowledge that he got to know her even for such a short amount of time.

….

You met Jungkook at a party. Someone from Uni decided that 24 was the right age for a big birthday bash. They hired out an entire club and set up a series of activities for people to enjoy. A mechanical ball on the main floor, a ball pit to the side, a BBQ in the smoking area, and a bouncy castle in the downstairs 90’s themed area. It really was an amazing event. You however spent most of your time watching the quiet Korean boy in the corner, every time his eyes met yours you felt compelled to move to him, talk to him, dance with him, anything that would get his attention on you. At the time you put it down to the alcohol. It took you exactly 3 and a half drinks to pick up the courage and interrupt his current conversation.

He was very sweet, really sweet considering he clearly didn’t want to be talking to you. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted and the nervous playing with his sleeves, still you persevered. Something about him wouldn’t let you give up, not yet at least. Your saving grace came when your favourite band came blaring over the speakers. “PRETTYMUCH” aren’t an underrated band per say but it’s difficult to find someone who knows them in your circle, so when Jungkook’s face lit up at the same time as yours you knew you had your in. So with the Phases remix blaring through the club you took your opportunity.

“I love this song!” You took his hand and pulled him on to the dance floor before you really realised that’s what you are doing. To start with he was frozen, a little shocked by your boldness, but as you gave it your all he joined in, loosening up for the first time that entire night. After that it was a lot easier to talk to him, you actually went into the smoking area to talk more about shared music interests.

After you went to get a drink you got caught up with some others and he came to find you. It felt like an electric shock when he’d grabbed your hand to get your attention, but there were a lot of balloons around so that would explain the residual electricity. By the time the party was over, and the club was closing, you didn’t want to leave him, not just now but ever. You found yourselves wandering around aimlessly, talking about nothing until the sun came up. Looking back it was then you decided Jungkook was it for you. You had never really believed in the soulmate tradition until you met him.

Weeks go by of you texting back and forth. You found out the reason he was so into music was because he was a musician himself, he even promised to perform for you sometime. A lot of promises were made in those messages.

‘There’s this amazing Restaurant in the city’ you claimed promising to take him with you next time.

‘I really want to see this movie’ he said promising to pay for tickets when it came out.

‘We should go see this band together’ The number one promise between the two of you, quickly racking up a lot of different acts to see together.

So when one of those bands turned up on the roster for the local you’d bought tickets immediately sending him the confirmation. Your stomach had fluttered thinking about seeing him in person again. And so you counted down the days as they passed. Picked and repicked your outfit. Talked yourself in and out of going. Eventually the day arrived. The doorbell signalling his arrival was deafening, ringing out through your small studio apartment. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door.

He was flawless, your tipsy memory hadn’t done him justice. A broad chest draped in a white long sleeve tee, ripped skinnies straining against his thighs, his hair swept into a James Dean quiff. You might’ve laughed at the way your outfits had accidently matched (a black crop with white skinnies) had you been capable of making a noise.

“Ready to go?” He asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. You’d nodded, blushing when you realised you had been staring.

It was a short bus ride into the town centre. Spent in relatively comfortable silence arms brushing against one another in the limited space on the crowded vehicle. The club was packed wall to wall when you got inside, no hope of getting to the front of the crowd, or so you’d thought. Jungkook grabbed your hand winked at you and began heading in the opposite direction of the stage. He led you up some back stairs and on to a balcony you hadn’t ever noticed before.

“I’ve played here before, almost no one knows this is here, but it will give us the perfect view.” He dropped your hand in favour of leaning over the railing. You couldn’t help but feel cold at the loss. The performance was great, you found yourselves screaming lyrics back and forth at one another. Some people had cottoned on to your little hiding spot and soon it became as packed as the rest of the club. Whether he was trying to protect you from the others or he was pushed there you will never know, but Jungkook ended up caging you to the railing, head resting on your shoulder.

After the show you’d decided it was time to ask him how he felt. The club was still busy, but the two of you had been in a quiet corner on your own nursing drinks and chatting aimlessly.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You asked, broaching the topic carefully. You watched closely for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. Instead he just shrugged.

“I did once.” It was too blunt, you knew you should’ve stopped but you couldn’t, now you’d decided to tell him it was like verbal diarrhoea.

“I didn’t think I did, I mean I’ve never seen any ‘matching birthmarks’ and every couple I know is perfectly happy… but then I met you and I keep thinking about it, and you, and how I feel about you.” You watched as his face goes from pensive to a deer caught in the headlights.

“I… I have to leave now.” He got up and ran into the crowd before you even had a chance to reach for him. He dipped through a back entrance of the club and into the night before you could even push through the first layer of people.

The ride home had seemed a lot longer. Holding back tears had proved extremely difficult. Of all the reactions he could’ve given you that might’ve been the worst one. Somehow you found yourself thinking even him laughing in your face might’ve been better. You left the lights in your studio switched off that night. Made a beeline for your bed and passed out face down.

It would’ve felt like a bad dream when you woke up… if it hadn’t been for the crusty mascara tracking down your cheeks. You’d picked up your phone from where it lay abandoned next to you. Battery on 12%. You’d decided then it’d be best to run damage control, at least save the friendship.

Y/N: I’m sorry about last night…

You hadn’t expected his reply to be quick, so it’d surprised you when the typing bubbles appeared immediately; and furthered your sadness when they disappeared moments later without a message.

For days you spiralled. Going over the moment again and again in your head. Each replay turning the memory into something worse than the original.

Eventually you plucked yourself out of bed, deciding to face the problem head on and talk to the friend that invited you both to their birthday in the first place.

She met you at a café downtown during her lunch break. It was obvious by your red rimed eyes and sniffling nose that you had been crying but she was nice enough to ignore it for the most part. You caught up on her life for a little while until you physically couldn’t hold back anymore.

You told her exactly what had happened between you and JK, watching as her expression got both more understanding and pitying as you got closer to the end. Whatever you thought she was going to tell you was no where close to the story you got. You sat mouth wide open as she told you about the accident, and the way it affected Jungkook. It made you want to cry all over again. You didn’t know what to say once she had finished, stewing in your own thoughts for a while. The main thought that kept coming to the front of your mind was one that made you feel so evil. But you had to get it out

“What if she wasn’t really his soulmate. What if he was never meant for her” Its barely above a whisper but your friend heard it.

“He truly believes that she was” She replied squinting at you. Her break ended shortly after that leaving you alone with your thoughts.

…

It’s almost a month later when you see Jungkook again. Hadn’t heard a single thing from him since the concert but at least you knew why.

This time it was someone pool party. You honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him there. Didn’t even know you had mutual friends past that one girl. You didn’t think twice about your birthmark when you stripped down to your two piece. Why would you? Everyone has one. You were lay out on a sun-lounger with a drink when you spotted him. Tucked away in a corner once again, the only difference this time was his attention was already on you. He looked as good as ever, hair damp and slicked back, Long-sleeved neoprene shit covering his torso but trunks showing off his amazing thighs. You’d forced yourself to look away form him but could still feel the intensity of his gaze on you.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore, too hot under the sun and his stare you decided to change out of your swimsuit into a sundress for the evening. Heading inside you found your way into someone’s bedroom to get changed. Perhaps you should’ve checked to see if the door the locked though, because just as you had wiggled out of the bikini top Jungkook burst into the room.

“Ah shit… Sorry… I um.” His hand had flown in front of his eyes as he’d slammed the door shut behind him and you’d immediately reached for the flimsy dress pulling it over you torso so he could reopen his eyes.

“What in the actual fuck Jungkook?” you whisper screamed not wanting to draw attention to the two of you hidden away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think… I just needed to see…”

“See what?! My boobs? I think you managed that one perv. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks and now all of a sudden you can’t wait long enough to knock.” You came across a lot meaner than you had meant, you just hadn’t been prepared for him to want to speak to you again.

“No I’m sorry I’ll go, this was a bad idea, I was probably seeing things anyway.” He mumbled looking sheepishly at the floor/

“No wait it’s okay, I really want to apologise don’t leave.” You took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to meet yours properly. When they did you could see the shock behind them.

“Why do you need to apologise? I’m the one that ran off, I never even told you why and I fucked up and I’m sorry I just…” You reached for him then, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and then realised it wasn’t your place, arm dropping heavily back to your side. “I felt so guilty with you, not because of you, because of me.” You nodded in understanding.

“I found about your soulmate after I confessed to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I never would’ve brought it up if I had known you had already found yours.” You’d broken eye contact with him then unable to watch the sadness in his eyes and not be able to do anything about it.

“That’s why I felt so guilty though because the way I feel about you is so similar to the way I felt about her, how I still feel about her deep down. I was so confused because you’re only supposed to get one soulmate, and if I could feel the same way about you in such a short time… it just feels like I’m betraying her by loving you.” He stepped forward reaching for your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. “The today when I saw your birthmark on your thigh I could’ve cried.” He uses his free hand to unzip the shirt he’d been wearing. He pulled his left arm from the sleeve exposing his birthmark to you. A puzzle piece to fit perfectly into your own.

You’d gasped at the revelation you were right. He was meant to be yours. And yet it didn’t feel right. The anguish on his face was clear, the internal fight he had obviously been having with himself ever since the concert.

“Letting yourself love me now doesn’t mean you loved her any less” you whispered, allowing yourself to move even closer to him, wrapping him in your arms. He’d nuzzled into your neck allowing tears to stream down his cheeks and onto your shoulder. You’d felt every bit of stress leave his body as he cried. Emotions he hadn’t even know he had been holding onto, finally letting himself really breath since he had lost her all those years ago.

You’d lost track of the time, just stood with him, holding him until the final few sniffles came. His cheeks had been puffy by and red when he pulled away, wiping his face on the sleeve still on his right arm.

“Do you want to leave? We can go back to mine” You’d asked carefully, not willing to let him go home alone after feeling like that. He’d nodded weakly, sliding his arm back into the shirt before taking your hand in his. You’d headed for the door only to be brought back by the hand he had on yours. He’d pulled you so close you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, watched your reaction before leaning in and kissing you. It was salty with left over tears, but you wouldn’t change you first kiss for the world. Everything felt like it clicked into place in that moment, the world tilted on its axis. The exchange was short lived, a chaste peck followed by a few smaller pecks before he let you lead him all the way home.

Masterlist

Meeting and Dating Jay Gatsby

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You officially met Jay a while after he first saw and fell for you. You came from a relatively low class family and lived in tiny home with your parents; as most unmarried girls did. 

- It was out of sheer coincidence that Gatsby first saw you. Your fathers shop was a little ways away from a usual meeting place of his and you’d often sit under the awning when business was slow. He’d just been walking outside of said place when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you, fanning yourself in the shade. 

- Even in the heat with your face flushed and/or damp and your hair a bit frazzled; you still looked angelic. There was a certain sweetness to you; an undeniable beauty to your face and a subdued grace to your demeanor. He found himself returning to the area in hopes of seeing you again; even when he had no business there. 

- Gatsby's never been very good with women; at least women he found extremely charming, so as much as he wished to, he was far too nervous to just walk over to you. But then he saw his way in.

- Nick Carraway, whom you greeted with familiarity as he stopped just as the entrance of your fathers shop to speak with you for a minute. You should have seen his awkward pacing outside of Nicks house before and as he arrived home, waiting to ask a favor of him; it really was quite adorable. 

- So Gatsby allows himself to ask Nick if he’d be able to help him in his endeavor and obviously his friend agreed. You’d known Nick for a good few months and had gotten quite friendly with him so when he telephoned your home and invited you over for tea, you didn’t think much of it. 

- What did surprise you was the fact that another, sharply dressed man arrived at the house a few moments after you had; a man Nick introduced as Jay Gatsby. He initially seemed somewhat constipated as the three of you sat together though you occasionally thought you’d seen him sneaking glances your way. Finally, Nick exclaimed that he had to take a quick trip into town and told you that he’d be right back, leaving you alone with the man in his living room.

- It was a bit awkward at first but then you’d mentioned the flowers; the ones he’d bought, and how you had a memory involving them or that you’d always wanted to see ones like it and that they didn't grow anywhere you lived. His face softened as you spoke and a smile spread across it, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you in absolute adoration. 

- In that moment, you reminded him of himself in a way. A penniless dreamer who was worth more than the life they were handed. It was like he was back in North Dakota looking at his younger self staring at the stars. 

- Nick “returns home” only to be excitedly invited by Gatsby to the castle that he calls a home; after you expressed interest in “one day seeing it”. Like any normal person would be, you were in awe of the place, and Gatsby was falling even more in love with you by the minute. 

- A day or so later, you’d gotten a knock at your door and lo and behold, it was one of Gatsby’s butlers, delivering to you a handwritten invitation to one of his parties like you were the queen of England. How could you refuse?

- You put on your best dress; though you still end up feeling severely underdressed the minute you get there, and call a cab. Gatsby lingered about and observed you for a bit before he asked the “old sport” (Nick) to bring you to him at the top of the stairs. 

- Soon enough you were smiling up at and greeting him kindly before  the two of you began to speak to each other. You spent the rest of the night, dancing, drinking, gushing to him about his party, and occasionally moving to more intimate settings for more personal conversation. 

- By the end of the night, you were quite smitten with him, and he’s obviously more than smitten with you. He’s called away on business as you’re leaving but he insists that you let one of his men drive you home and asks that you call him the next day, to which you agree without thinking.

- You call him at noon and his butler picks up, handing the phone to him after a moments wait. Jay eagerly gets on and says “how about you come over”, after which he tells you he’ll come to pick you up. 

- As you’re getting ready to leave, he speaks with your father and you can overhear him discussing business with the man. Later on, you’ll learn that he proposed that he could “help” your father with his shop which only made the man even more happy to let you spend time with the bachelor. 

- So, you spend the day with the man, exploring his home and swimming on his beach while being waited on hand and foot. You felt like an absolute princess for the first time in your life and the way he looked at you; the way every girl wanted to be looked at, was addicting. 

- You share your first kiss that day while the two of you are swimming. You’re both laughing and bobbing next to each other when you meet eyes, your laughter fading naturally and comfortably. He reaches out to brush the hair from your face and you let him, though his hand lingers on your cheek.

“I’d like to kiss you.” He says and it’s part statement and part question. 

- You inhale sharply and in a sort of high, flustered whisper, you say “then go on”, and he smiles before doing so, his chilled lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss; one that conveys just how much he’d grown to love you in one desperate action. 

- In that kiss is a promise; one that both of you recognize. The promise of a life spent happily by each others sides; the life he’d dreamed of since the moment he saw you. 

- He gives you as much affection in public as he can; mainly innocent things like soft kisses and gentle touches. He likes to treat you like a lady so he’s more reserved in his actions than his party guests are with their women.

- Handholding. He occasionally likes enveloping one of; or the two of, your hands in both of his while the two of you are sitting and talking; or just laying a hand on top of yours and lightly grasping it.

- Hugs from behind. He likes holding you close and resting his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face against yours.

- Kisses pressed to your jaw, neck and shoulders; especially after he kisses your lips. You’re usually in a more intimate setting when he does.

- Forehead kisses no matter where you are.

- Sometimes, his kisses alone are enough to make you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. He’s a very passionate man when it comes to you.

- Laying your head in his lap. He’ll brush his fingers across your hair and back, and try his best to snuggle close to you whenever he can.

- Cuddling with your head on his chest and his arms wrapped wrapped you; he likes feeling your arm laying across his stomach or your hand resting on his chest. He also likes spooning you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder.

- Wearing his silky, expensive shirts in the mornings. He loves seeing you in them, there’s just something so charming about it to him.

- He’ll either just call you by your name or “darling”. He likes the sophisticated sound of it.

- Lots of photos. He’s got a scrapbook of the two of you; mostly you.

- Being introduced to a bunch of A-list celebrities. All you have to do is tell him that you like someone’s something and he can set up a lunch “date” for the two of you.

- The entire world couldn’t even compare to you in his eyes. You’re everything to him and he’s damn proud that you’re his girl.

- He can never get enough of you. No matter how long you’ve been together, he’ll always want to be close to your side.

- Beach dates. He’s got his own personal beach so why wouldn’t you use it?

- Boat, or rather Yacht, rides. Sometimes, the two of you will fall asleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms in one of the ships rooms during the warm summer days.

- Lounging in the sun or in the shade of his gardens. You’ve had quite a few picnics in his huge backyard.

- Gourmet dinners.

- Having tea together.

- Double dates with Nick and Jordan; or whatever girl he’s found himself getting involved with.

- Considering just how rich he is, he; most likely, has a theater room in his home so you can watch any film you’d like in the comfort of his arms. He certainly wouldn’t object to taking you to a broadway show either.

- Having everything you could ever want or ask for. He absolutely spoils you; it’s one of his favorite things to do.

- Going on drives.

- Since it’s the 1930s and because your family wasn’t exactly wealthy, you most likely don’t know how to drive and he found it quite fun to teach you. You spent a day clumsily drifting around the grounds of his home while he smiled and laughed.

- Getting to do everything men at the time did. If you want to experience something then god dammit, he’s going to let you!

- Everyone is aggressively nice to you because of who he is. You definitely have to get used to suddenly being treated like a Princess by just about everyone in town.

- Every once in a while, he convinces himself about certain things and once he does, nothing can change his mind about them. He has a lot of expectations; though they usually don’t affect you in a negative way.

- Dancing together. Could be at a party, could be when you’re alone, either way, he loves doing it with you.

- Sneaking away at parties. He enjoys the atmosphere and, to an extent, he throws them to keep up a good reputation with his associates, but he does prefer to just spend time with you when it really comes down to it.

- His lips taste like champagne a lot of the time; especially if you’re kissing at one of his parties.

- Being interrupted by business. You saw how incessant his “colleagues” can be, don’t be surprised when he gets called away from you; though he oftentimes tells them he’s busy if you’re doing something special.

- Exploring his home. He’s got more rooms than anyone could ever need and you constantly find yourself seeing new things whenever you take it upon yourself to travel through his mansion.

- Getting to hear his life story. At the beginning of your relationship, he chooses the best aspects of it and leaves out the questionable or less desirable parts. He’ll most likely tell you about those when you’ve been together longer.

- Your praise means the world to him. He only really thinks that your; and nicks, opinion of him truly matters. You can make his entire week by simply telling him that you’re proud of him.

- He loves when you express your feelings about him. He loves you more than life itself so those little comments about how you wish you could stay by his side constantly or how you wished you’d met him sooner really get to him.

- Every once in a while, he’ll really lose his temper on someone and you’ll assure him that you aren’t scared and try to help him relax. It’s in those moments that you realize how dangerous he can be, but from the way he can stop himself, you know he’s better then a lot of men.

- He’s always there for you whenever you need him, no matter the reasoning. He’ll speak quietly to you, whispering comforting words as he holds your face in his hands.

- Considering the fact that he can give you whatever you want and because you’re both so obviously in love, he rarely gets jealous. When he does, he just tries to keep a close eye on them or steer you away whenever he can.

- He’s incredibly protective of you, he’ll always jump to your defense; no matter who the person is, and do whatever he can to make sure you’re okay. He’ll sit outside of your house all night to make sure you’re okay if he has to.

- He’s got the police in his pocket and a dozen men that owe him favors so if you have a problem, he’ll be able to handle it; and he’ll do so selflessly if he has to.

- The two of you don’t fight very often, you don’t have a reason to. In those rare instances that you do, he remains relatively calm, perhaps giving a quick raise of his voice out of frustration before sighing, apologizing, and trying to explain more.

- He’s always quick to apologize, he hates when you’re upset with him so he’ll want to explain and have things be alright between you as quickly as possible. He’ll follow after you and do his best to smooth things over whenever he has to.

- He knows that he loves you and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from expressing it even if he tried. He adores whenever you tell him that you love it; it’s all he wants you to do.

- He has your entire future together already planned out. It’s very likely that he proposes to you fairly early into your relationship; and is a bit of a groomzilla during the wedding planning.

To bargain for immortality pt.4

The first thing to come to her conscious mind as soon as she woke up were always the faint distant sounds of her home. Faint, as not only was Cassandra's bedroom on one of the higher floors, but any staff members knew better than to make noise while their mistresses were sleeping. Distant barking made its way past a window left ajar, accompanied by scribbling noises.

Nicole turned around, legs tangled in the blanket that was shared until not long ago, to look for a colder spot warranted by the warm May weather. The realization that she was alone in bed made its way through the haze still remaining from sleep. That, in itself, was not unusual as Cassandra almost always woke up first and busied herself with something while waiting for her to wake up.

"Cassandra?" She called out quietly, voice still groggy with sleep and eyes not even bothering to open.

"Just a moment," came her response from the other side of the room, likely the desk, as the scratchy sound of pencil on paper stopped.

The chair was pushed away and a handful of steps took Cassandra to the door, where a maid was waiting outside as per routine. After a couple hushed instructions, the door clicked shut again and she finally approached the bed, looking down at her wife with fondness. She bent down to leave a kiss on top of messy auburn hair.

"Good morning."

Her answer came in the form of a returned kiss and impatient tug of her hand, that she gladly indulged by sitting down on top of the soft cushions that she had priorly abandoned. Nicole wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side, happy to feel the cool skin underneath a thin grey robe. Cassandra decided that her wife seemed awake enough to receive news, despite the obvious refusal to even crack an eye open.

"Bela wants to go into town later and asked if we'd like to come."

There they were, emerald eyes finally open and staring up at her in surprise.

"Did you say yes?"

Cassandra scoffed. "And finally get the chance to go out and stretch my legs after being locked up in the castle for all winter? Absolutely not."

That got her an eye roll. "In that case I'll keep on sleeping through the whole evening," Nicole said, pretending to go back to the dream she had just left unfinished, something the mild tiredness that had settled in her body seemed more than happy about.

"Oh no you don't."

Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and shifted her into Cassandra's lap, thin lips intoxicatingly close to her ear. "I even prepared the perfect outfits for the two of us, I simply cannot believe you'd pass up this opportunity for some extra sleep."

Nicole laughed at the feign offense, voice finally clear and free from the morning raspiness. She stretched her arms upwards with a few satisfying pops and then let her hands rest on Cassandra's shoulders.

"My, that's so thoughtful of you," she said, leaving a soft kiss on her lips. "Good morning."

The moment was kindly interrupted by a curt knock on the heavy door. Nicole groaned and moved back on the bed, pulling a nightgown that certainly did not belong to her loosely over her shoulders. When she was covered enough to not put on a show, Cassandra chuckled and addressed the still closed door.

"Come in."

A young woman entered the room, one of the latest additions to the kitchen staff as per Cynthia's request, with a tray expertly balanced in one hand, while the other held the leash of one of the thankfully well behaved hounds.

"Eris!" Nicole greeted the black dog, who snapped its big brown eyes in her direction and started wagging its tail. Thankfully for the girl holding the leash, the dog was expertly trained and did not lunge away to its owners. Instead it followed along, not tugging on the leash until both were just by the bed.

"Breakfast, my ladies."

A small assortment of drinks, together with a plate were placed from the silver tray to the small table on Cassandra's side. One wine glass was filled with fresh crimson blood, a cup of hot tea was sitting right beside it, steam rising up from the liquid inside and, in the smaller cup, dark coffee. On the plate, a freshly baked croissant and a small assortment of berries were waiting invitingly.

"And Eris, as you requested."

The girl held up the leash, but Cassandra simply waved a dismissive hand. "Just let her go. And leave the leash on my desk."

She did as was instructed, unhooking the leash with a soft metal click and placing it, coiled up neatly, on the carefully polished wood of the desk. Then, with a slight bow, she left the two alone once again.

Nicole didn't acknowledge that, too busy patting the spot by her side for the black hound to jump up. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but was a second too late as the dog was already in her wife's lap getting head and neck scratches. She sighed. At least all the hounds were kept squeaky clean outside hunting sessions.

"Stop spoiling our hunting dogs."

"Oh darling don't worry, I have no power over Carolina's training," she emphasized by snapping a finger and pointing it to the far side or the bed, direction that the dog followed dutifully, curling up on top of a folded blanket. "Good girl," she cooed at the furry beast, which elicited a tail wag.

Cassandra shook her head with a small smile tugging at her lips. She passed the small coffee cup to her wife, who took a tentative sip to test the temperature. It was lukewarm, as it always was, the routine of all the family ingrained into each and every staff member to the dot. They knew how Nicole liked her coffee, what tea to pair with any kind of breakfast and, probably most important for their sake, exactly how much blood, down to the milliliter, Cassandra liked to drink in the morning. Well, early evening, but who kept track.

The bitter liquid was downed in mere seconds, the taste accompanied by a sour grimace. Nicole did not like coffee in the slightest, having lost any possible appetite for the bitter taste after drinking one too many, or a thousand too many, cups during her days in med school. Unfortunately, it still did its job of waking her up, so a compromise with a sweet cup of fruity tea right afterwards had to be made.

She passed the empty cup back to Cassandra, who replaced it with the tea.

"I have to say, seeing your face scrunched up in disgust every morning is most entertaining."

"Happy to see my attempt at waking up is enjoyable for you," she replied with a pointed look thrown over the porcelain edge of the mug.

The look however was replaced by a content sigh upon sipping on the tea, the prior bitter taste slowly replaced by a blissful blend of fruit and lavender. While their cook Cynthia was downright an expert at preparing all kinds of meat, human included, her biggest talent was creating the best blends of tea, never too overpowering but always with a balanced taste. At least according to Nicole, and she would hold that opinion to the day she died.

While waiting for the liquid to get to a more drinkable temperature, her attention went back to the dog now sprawled on its side. "Why did you ask for Eris?"

Cassandra took another long sip of her drink, far more elegant than one would expect from a woman who had no issue regularly walking around covered in blood. "I just thought we could bring her along, I know she's your favorite," she finished with a smirk.

"That's not true," Nicole quickly replied, as if she were a mother accused of having a favorite child, which only made Cassandra's grin grow wider. She cleared her throat in an attempt to save some face. "I love all our dogs equally, Eris is just… particularly well behaved, yes."

Her wife simply chuckled, not having bought any of her excuses for playing favorites. Not that Cassandra wasn't guilty of that either. Her first response to picking a favorite would be not unlike Nicole's, but she had a particular fondness for Freya, one of their Finnish hounds, who always seemed so eager to sniff out prey on the hunts. She would be lying to say that she didn't entertain the idea of asking her mother to infect some of their best dogs from time to time, their short lives feeling like blinks of an eye compared to her own immortality.

She placed the now empty glass back on the table, not quite as graceful as her mother always did after a meal. They had plenty of time, so getting up was not yet in either of their schedules.

"Are we going somewhere in particular, or just out for a stretch," Nicole asked in between sips.

"Bela has to pick something up and Dani, surprising to precisely no one, wants to visit the bookshop," Cassandra started with a slight eye roll, leaning on her side on top of the cushions and starting to toy with the hem of Nicole's sleeve. "Since we're doing none of that boring stuff, I thought you'd like to choose."

Nicole tapped a finger of the white rim of her mug, nail making a soft clink. She sighed. "Just a walk around town, I'm really dying to get out too."

"You do realize you're not confined to the castle during winter like I am right," Cassandra laughed.

"And leave my beloved wife all alone while I go out and about," her reply was overly dramatic, complete with a hand gingerly placed over her heart almost as if such an idea was close to blasphemous. It only gained her a small snort.

"Should I remind you that I've spent decades in this castle? I promise I can bear it."

Okay, grandma.

With the tea finally gone, Nicole placed the tall mug on the nightstand closest to her, effectively freeing her hands. Free to trace tender fingers up Cassandra's arm, her neck and around the intricate lace of her choker to toy with the fine chains decorating it.

"You sure about that?" Her voice was sickly sweet, all too aware of her unbeatable talent of making someone as sadistic as her wife melt with little more than a hushed tone and gentle hands.

Cassandra did not respond right away. She was nothing if not a prideful person and admitting to the fact that yes, she would miss her, even for a handful of hours, was not particularly high on her list of things to be said out loud. It was almost an unbearably clingy kind, their relationship. Or at least that's what someone who did not know better would say. Truth be told, they were both the kind of people that looked almost desperately, although a desperation worn with odd grace, for comfort in other people. People they would then fight tooth and nail, or more accurately fang and claw, to keep close. It was obvious in the way Cassandra took on the role as protector of the family, nevermind the fact that Alcina would cut any possible threats to pieces before any of them had time to lift a finger. Obvious, also in the way she was so protective over Nicole herself, the beautifully engraved dagger always strapped to the redhead’s side either under a lab coat or at the belt of a dress rendered little more than a fancy accessory.

Cassandra chuckled, wrapping long fingers around her hand and taking it away from her necklace. "Why don't we get dressed before Bela comes to nag at us mm?" Then black lips were gingerly pressed to the skin, leaving a small kiss on top of bony knuckles.

With a shrug and a less than gracious stretch accompanied by a yawn, Nicole got out from under the covers, the red velvety fabric of the robe flowing after her like an impromptu cape.

"Are you wearing my robe," Cassandra's voice came from behind her, together with hands placed on her waist.

Duh.

Not that Cassandra ever truly complained. Finding the oversized clothing her wife often wore quite endearing.

"It does look quite charming on me you have to admit."

"You're practically swimming in it."

Nicole rolled her eyes which only prompted a small laugh.

They fixed themselves enough to be semi presentable for the small distance that separated the bedroom and the dressing room. Nicole was about to suggest wearing something more casual, but the fact that going out for the first time after the long winter months was almost reason for a small celebration for all three of the Dimitrescu sisters made her shut down that train of thought. No harm in being fancy on occasion after all.

The outfits Cassandra had picked out were nothing short of perfect for the occasion. Matching black dresses, Nicole's a tad lighter with a lacy collar and frilly hems complete with a white vest-like corset, while Cassandra's was made out of a thicker fabric and went down almost to the floor, surely due to her tendency to get cold easily.

Not being the kind that lingered in the dressing room too long, that was more Daniela's style, it took little for them to get dressed. The occasional helping hand for small things that one could maybe twist and turn to do themselves, but why bother when you have a perfectly willing to help spouse, was something they both enjoyed and took a couple extra precious moments to let a hand linger or fingers to trace expertly done sems. After some makeup was applied and the leash was hooked back to Eris' collar, they finally made their way downstairs.

They were close to fashionably late it seemed, as Bela, Daniela and Anita were already waiting in the main hall, the eldest throwing a miffed expression their way upon seeing them descend the grand staircase.

Nicole noticed the absence of one of their usual party members. "Isn't Laura coming with us?"

"She had to go to Donna's this morning. Spring preparations and all," Bela's reply came dangerously close to being accompanied by an uncharacteristic pout.

Oh. Someone's in a sour mood.

They made their way down the stone paved road that connected the castle to the town in relative silence, interrupted only once by Bela telling them when they would meet up to head back home. Other than that, they just enjoyed the short walk. And for good reason, the road was surrounded by beautiful rose bushes on both sides, with pine trees expanding beyond them and the sounds of birds and nocturnal animals beginning to wake up blending together in a quiet murmur so typical to the forest.

Once in the town square under the familiar angel statue, Bela wordlessly left them in favor of making her way down a small street. Daniela and Anita seemed more courteous and said their goodbyes and see-you-laters as they turned around, chattering about something only they understood.

Left alone, with their dog whose leash was attached to the same belt Cassandra's sickle was, they started walking down the quiet streets. It was almost sundown, so even the small crowd of people usually going about their business was almost non-existent, knowing better than to be out at night without good reason.

Something that Nicole was yet to grow bored of, even after a few years spent at the castle, was the small architectural oddities around town. It looked quite regular, albeit old, at first glance but a closer look would reveal the rich symbolism resulting from the centuries of being quite literally broken off from the rest of the world and almost frozen in time.

The go to flowers planted in front of buildings were crimson roses, the familiar patterns of swirling vines and leaves engraved into walls and lamp posts. A bakery they passed by had three sickles hanging behind the glass, complementing the harvest theme the entire shop had, together with dried wheat in vases and warm inviting colors on the walls. The one fishery that everyone in town knew had a mermaid gracefully swimming in a panel just above its entrance and horseshoes were nailed to most doors leading to houses or small apartment buildings. Even a toy store had a suspiciously Angie-like doll, although without the cracks and signs of time its original counterpart sported, looking out at any passersby.

One thing that could never go unnoticed however, were the crows. Statues of the birds, big or small, could be seen anywhere, from street corners to rooftops and atop building entrances. Some had their wings spread out, ready to take flight were they not trapped by stone bodies, others had their bills open wide in a silent croak and some were simply looking on. Real crows were also incredibly common, replacing the pigeons any other city had in favor of the black birds, ironically roosting on the statues of themselves quite often and kindly providing the city background noise with their caws. Nicole inquired about their presence once, and Cassandra had explained how the locals see crows as good luck, being a symbol to Mother Miranda. Many people fed them and even had buildings upon which small towers were erected with the purpose of giving the birds space to make nests.

Nicole had a strong suspicion that some of the birds were a little more than they let on, especially after seeing their so-called goddess break into a flock on multiple occasions. Sometimes, you would look at one of the crows perched on a power line connecting two buildings, and icy grey would stare back, the depth in those eyes far too human to belong to any bird.

Her slight glare towards one crow that seemed to look at them from a windowsill was interrupted by the memory of a small list she had tucked in her pocket before leaving.

"Oh, I need to pass by the pharmacy to pick up a few things we ran out of."

Cassandra simply shrugged. "Sure," and she looked around for a moment to find the street that would take them there fastest. Not like they had any plans other than enjoying the pseudo freedom that being out of the castle gave them.

The pharmacy was oh so conveniently located on the other side of town, adjacent to the hospital near the reservoir. Ever since Miranda had found ways to lessen the negative effects of his mutation, Moreau was the designated town doctor, but due to the still somewhat volatile transformations he was still mostly confined to the place and it's murky waters, a fact that he despised greatly. It was an obvious choice, then, to erect the hospital there. It was a small building not unlike the rest of the town's architecture when it came to size, no more than three floors high and with a small staff that Moreau himself had to teach the ins and outs of medical practice. If memory serves right, even Miranda and her assistants had taught some people particularly well versed in the sciences how to operate the equipment and patients alike. Medical training seemed to be hard to come by around here and Nicole had a gnawing suspicion that it was the reason she was still alive.

The building coming into view behind the trees and the paved road that cut through the small stretch of woods separating the town and reservoir looked oddly new in comparison to the rest, as it had been erected only a couple decades prior. Attached to it, a smaller house with matching tiles on the roof and a sign that read Farmacie above the entrance's double doors.

Dogs were normally not allowed inside, but who was going to stop them of all people from marching right in, black hound happily walking by their side. They were the only ones inside, save for a short woman sitting behind the counter, panic flashing in her eyes when her gaze fell on Cassandra's tall frame, hand in hand with Nicole who was at the moment too occupied with pulling out the list of meds she had written. She gave it a once over and, sure that she had everything down, passed the paper to the pharmacist, who knew better than to ask if she had any prescriptions.

"You could've sent someone to fetch these for you," Cassandra said, eyes following the woman as she disappeared behind tall shelves full of small boxes and pill bottles.

"I know, I just didn't want to wait. I don't like running out of supplies," Nicole shrugged.

Plus, Nicole was way less likely to be questioned on why she's buying twenty different kinds of meds than a random maid. Partly because the pharmacist recognized her and partly because any sane person here knew better than not obliging when Cassandra was looming behind her. A small smirk graced her lips at the thought and a sly look was given to her wife, who was too busy playing with the dog's floppy ears to notice. Eris raised her head at the unforgivable offense, playfully trying to nip at the gloved hands that were tickling her, getting a giggle out of the brunette.

All three were distracted by the soft clink of a bell hanging above the door, indicating that someone had entered the pharmacy. It was an older man, looking to be in his sixties, heavily leaning on a crutch held in his right hand.

Cassandra's features morphed into a scowl and Nicole could practically hear the man-thing going through her mind. The man was probably on the verge of doing a complete one eighty and exit the pharmacy, when a voice called out from behind the counter.

"Ah Andrei, I have something for that infection of yours, hold on a moment," the pharmacist called out, before handing Nicole a sizable paper bag full of what she had requested.

She felt an unwelcomed whiff of decay as Cassandra took the bag from her hands, and sniffled in an attempt to ward off the stinging sensation in her nose. She fumbled with the credit card, mentally cursing the payment for not transferring quicker when the smell was starting to make her eyes water the slightest bit.

"Is everything alright my lady?"

The man's voice, full of genuine worry came from behind them, having moved closer upon the pharmacist's urging, and the putrid stench of death and decomposition flooded Nicole's senses together with the slick sensation of blood running down her face. She had to force down a gag as she shoved the card back into a pocket and all but ran out the door, worried wife in toe.

"Nicole what-" Cassandra swallowed any words she had at the sight of the blood flowing down and staining the until moments before immaculate white of her wife's corset.

Nicole made her way to a corner of the building that nobody seemed to go to, and leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and trying to ward off the lightheadedness.

For someone who spent years working on dead bodies in various stages of decomposition, one would think that the smell of death did not bother her. And it didn't. But this was different, the stench seeming to make its way into her skin and clinging to her senses, coating her throat as if trying to choke her out in the most disgusting way possible. Not to mention that there was no actual dead body around.

She coughed out the blood that didn't make its way out of her nostrils and instead decided to go the throat route. Her hands were a crimson mess and so were her face and dress, a pang of guilt shooting through her for having ruined the outfit picked by Cassandra. At least the bleeding seemed to stop and so did the horrid stench.

Cassandra didn't seem to care, nor even notice, the ruined fabric. Instead she pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket and started to gently wipe the blood away from pale skin.

"What's wrong?" She asked and Nicole could only shake her head.

"I don't know. I don't know why this keeps happening," she almost ran her hands down her face in frustration but had enough clarity of mind to remember how dirty they were. "I thought it would go away, and for a while it did. I don't understand what the hell is wrong with me," she added, voice rising the slightest bit.

Cassandra grimaced, trying to get her face clean. "We can talk to Mother when we get back."

A defeated sigh made its way past bloody lips. Nicole had her doubts that Alcina would know any more than them on the situation, which was nothing. They knew nothing.

She grabbed Cassandra's hand to steady herself back on her feet, mind drifting to what she didn't want to think was her only solution.

If there was anyone who could get to the end of this, it was Mother Miranda.

Donna meeting a doctor/field medic who manages to reduce/eliminate the cadou parasite growth on her face- 👨✈️

Broken Truth (Holding a Granny Smith Apple): An apple a day keeps the doctor away...(Throws it over my shoulder and walks off to find some granola & yogurt)

It had been half a year since he arrived in the small Romanian village with nothing but a small bag of clothes, a leather doctor's bag, a pouch of Lei, and the smile on his face. For an outsider - he was well versed in the language and asked if there was any property that he could buy; he was given 2 small plots of land that were completely bare.

One the first month of his stay - he cleared the land of any imperfections and started to build. Upon his first plot - he made a home, a firm structure of wood and stone. The villager watched as he broke the stone into pieces and combined them with clay before sculpting them into a kind of paste and filled a strange wooden mold he made on the flattest area of the ground he owned. They watched as the man stabbed long wooden posts in each corner of the paste and some in-between of others. After a day of waiting - the pasta hardened into something as strong as the castle's stone.

Then began making the bones of his house to ensure it would be sturdy in the most unforgiving of winters and it would remain warm in the hardest of rains. Once the bones were placed - he built the rest of his house and used the remaining paste to fill any possible crack. His home was done but...empty. He went into town the next day and did business with a rather fat man who didn't wear shoes and his hands were drowning gems.

Upon the next 2 months - he built a business upon his second plot - a business that most residents of the village appreciated for he was a man of medicine and he was very good at his job. He spent a lot of time familiarizing himself with the land and the forest, along with the plants and berries to make different kinds of salves to relieve anything or...could he really heal everything?

The sound of the bell above the door made the man look from the clipboard he was writing on - he was taking inventory on which salves he was running low on. He looked upon a veiled woman in a black dress with a doll in her arms.

"Good Afternoon," He began as he placed the clipboard back on the hook attached to the wall beside the dresser, "Welcome to the [L/N] Clinic. What can I do for you?" The man asked with a smile but instead of the woman speaking - the doll did.

"This is Mistress Donna Beneviento - The Head of House Beneviento, 2nd Lord of the Village." The doll said.

"Oh, so this is Lady Beneviento? A pleasure to meet you." The doctor bowed before looking at the doll. "And what about you, Young Mistress?" The doll looked confused for a while.

"My name is Angie - Lady Donna speaks through me as she isn't very...trusting of humans."

"Understandable. I am Dr. [Y/N [L/N] - The owner of this clinic. What has caused the Second Lord to bless me with her presence?" The doctor asked with a smile.

"Have you heard of the Cadou?" Angie asked.

"Vaguely. I hear some whispers around about the word but I never really investigated much into it." [Y/N] said.

"The Cadou is a kind of living parasite that infects its host with incredible abilities but it changes its host in some of the worst ways," Angie explained.

"Allow me to assume - Lady Beneviento is infected with one of these Cadou and you wish for me to do something about it." The doctor said.

"Yes. The Cadou in Lady Donna's Link to me - it's the reason I am a living doll but it has caused a horrible scar upon her face that she wishes to be removed or at the very less, reduced in size; we're hoping it won't affect her abilities though." Angie explained.

"I think I might be able to craft a represent for the Cadou but I need a sample of it first." He looked at Donna. "Lady Beneviento, may I see the scar? If I can collect a sample of this Cadou, I can craft something to aid you." The doctor explained. There was a moment of silence before Angie spoke again.

"She shall remove her veil but she warns you - it is not good. Please, do not judge." Angie warned. With a firm nod from the doctor, Donna removed her veil and the doctor's eyes widened before a blush crept upon his face.

"Lady Beneviento...you are...radiant."

'What?' Donna thought.

"What?" Angie asked.

"Forgive my forwardness, but, My Lady, you are a marvel; a true masterpiece, even with your difference. You shouldn't hide such beauty." The doctor praised her with a blush on his face before he looked at the ground like a nervous child talking to his crush.

"You...You really think so?" The voice of the Second Lord asked.

"Most certainly!" The doctor reassured.

[Y/N] went into the back and retrieve two empty syringes and walked over to Donna - slowly piercing it through the skin of the Cadou that took her right eyes and pulled back on the injector to collect the blood infected with Cadou Cells before using the second syringe to take a sample of Donna's blood from her arm unaffected by the Cadou. He promised to find something and call them when he found something and gave them a bow before they left.

He was sad when they left.

[A Few Nights Later]

[Y/N] had not returned home as he looked through the two microscopes - the one of the left was a small sample of the Cadou Cell Blood while other one held the blood of Donna unaffected. [Y/N] had been working for 3 days straight - making sure to tend to his clients but he hasn't slept or really eaten a full meal. He wanted to help Donna.

This was this 5th Attempt at the Cadou repressant - he was sure to document any kind ingredients used in case his memory failed him. He dripped the dropper into 2 nliquified ingredients and plopped it on the slide of the Cadou Sample and his eyes widened as the cells reacted, changed, and began to shrank until they were nothing but small cells - the same as T-Cells. He looked between the 2 microscopes and was pleased with his results and made a note to call Donna in the morning.

'I can't wait to see them again.' The doctor smiled before he walked over to his office chair and fell asleep - his dreams filled with images of the Head of House Beneviento.

[The Next Morning]

"Lady Beneviento and Angie! I'm glad you both got my call!" The man said with a smile as the veiled woman and her doll entered his shop.

"A pleasure, Dr. [Y/N]. When we received your call this morning, we rushed over. We assume you've made promise." Donna said.

"Better than that! I constructed a Cadou Shrinkage - it will shrink the Cadou down to cellular level while still remaining within you so you won't lose your link to Angie." The Doctor smiled.

"And...you are certain that this will work?" Donna asked with slight fear in her voice but soon her hands were taken in the doctor's - they were warm and comforting.

"I swear upon my life, My lady, this will work." He said as he brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles; making the dollmaker blush under her veil.

"O-Okay..." Donna whispered and the two of them went to the Operating Room.

[Hours Later]

Donna looked at her face in the memory - her complete human face. The Cadou Shrinkage was successful but due to it consuming her face for so long, her right eye was blind but [Y/N] assured her that he would be able to contrusct something to restore her sight; in the meantime, he gave her an eyepatch to cover just the eye. She thanked him and processed to gather living doll in her arms before turning to the door to leave when...

"Wait! Lady Beneviento..." She turned to look at the blushing face of the young doctor.

"Yes, Dr. [Y/N]?" Donna asked with a raised eyebrow - his blush darkened.

"I...Um...Have you eaten Breakfast, yet?" He asked as he scratched his cheek with the tip of his finger.

"No. I have not." She answered.

"Then...May I have the honor of taking you out for a late breakfast?!" He asked with a bright face and she smiled.

"I would love that." She nodded.

"Oh...Just fuck already." Angie groaned in Donna's arms.

"ANGIE!!!" Donna and the Doctor blushed before he closed up shop for the day and the 3 of them walked into the light of the sun with smiles on their faces.

On October 1st 1763 the contract to build Edinburgh's North Bridge was signed.

Edinburgh in the 1700s was a very different city to the one we know today. The city boundary was restricted to the dramatic crag and tail feature which swept eastwards from the castle. Up to 35,000 people inhabited a space under a mile long making Scotland’s capital one of the most densely populated urban areas in the world at that time. The overcrowded population were crammed into crumbling tenements, many of them up to fourteen storeys high in order to make the most of the limited space. Make no mistake, Edinburgh at this point in it's history, was a skyscraper city, very few cities in the world had buildings the height of our capital!

Edinburgh’s nobility were often forced to accept the unthinkable and share dwellings with the lower classes. Change was not just desired, it was deemed an absolute necessity if the city was ever to move forward.

Plans to build a New Town to the north were discussed as early as the 1750s but without the means of connecting it with the rest of Edinburgh, it would be nothing more than a fanciful dream. Phase one required the draining of the ancient Nor’ Loch, a man-made stagnant body of water located in the area which we now term as Princes Street Gardens. Drainage began in 1759 and would continue up until the 1820s. Dry land at the east of the Nor’ Loch valley allowed for what was undoubtedly the most ambitious engineering project to have been built in the city at that point: An eleven-hundred foot long stone bridge. The North Bridge, as it would be named, enabled the New Town to become a reality. A brand new chapter in the city’s history was about to begin.

And so it was that the foundation stone of architect William Mylne’s North Bridge was laid on 1st October 1763 but it would be a further two years before any serious amount of progress was made. Nearing completion, the magnificent multi-arched bridge first opened to pedestrians in 1769 to much fanfare and excitement.   However, the cheers would soon be emphatically silenced that summer due to a disaster of epic proportions.

On the evening of Thursday, 3rd August 1769 the side walls of the south abutment of the bridge suddenly gave way, causing a partial collapse of the structure and tragically claiming the lives of five people.

Rescue efforts were recorded by newspaper the Caledonian Mercury which detailed the grim discoveries of bodies "buried in the rubbish, occasioned by the fall of the walls of the south abutment of the new bridge over the north loch".

Two of the bodies were identified as belonging to Mr Lawson, shoemaker, and Mr James Fergus, a local writer.

The Caledonian Mercury went on to mention that workers had been digging almost day and night since the collapse and that at least three to four others were feared to have shared the "same unhappy fate with the two already found".

A contemporary letter penned by a Darcy, Lady Maxwell recalls the evening of the collapse, which she had witnessed, writing 

“The Lord, who is continually loading me with his benefits, has twice this day remarkable interfered on my behalf. In the evening he preserved me from broken bones to which I was exposed in a fall. A few hours after, when walking home from chapel, I witnessed a most melancholy scene occasioned by the falling in of the North Bridge. I… was within five minutes of passing over it… when almost in a moment, the greatest noise I ever heard (except on a similar occasion when I was remarkably preserved) filled the air."It seemed as if the pillars of nature were giving way. Instantly, the cry resounded “the bridge is fallen!”

A full inquiry followed and identified haste in construction and a poorly-calculated estimate regarding the depth of the foundations and sturdiness of the earth-filled abutments as the chief causes behind the disaster.

Rebuilding work demanded £18,000 (almost double the original £10,140 cost of the project) and the city would have to wait until 1772 before the grand reopening.  The original North Bridge survived more than a century until the 1890s, when engineers devised an improved link that would allow for greater flow of traffic, this was at the time Waverley Train Station was being constructed. 

Construction of the current steel bridge that we know today was completed in 1897 at a cost of £81,000., with the North British Railway Company contributing to a third of the cost.

A plaque recalling the founding and dismantling of the original North Bridge occupies a wall of the present bridge, which has now stood for roughly the same length of time as its predecessor.

The pictures show the evolution of the Nor Loch, I can’t find dates for them all, but you will see  in the first one that the Loch is still not fully drained and very little signs of buildings on the North side, pic two shows buildings where the Balmoral Hotel now sits.

In the third pic there are signs of a Market where we now have Waverley Station, the street and buildings under the far side are now called Market Street. Pic four is dated around 1809, all the buildings you see on the left are now gone. On the top roght corner is what was The North British Train Station, the bottom of the picture you can see what is now known as “The Mound. Next pic is I guess from mid 19th century, still a long way from the construction of Waverley Station. Pic six shows the North Bridge being  dismantling early 1896,  and then   "The Ceremony of Laying the Foundation Stone of the New North Bridge Edinburgh 25th May 1896, leading on to the  commemorative plaque, which is from around the same time.

Finally is a pic of how the North Bridge looks in 2021, not much to see as it is in cladding while a multi-million restoration is taking place, the cost of refurbishing the bridge has soared from £22 million to £36m after the landmark structure was found to be in worse condition than expected. Last October the council issued a statement saying 

“Due to the nature of the construction of the bridge, full access behind the cast iron façade has not been available since it was constructed in 1897 and the last full refurbishment of this nature was in 1933. It has not been possible to properly inspect the hidden structural elements in almost 90 years.”

The briefing said testing had led to the discovery of “extensive issues” with the existing concrete bridge deck constructed in 1933.

In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)

Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Eight - Stay a While, Stay a While

Ao3 in the comments

“Aeor give me guidance.” Scott prays, kneeling in the back parlor. “Because if you give me strength, Rivendell will lose her allies to my hand.”

Scott leans back on his heels, fighting not to push his head into his hands. “I know you chose me, as your champion and the king of Rivendell, but we have been allied with idiots.” Scott grumbles. “And they want to attack Jimmy for being your champion, so I’m pleading with you for guidance.”

Scott sits in silence as dawn breaks over the mountains, listening to the serenity that the break of dawn brings.

Or what is supposed to be the serenity of the break of dawn, because one of his guards is fighting with someone. Not a physical fight, from the sounds of it, but a verbal one. Scott stands from his position on the floor, leaving an apple under the golden deer that he parents claimed represented Aoer as an offering. Scott adjusts his cape, putting his crown on his head, ready to aid his guards in getting rid of whatever disgruntled merchant decided to go straight to his house instead of his council to air their grievances. 

“You cannot demand council with our ruler, even Rivendell’s closest allies cannot do that.” She snaps, and Scott shivers. Eloise is always harsh, preferring to terrify potential threats away than calm them. Though, its not often that she has to bring up their allies to send merchants down the hill, towards town.

Scott opens the door, ready to call Eloise off, when he sees him.

Jimmy stands in the doorway, nervously holding his hands in the air. He wears the stupid codfather head, but he also glows in the light of the early morning golden hour. The snow glitters around, and the fish hybrid shivers in the wind, but Scott can’t help but to blink. It’s too early to form thoughts about this.

Aoer he’s got it bad for this man.

“Stand down, Eloise.” Scott says, finally find his voice, though its stuck in his throat and he’s not going to be able to speak to Jimmy in private if he’s asked to. “He’s a guest here.”

“Of course, your highness.” Eloise says, lifting her hand from her sword. “Shall I escort him to your office?”

“There’s no need, we’ll be in the front parlor.” Scott smiles, and Eloise glares at him for a split second before she steps aside.

“Enter, Codfather.” She says, her voice saccharine. 

“Uh, thank you?” Jimmy says, walking into Scott’s home. Eloise rolls her eyes, shutting the doors behind him.

“I’m sorry about her.” Scott says. “She’s at the end of her shift. I assume your night guards are like her?”

“Um, sure.” Jimmy says. “They’re certainly something.”

“If they’re rude to you, you ought to fire them.” Scott says, but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be listening to him.

“It’s beautiful in here.” Jimmy’s voice is barely audible, a breath on the wind, but Scott’s filled with pride anyway.

Jimmy looks over the intricate carvings on the archways, the gilded railings that lead to the higher levels. The codfather runs his hands reverently over the embroidered tablecloths, as though nothing in his home is worth even the silver stitchwork. It fills Scott with a subtle pride, though his house doesn’t look lived in - what with the maids and cleaners ensuring that nothing is ever out of place, that dust never settles on the rafters, let alone the tables - Jimmy now knows that Scott could afford to take care of him, to give him a life that's more than comfortable.

“What’s this?” Jimmy asks, and Scott walks towards his potential partner. “It’s beautiful.”

The golden statue of Aeor rests on the mantle, glittering in the light. Jimmy holds onto his clothes, as though he doesn’t want to touch it. Scott fights back a soft smile at the gesture, its kind of the man to do, even if unnecessary. Aoer would not care if one of his statues was touched, even if it were touched by someone who knows not of the god.

“It’s a statue my parents gave me” Scott says. “It’s supposed to keep me and my loved ones safe while I’m at home.”

“This is your house?” Jimmy gawks. “These two rooms are as large as my entire house.”

Scott winces, turning to avoid offending Jimmy. Why would the founder of an empire live in a hut? Sausage and Fwip built their castles outside of the town that they were given to rule over, why didn’t Jimmy build himself a castle, something fit for someone his stature.

Jimmy deserves better.

“It is my house.” Scott admits. “I built it myself, when my parents told me that I was their heir.”

“Did they?” Jimmy asks, something sad infecting his tone. “That must be nice, your design skills are impeccable.”

Scott flushes a deep crimson, blinking a few times as Jimmy giggles. That damned giggle, that mad Scott stumble over his feet as they danced during the ball, the one that makes the words solidify in his throat, that he can’t get a single syllable out. He can’t even think, just focusing on that giggle.

“Do people not compliment your builds often?” Jimmy asks, cocking his head to the side, and Scott catches a glimpse of Jimmy’s eyes.

Ocean blue, and full of mischief.

“Not to my face.” Scott lies, not wanting to vocalise the words that fight to escape his throat. “Can I ask why you’ve come over? I’m fine with this being a social visit, of course, but we’ve never exactly had those.”

“I wanted to apologise for the ball.” Jimmy says, so quietly that Scott’s heart shatters.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Scott says, softly, ever so softly. He needs to reassure Jimmy. No one should sound that upset with themselves over a party that they didn’t even ruin. “You made my night, it was nice to dance with you.”

“I promise that I would see you soon, after that dance.” Jimmy says. “And I didn’t. I’m sorry, King of Rivendell, please accept this gift as an apology, even if you do not accept the apology.”

And Jimmy offers him a flowering blue orchid, growing in a small, hand painted pot. It’s a strong plant, the soil is wet and the flowers bright. The pot has green paint around the borders, and a silver ribbon is wrapped around the pot, tied in a neat bow.

“It’s beautiful.” Scott says, carefully taking it from Jimmy. “How do I care for it?”

“Strong light, high humidity, periods of dry soil altered with periods of heavy watering and airflow around the roots.” Jimmy says, and Scott can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m sure you’ll be able to care for it well.”

“What if I kill it?”

“Then I’ll bring you a new one.” Jimmy offers, watching as Scott carefully puts it on one of his tables. Scott watches the cod hybrid rub his arms, as though he was cold, but its rather warm in Scott’s home - kept a perfect temperature for everyone, so why would Jimmy be cold?

“You alright?” Scott asks, looking at Jimmy. “You’re rubbing your arms.”

“It’s a bit cold in here.” Jimmy sounds embarrassed, and Scott watches as he nervously shifts his balance. “It’s alright though, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re from the swamp.” Scott realises aloud. “Take my cloak, as recognition of my forgiveness.”

Scott takes his cloak off, handing it to Jimmy. Jimmy holds it as though its made of the most precious material, running his fingers over the stitching in a way that screams reverence. As though this cloak means something else, something more to Jimmy. 

Scott didn’t just intrude on some Cod Empire custom, did he?

“I can’t accept this.” Jimmy says, pushing the cloak back into Scott’s hands. “It’s too good for you to hand away. I’ll be alright, keep your cloak.”

Scott frowns for a moment, the cloak in his hands. Jimmy is a guest, not even an elf who could adapt to the cold quickly, and he’s a cod hybrid. He needs the warmth, he’ll get sick rather quickly if he doesn’t accept the cloak. Then Lizzie would kill Scott, and take back her blessing. Not only that, but it could take months for Jimmy to heal. So Scott needs to improvise.

Without thinking, Scott wraps his cloak around Jimmy’s shoulders, pulling the other man close to him as he does the top button up, taking care to ensure that he doesn’t damage the silk thread that keeps the button on. He can hear Jimmy’s breathing hitch as he does, and Scott looks down into the man's eyes, watching as something unreadable passes through them.

“Now you’ll remain warm.” Scott says, slightly breathless as he steps back.

 Jimmy looks up at Scott, and pulls the cloak closer around his shoulders. The cod hybrid steals Scott’s breath away, even though Scott can’t see his face. The cloak pools at the floor around Jimmy’s feet, the arm holes slightly too low to be practical, but he looks stunning anyways.

“Could I offer you tea, or breakfast?” Scott asks, standing in front of a plush armchair. It’s his favourite chair, though due to the fact that it’s situated in the front parlor he doesn’t use it often.

“I had breakfast before I came, but tea would be nice.” Jimmy says. 

“I’ll have that arranged, if you want to take a seat?” Scott says, smiling. He waits for a moment, as Jimmy chooses a seat, before he walks into the back parlor.

Scott quickly crosses into the kitchen, watching as one of the chefs jump in surprise. He’s already had breakfast, and it’s far earlier than he would normally arrive for a snack or a break from meetings with stuffy officials. Scott offers them an apologetic smile, and they roll their eyes, smiling at him.

“How can I help you, your highness?” They ask, turning away from kneading the bread.

“Could I bother you for some tea?”

“Meeting’s going that poorly?” They ask, washing their hands in the sink as they turn on the redstone kettle.

“I have a guest over, and he asked for some?” Jimmy deserves nice tea, and Scott hopes he’ll like it.

“The codfather’s over for a social visit?” They ask, incredulous. “You never have social visits, let alone with one of our allies' enemies.”

“He’s nice.” Scott says, watching as they pour the tea into two tea cups. “I’d like him as an ally.”

“Considering how Arel saw you put your cloak on him, I think you’d like him as more than just an ally, your highness.” They smirk, putting four biscuits on a tray. “Are you able to carry this out yourself or do you need someone to supervise the pair of you?”

“You aren’t my father, Cyran, nor my mother.” Scott says. “I can carry this, and we don’t need a supervisor.”

“Don’t make a mess of the front parlor, my lord.” They tease, passing Scott the tray. “I may not be your parents, may Aeor guide them, but I am your eldest member of staff. You were so young when I was bought onto the staff, you’re still the boy who hide behind my skirt from your tutors.”

“Please stop telling people about that.” Scott mumbles, embarrassed.

“Stop leaving your guest unattended. It’s rude.” They say, ushering Scott to the door. “I don’t want you back here until your guest has left, Scott.”

And they shut the door on Scott, making him laugh silently. Of course they kick him out to attend to the guests, they’re so stubborn. He should give them a raise.

Scott carefully carries the tray of drinks and biscuits through the back parlor, silently opening the door to navigate to where Jimmy sits. Jimmy’s looking out of the front window, watching as Rivendell bustles about as families take their children to school and adults attend to their jobs. The sun beams down, reflecting off of the snow and casting a glow into the front parlor, just as Scott intended when he designed the build. Scott places the tray down, startling Jimmy.

“Thank you.” Jimmy says, as Scott passes him a cup. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”

“Not at all.” Scott lies through his teeth. His guards will inform the advisors that he’s busy, after all. Potential allies are more important than sitting through another meeting that leads to nowhere. “Am I keeping you from anything?”

“Nothing that I can’t get done later.” Jimmy takes a sip of his tea. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you.” Scott smiles. “Are you doing anything important tomorrow? I have a meeting after lunch that I must attend, but I would love to give you a tour of Rivendell.”

“I have a meeting with Fwip tomorrow.” Jimmy says, and Scott’s heart stops. “I’m going to his base to arrange a trade agreement, but maybe next Wednesday?”

“Did Fwip arrange the meeting?”

“He did.” Jimmy nods. “I don’t want to spark a war between us by entering the Grimlands uninvited.”

“Do you know what you’re going to ask him for?” Scott says, ignoring the pit beginning to form in his stomach. Fwip is something, an enemy of the Cod Empire and someone who believes that Jimmy is Aeor’s champion, which means he could harm Jimmy.

But it’s just a trade meeting, and Fwip has honour. He wouldn’t harm Jimmy during a peaceful meeting.

“Probably some gunpowder.” Jimmy shrugs, before a ring sounds from his pocket. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Jimmy pulls out his communicator, looking at the caller id before wincing.

“Something the matter?”

“I was supposed to meet with Joel now.” Jimmy winces. “I should go.”

Jimmy moves to take the cloak off, but Scott stops him, gently moving the other rulers hands from the button. Jimmy looks up at Scott, and though Scott can’t see Jimmy’s face, he can tell the codfather’s surprised.

“Keep it.” Scott murmurs. “You can return it when you come back for the tour.”

“Thank you.” Jimmy says, taking his hands from Scott’s. “I’ll see you next week.”

“I’ll see you then.” Scott smiles, walking Jimmy to the door. “Fly safely.”

“I will.” Jimmy says, walking away from Scott’s home.

Scott shuts the door, leaning on it with a sigh. Something isn’t right about this, something is so intrinsically wrong with Fwip inviting Jimmy to his empire for a meeting that Scott’s stomach turns with fear for the other man. Jimmy’s naive, the ruler of the youngest empire in this world. Even Shubble’s empire is older - just from a different dimension. Scott needs to ask Aeor to protect Jimmy. Surely they will.

Scott wonders if Jimmy liked the bouquet of roses that he left for him.

Life in a Dead World

My submission for @zelinkweek2021 day 5, prompt Domesticity: Family.

read it here on AO3!

When she gazes at the castle for the first time in one hundred years, when she takes her first good look at it in forever, she sees nothing but despair. Loss. She sees nothing but memories she once held dear, long dead and buried under the rubble. She sees nothing.

He is her guiding hand through this new, foreign world in which she is blind. The way he takes her hand ever so gently and leads her across the stepping stones of the future is comforting, but her steps are uneasy still.

“Zel,” someone calls. “Wake up.” A gentle shake rumbles her shoulder and she turns over to face the voice.

“I’m up,” she manages to say, though hoarsely, and wrenches her eyes open to meet Link’s face. He swipes a finger across her forehead, brushing back stray strands of her sunshine hair. Taking his time studying her face, his blue eyes dart around before settling on her lips. He places a chaste kiss upon them.

Most mornings spent in their house in Hateno Village were like this. She’d be woken up by him saying her name softly, like it’s a prayer, and he’d kiss her before rolling out of bed. He’d make them breakfast, something simple like eggs and rice, and then he would head out to the fields for work. She’d stay curled up inside, reading books on their bed and tinkering with whatever ancient scraps Link found on his adventures.

Zelda doesn’t really like the mornings. The sun rises and casts its bright rays on everything ugly in the world and the daytime forces her to face it. She remembers her last sunrise before the Calamity, though the memory is blurry and faded now. It was a quiet morning when she was sent on her way to the Spring of Wisdom to offer her final prayer to the Goddess Hylia, full of apprehension and fear—fears she fulfilled.

On this day, however, he makes pancakes topped with berries he had picked after work the day before. He serves her orange juice in one of the fancy glasses they reserve for company—though they never get visitors anyway—and sets the table nice, with placemats and flowers in the center.

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, finally lured downstairs by the sweet smells and clattering utensils. Sliding into the chair across from him, she takes up her fork and digs in.

“Nothing special,” he replies nonchalantly with a raise of his brows, but she can feel his gaze on her as he takes a sip of his own juice. Zelda is able to indulge in a few more bites of soft, buttery pancake before he speaks again.

“Will you come into town with me today?” he requests, his hand drifting across the table to gingerly grasp hers.

“That’s what the occasion is, then,” she mumbles bitterly. Her appetite is lost and she sets the fork down. “You know I can’t.”

The few times she stepped foot into Hateno Village, the few times she saw the faces of the men and women and children walking through town and living, she turned around and went back to their house on the edge of the village. Link would follow suit some time later and find her gripping the photo of them and the Champions, staining its glass cover with tears.

The village is bright and lively. He tries to make her see the good, but she is blinded by memories.

“Why not?” he prods, taking a step into where he’d never dared to go before, opening the door to her heart just a little more.

“You know why.” Her voice is shaky now. “When I look at them—when I see their faces, they… they remind me of the people I killed all those years ago.”

“You didn’t kill anyone.” His tone is the opposite of hers; certain and sure, and his foot is planted steady in the doorway now. Though his memories are few, they are vivid with color and life and they feel real each time he relives them, whether in his dreams or by traveling to the places he uncovered them in the first place.

“Killing isn’t just about who you strike with your blade, Link,” she scolds. “It’s about what you fail to do that causes their deaths.” Her hands rest now in her lap, leaving his empty and open atop the table. “In my case, I failed to awaken my power in time.”

“But they’re not the people you killed.”

“They look like ordinary citizens. People, innocent people, going about their lives. The very people affected by my incompetence.”

“But—”

“There is no reason for me to go into the village anyway.”

Link sits back in his chair. “Why?” he breathes. The door is closing and he’s fighting to keep it open now.

“Hyrule is dead,” Zelda says plainly. “It died long ago, with all those people. When I looked upon the castle, when we were traveling back here through ruin after ruin, I saw no life.”

“There’s life right outside our house,” he counters.

“We have experienced two different kingdoms, Link.” She stands from her chair and wanders to the stairs, fingers lingering over the banister. “You do not remember my Hyrule. In comparison, this land is dead.” The conversation is over. She walks up the stairs without a word and he can hear her shuffle into bed. Then, it’s silent.

—

He tries again the next morning. This time, he coaxes her outside with the promise of a morning spent picking the flowers growing in their yard. It’s peaceful and they can’t hear the sounds of Hateno Village from their quaint house across the bridge, and he watches her face as she plucks the white flowers from the ground. Her eyes are lidded and mouth curved into a small smile.

He wishes he could show those grass green eyes the beauty of the Hyrule he knows, from its snowy mountaintops to its humid jungles; wishes she could meet the people who helped him along his journey, the people he considers Champions of this new age.

When he’s accrued plenty of flowers in his basket, he calls out to her, “Hey Zel, come here!”

She crawls over, bringing her own basket alongside her. “What?”

“What do you want to do with all these flowers?”

She hums, then says, “I don’t know.” Pulling one out of her basket, she twirls it around by the stem.

“I was thinking we could go into the village and give them to the children,” he offers, standing up and holding out his hand.

“Is that what this was all about?”

“Well…”

She scowls, taking her basket and marching toward the house. He winces as the front door slams shut behind her.

Link, however, is persistent, and if he has anything, it’s the audacity. Every day he tries something new to get her to go into the village with him—getting water from the river, buying a new dress, even visiting Purah at the lab—but each attempt is turned down by her.

“I can do my own research right here from my bed,” she argues when he suggests visiting Purah. Never in his lifetime did he think he would witness Princess Zelda of Hyrule, ancient Sheikah tech extraordinaire and science nerd, turn down an opportunity to go study at a laboratory.

Then, one day, something strange happens. He leaves the house to go work in the fields like usual, bringing along a pitchfork and his lunch. He lets Zelda stay in the house to eat her breakfast and read her books. As he’s walking down the trail from his house, over the bridge and into the new developments that continue to creep ever closer to them, a hand grabs his sleeve.

“Zelda?” he asks when he sees her. “But I thought…”

“I don’t appreciate how often you tried to trick me,” she interjects, “but I did some thinking, and I want to try.”

He’s looking at her like she’s crazy, one eyebrow up and his mouth popped open.

“Please?” she begs.

Taking her hand into his, he nods, and together they walk into the village.

—

Zelda finds a comfortable spot on the edge of the well, legs dangling off the side and face shielded from the bright sun. She sits there, watching the children of the village run around and play, swinging at each other with sticks and throwing pebbles, while Link is off working in one of the farm fields. There are women behind the well gossiping a little loudly for her liking, but after a few hours she manages to tune them out.

One of the children approaches her grinning, missing teeth and all. Zelda’s world stops for a moment, forced to recall the faces of the children she aided in killing. She remembers running through Kakariko Village, drenched and dirty, and seeing the agonizing faces of the village youth while she desperately searched for Impa. She remembers the bodies—Goddesses, the bodies—both young and old, strewn across the cobblestone streets of Castle Town. Of all the memories she can visualize the best, it has to be that one.

“Hello, miss,” the child greets with a slight lisp.

Her world unpauses and she swallows hard, forcing herself to look into the child’s eyes. “Hello,” she replies.

“What’s your name? I’ve never seen you before.” There’s a booger under the child’s nose and a leaf in his hair.

“My name is Zelda.”

She’s staring at this child she’s never met before, with his big round eyes and missing teeth, and she pays special attention to the sound of his breath and the rise and fall of his chest. This child is alive, she knows, yet she can’t help but think of all the children whose blood stains her hands.

“Woah!” His eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shock. “Like the princess?”

“I suppose,” she sighs. In reality, she hates the title. It stings like a thorn even when it’s just an echo inside her head. Hearing the word forces her to recall the countless tales and rumors spread about her through the castle halls one hundred years ago, of her failures and incompetence.

“My mom has told me all sorts of stories about the princess! Like how pretty and nice she was.” Scowling, he crosses his arms. “Though my mom wasn’t alive then, so I don’t know how she knows that.”

“What are some other stories she’s told you?” Zelda raises a brow and leans in curiously. Does her memory survive on a different breath in this new Hyrule? For all intents and purposes, she doesn’t recognize herself from one hundred years ago as truly her. When people speak of the princess, they speak of a woman long dead.

“I don’t remember all of them, but she’s behind the well you’re sitting on. You could ask her.”

She glances back and winces. “Um, I think I’d rather have you tell me.” Zelda hops off the edge of the well and kneels down in front of the child. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Nebb,” he says. “Say, I don’t remember much about the princess, but I can tell you about this one guy I know.”

“Sure,” she replies, sitting on the ground next to Nebb.

“There was this traveler who came by our village a lot,” he begins, “and I asked him to show me a ton of weapons! I don’t know how he was able to find all of them, though. I think he lives in the old house outside of town.”

Zelda hums, resting her head in her hands. She thinks of Link, of the various weapons on display in their house, and there’s no doubt in her mind that she knows exactly who Nebb is talking about.

“I might know him,” she says.

“Really?” Nebb shouts. “He’s so cool, isn’t he? I’ve seen him totally demolish the Bokoblins that come too close to the village before.”

“He’s very cool,” she agrees, trailing off as a little girl approaches them. “And who is this?”

“I’m Narah!” says the little girl. “This is my brother.” She gestures to Nebb and he groans before running away to go play.

“Well, Narah, I’m Zelda.”

“I like to talk,” Narah states. “Ask me some questions!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one asking them.”

Zelda can’t help but laugh. It’s a bright and healthy laugh, one that enraptures Link as he approaches her, sweaty from a day in the field.

“Someone’s enjoying herself,” he chuckles, helping Zelda stand from the ground. Narah gets bored with the attention no longer on her and chases after her brother.

“The children are very sweet,” Zelda admits. “Apparently people share stories about me.”

“They do,” he says. “They’re nothing like the stories you heard all those years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

Her steps as they walk back to the house are more confident, and her grip on his hand is sure.

“I know how people talked about you back then, Zelda. I figured it out through my memories.” He pushes the door open for her, setting his pitchfork against the outside wall before stepping inside. “But these people… they look up to you. You’re a beacon of light to them.”

“But I didn’t do the one thing I was supposed to,” she argues. “They don’t look up to me. They look up to the princess of a century ago.”

“They know you as that princess—that princess who valiantly sacrificed herself to the Calamity to prevent it from reaching their homes. You are what kept Hyrule alive all this time.”

“I’m not a princess anymore,” she mumbles, climbing up the stairs. “It’s just Zelda now. Besides, they don’t even know I’m her. We are two different people now, Link.”

He says nothing, only steps up to the kitchen counter and rummages through the cupboard.

“What do you want for dinner?”

—

She ventures into Hateno Village with him every day now, sitting at her usual spot along the edge of the well and talking to the village children. They are healing, she finds, with their wide smiles and innocent, naive eyes. After some days, she starts playing with them, chasing them around the village and tossing balls back and forth.

She would give anything to go back in time and have the childhoods they have. To frolic in the outdoors, to have both parents, to play and wish and dream and be a child. If Zelda wasn’t so wary of the statues of the Goddess Hylia, she would pray at them once more, pray for a real childhood.

One day, she finally talks to the mothers behind the well. Or, rather, they talk to her.

“Miss,” one of them prods, “why do you come watch our children everyday?”

“Oh, um.” Zelda fiddles with her fingers. “They’re very sweet.”

The women exchange strange glances. “You’re not trying to snatch up my little boy, are you?”

“No! Of course not, no,” Zelda hastily replies. “Nebb introduced himself to me. I enjoy playing with the children.”

The women still aren’t satisfied, and she can tell, so she asks, “What’s it like to be a mother?”

“Oh, it’s something, alright,” the woman with her brown hair tied up groans. “Every day is a struggle. Wake up, get ready, yes, you do have to finish all your veggies!”

Zelda smiles a little but wonders if it is really so much of a struggle to gossip behind the well every day.

“But there are times where I relish it,” the other one pipes up. “My children gave me a purpose when I had none.” A dreamy look casts itself upon her eyes. “They are my pride and joy, as difficult as they can be. My guiding lights, so to speak.”

And something clicks inside Zelda’s mind.

Link picks her up again at the well, sweaty and hot and tired as he normally is after a long day of moving hay and harvesting crops, and as they walk over the bridge to their house she stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looks over to her, frowning with concern.

“Link, I want a child,” she states, and his jaw drops.

Normally, he would try to keep her out of bed for as long as possible. That night, however, he wastes no time in helping her into it.

And so their life continues on exactly like that—days spent working or playing with the village children, rubbing her belly in the hopes she may have one too, nights spent panting in bed, kissing, hot and sweaty and intimate. They’re not strangers to making love, but they are new to doing so with a purpose.

Zelda is suspicious when she misses her period, but what solidifies her hypothesis is when she wakes up one morning with a sick feeling in her stomach before leaping out of bed and rushing outside to dispose of last night’s dinner all over the grass. Link awakens only moments later, finding her outside hunched over and gripping one of the house’s posts. He holds her hair back while she retches some more.

“Zelda…?”

She can only look back at him and smile, nearly laughing with joy, before jumping up to hug him.

“I still don’t get it,” he says while she peppers kisses all over his face.

“Link, I missed my period a while ago,” she explains, finding her footing on the grass. “And feeling sick in the morning, throwing up… do you not know what it means?”

His face contorts in thought, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. His blue eyes drift off to something in the distance as he racks his brain for a possible conclusion.

Zelda whispers into the ear of her lover, “I’m pregnant.”

She can’t see his face light up because he hugs her so tight she’s struggling to breathe, but she lets it happen. Her wish, her one prayer she had ever bothered to offer to the Goddess after the defeat of the Calamity, comes true.

—

The nine months go by like a breeze, her bump growing week by week, having to stay home and rest more often because of it, but she’s happy. She spends her evenings in the rocking chair Link constructed for her, singing to her belly as she rubs it with her soft hands. Her cravings get weirder, too. One week, she’s asking for delicious fruitcake, and the next, she’s asking for soup but instead of meat, it’s monster parts.

Still, Link obliges, going out and picking (or slaying) whatever he needs to to satisfy her. Eventually, the doctor they visit in the village has to start coming to them when it becomes too backbreaking for Zelda to walk, and by some will of the Goddess, the doctor is present when she goes into labor on a rainy autumn morning.

Even as she’s pushing and screaming and grunting, Zelda thinks Hylia must be apologizing, because according to the doctor, it was one of the easiest deliveries he’s ever assisted with. He hands Zelda her baby, wailing and wriggling, small and pale, with a head of soft, thin hair, colored like Link’s. The doctor leaves them alone, lingering downstairs in case anything else needs to be done.

Link kneels by the bedside, watching as Zelda coos at the baby and pokes at her tiny hands. “What will we name her?” she asks him.

“Do you have any ideas?”

She hums, but her eyes never leave the baby. “I would like to name her Impa,” she says.

“I think that’s a great name.” His voice is a whisper now, quiet and hushed as he marvels at the sight of Zelda and their child, and for the first time in a long while, his beloved’s green eyes shine once more.

She smiles down at her baby, because even in a Hyrule she thought long dead, new life still prospers.