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dessarious · 3 years

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The Angel of Death Pt43

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

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“You need to leave.” Watching Damian start before turning towards her in a defensive stance was more amusing than she would have thought. “You’re losing your instincts al Ghul. Living a soft life is going to get you killed again.” Tris watched him settle into his formal ‘holier than thou’ persona and had to fight not to roll her eyes. She didn’t really want him on the defensive but it was his fault for not being more aware of his surroundings.

“How did you get in here?” She just raised an eyebrow at him. Hotel security was the realm of neophytes. She was a bit insulted he still thought so little of her skills. “Blake said you refuse to let them supply you.”

“I refuse to let you buy anything for me. That’s not the same thing. It also doesn’t change the fact that you need to leave.” He simply glared at her but Tris just waited. This nonsense she was used to and she still didn’t understand why he still tried to intimidate her when she’d never once backed down to him. Even when she should have.

“You have no proof that she’s coming for me and I’m not about to leave you here defenseless.” She couldn’t help the eyeroll.

“I assume your father is to blame for this new found sense of responsibility, unnecessary though it may be. I’m far from defenseless and given that I took you down with little effort you’re not the one I would want at my back anyway.” He actually flinched at that and there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t identify. She felt a twinge of guilt but had no idea why.

“I’m sorry.” Tris could only blink at him in confusion. He really had changed. In the past, challenging his worth like that would have resulted in an explosion. The stiffness he was radiating now was discomfort rather than pride. How strange. “I know we’re no longer attached but it was my job to protect you and I failed. I’m not going to leave you to face this threat alone. No matter how capable you may be.” Tris felt her brain just stop. That was the closest he’d ever come to complimenting her.

“You were a child, still are technically. You’d only been exposed to your mother’s worldview. There wasn’t anything you could have done.” Yes she was still bitter about how everything had happened but she knew that it wasn’t his fault. She still didn’t want anything to do with him because of their history, but she wasn’t so stubborn she couldn’t see past her feelings to what had actually happened.

“I should have made her look for you when she took me to Father. If I had refused to go without you she wouldn’t have had a choice.” Tris was fairly certain Talia would have knocked him out before wasting time looking for someone she had deemed worthless. Not to mention she had already run by that point so it wouldn’t have mattered.

“You know she wouldn’t have. I imagine you know better than most the lengths she’ll go to to rid herself of those she considers problems.” The look of shock on his face was all the confirmation she needed that his mother had been instrumental in planning his death. Her guilt came back with a vengeance. He wasn’t the only one who’d been absent when needed. “Besides, I do better on my own. The fewer moving pieces to worry about the better.” And there were already far too many.

“Perhaps, but I know the woman better than anyone. I’m a valuable source of information. Either way, I’m not leaving.” Tris couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped. His amused smile made her want to knock him out and use Kaalki to send him back to Gotham.

“You staying means we won’t know which of us she’s after until it’s too late. Not to mention you’re out of your element here. I have a feeling you have far better protections at home. She’s counting on you being easier to get to and she’s right.” He may be certain his mother was after her but she knew it was likely the opposite. Even the Blakes agreed with her on that. “It’s suicidal for you to stay here given what we know.”

Before he could argue with her the door to the adjoining suite opened admitting his father and another man into the room. Both stopped short as soon as they saw her. She wasn’t certain what to expect but Mr. Wayne seemed to be fighting a smile and the other just looked confused for a moment before excitement took over.

“Oh my god, you’re so cute! And you’ve got the signature hair and eyes. How did you manage to keep Bruce from adopting you immediately?” The man was obviously insane.

“This is why I make sure people know you’re adopted.” For all his huffy tone, Tris could hear some affection in Damian’s voice and when she looked she saw the deep purple string connecting them. She felt jealousy well up but it was the pain that surprised her. She’d been alone so long she thought the hurt from losing her parents was gone.

“Leave, before it’s too late.” She spoke to Damian but didn’t wait for a response before exiting through the window. The last thing she wanted to deal with was one more person trying to take over her life or tell her what to do. She’d never been as willing as Damian to follow orders.

As she made her way across the city she could feel someone following her. Someone she couldn’t get a proper read on. Someone who was extremely well trained. As soon as she noticed she was being followed a string formed. It was light gray, darkening by the minute, but there was no indication of intent. She was fairly certain if they meant to harm her it would be obvious in the string, but she couldn’t chance that she was wrong. So she led them on a random chase across the city in the hopes she could lose them. If that didn’t work… well that was a problem for later.

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#assassin mari #marinette dupain cheng #Damian Wayne

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

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Witcher of the Night (Chapter 23.1)

I KNOW MY EDIT SUCKED. HEH. That’s my book cover in Wattpad. Couldn’t post CHAPTER 23.2 there because the application is glitching and I’m annoyed af. Anyway, enjoy this chapter for WOTN.

CHAPTER 23

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Maybe a witch isn't the key for your getaway because it could be deeper than that.

Warnings: The summary sucked. I couldn't write anything to avoid spoilers. LMAO. Curses. Tybalt and Geralt banter/hate for each other? 😂 Rohesia is my OC, not connected to any of the games or books. The witcher character named Gerd (AHA. I'VE INTENTIONALLY DID THIS. Surprised to see a stomach sickness used as a name lmao jk 😂) from the Bear school has been used. Bethleheigm is also a made up kingdom from moi. 😂 (Pronounced as Beth-le-haym)

Words: 4.3k

A/N: I know Kaer Morhen is located in Kaedwen. Damn it. I lately knew it when I was already half way through this fic and I can't change it anymore. Let's just say...oof. They'll eventually go there. Don't worry. Oop. Is it a spoiler? 😭

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG's and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. (Credits to the rightful owners of the gifs, it’s written in the lower part of their gifs. Though, some don’t. Still, credits to them. If you want it to be removed, just kindly message me) The edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. This has no connection towards the books or games.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

DAY THREE CAME QUICKLY THAN WHAT WAS EXPECTED. Taking the shorter route to keep the proximity of hours easier for traveling back faster to Kaedwen. Geralt and Tybalt had an allayed journey towards the outskirts of Bethleheigm.

If a narrator was utterly dramatic, he or she could say that the witcher was beyond exhausted over being with the higher vampire because he only knew how to gall him over and over---a deathless cycle through out their travel, side by side with their own horses and vexation over each other. Yet, Geralt rarely has given him his energy for a battle that was pathetic as it ends.

They've both shared a night somehow. Their backs meters away from each other. With Geralt and his sarcasm never shutting one's eye until Tybalt was cursing him out under the moon light because the white wolf warned him not to think about hunting people to quench his thirst for blood. The higher vampire was left throwing him a pebble on his back and muttering how the full moon won't be until the day of the feast in the castle where he would technically celebrate over being a vampire but this choice could also be eradicated since blood was not in the highest scale in his pyramid law of needs.

Nights weren't the only thing shared between the two. Unbeknownst to them till Geralt was humming in displeasure, they've actually shared a drink of your home made ale. Tybalt commented how it was as good as Kaedwenian stout---perhaps, even better. Mentioning that the beer was probably made of your love for him which made the witcher scrunch his nose for how cheesy it sounded. Tybalt even declared numerical reasons as to why he kept you with him until today because you knew how to make his drunkard self swoon over your culinary skills.

Your cookery abilities were still different and utmost impressive than Geralt's regardless of how he has been used to embellishing his own food alone before. His midget's skills were technically amazing, add up the peculiar recipes that only you know---but, actually existed in earth---your earth. Those recipes that could get his family and him included, humming in deliciousness because it was new for their taste buds.

They were ought to arrive at the abandoned house today. Side by side, Tybalt and Geralt silently rode on their horses. Both of them fed up at the opposite of every presence that galled them to the brim. The witcher blurting out his opinions very frankly at the scowling vampire who was acting like he wasn't there along the hunt.

"You should've just stayed in the castle and played with your army stocks," Geralt grumbled as he held onto Roach's reigns. Tybalt's advancements for what he has done to you never leaving his memories when he clearly remembered the causes about why he was hating him more than to drown in a monster's stinking guts.

"I should've stabbed yer' horse while we were travelling---or feed off to er' horse blood," Tybalt clapped back, sending the remark in the nonchalant way as possible with a sarcastic raise of his brows.

"Leave Roach out of this,"

"Gods, yer' such a strange one, Witcha'!"

The witcher's scowl was as nasty as an Alghoul's bum. Tybalt seemed to be thoroughly embittered for even tagging along with a cold heart that was grudging to even join his hunt. If it weren't for the queen's request, he would never even be within Geralt's area of personal space. Howbeit, people have been trying to frustrate him even more with their sudden decisions erupting from either sides, like a dormant volcano that no one expects to explode.

Grey undertoned house. Ramshackled from the roof till the decaying roots of stones stuck in between their spaces. Close enough to be dilapidated if a wolf would've tried blowing the house down---though, the three little pigs weren't inside for it to hunt. They were closing in towards their destination, Geralt was anticipating this point of their journey; to immediately seek for the witch and to come back sooner than expected.

Yet, his anticipation burned in disappointment by the familiar look of the house rooted in front of them.

He'd heard stories about this abandoned home in Bethleheigm through drunk men in the Inns. They were having a tete-a-tete that it was a boobey trap made by homeless pirates who hadn't gotten back to shore, concealing the home as a place for them to steal one's belongings until they were ripped off their coins. Some tattled that the house was a dragon's nest where a woman lived in and disguised as one that Geralt knew entirely as a bullshit rumor because no dragons would dare pick to stay in the middle of a forest where the house was the only home built through out the map.

The witcher jumped off his horse, hushing Roach down with a soft caress to her mane because she'd begun to neigh.

Tybalt couldn't help but cackle from how he was affectionately eyeing the horse as if she was his other half, "---I wouldn't be surprised if ye' bring yer' horse with ye' while you bed yer' little woman!" he outlaughed and had a hand on his clothed stomach, shaking his head from the witcher's strange gestures with everything.

"Hmm."

Geralt gave him the side eye, endlessly shooting daggers since the moment they bonded together. His comment receiving a lour from the brooding white wolf because of the baldy judgement said.

"Yer' grumpier than usual---like ye' have been in a fight with yer' current flame---is it the tiny lass, anotha' one of your sorceresses or princess?" the Upir quipped with a smirk, hopping off his own horse before giving the house a look. He seemed to waver with a clear of his throat.

Geralt disregarded his ridicule and question with a blessed silence, his mood turning sour from even mentioning you. The weccan's golden eyes scanned all over the tumbledown house, his amber narrowing as he examined what was expected to be a necromage's hideout that he has heard from one of the drunk men's gossips in the inns.

"This abandoned house," he gruffly started beneath his baritone, harsh breathing as Geralt huffed for his disappointment over the founded location. The bind he had with you turning heavier as days go by like he knew you were turning into a melancholic person due to his faults. Hence, it was keeping him more insane than he can ever be because he always seem to offer only mistakes towards his people---where they end up getting hurt because of him.

Which wasn't new in his life.

"---There is no hag in here. Only a Necromage I presume."

Tybalt walked several steps to stop beside Geralt, shrugging his fur-coated shoulders with a curl of his upper lip, "I told ye' to take the longer route. Right path, Witcha'."

"And I told that you are bringing us both in an early demise because Golems and Downers are bound to get in our way,"

The higher vampire kept his mouth shut after that, his foot tapping on the ground before he received a subtle warning of Geralt's glare. The witcher was right about it. Basically, Tybalt was trying to stall over their journey because he knew what exactly was the stratagem kept for a clandestine truth bound never to be known.

Geralt pushed his peculiar fidgets away as it was still sounding so loud with his heightened hearing. He narrowed his eyes upon the engraved words carved inside the four corners of a mettalic flattened surface stuck on the grimy, stoned walls.

"Thou who shall take a step, requires a fee for entrance and something valuable to heart in order to talk with death,"

He silently read the words inside his head. Considering the requests before slightly pursing his lips, the ends looking like a frown but was actually just irrespective of what he was currently thinking. The ramshackle home being surrounded by an invisible strong force field shielded for not any normal man could trespass in without the rules asked. Another form of magic that he knew---though, this wasn't just any simple sign. It was created by sorceresses or wizards to safeguard the whole home for decades end, not risking anyone to touch whoever was inside, like it was keeping something from entering the place.

Geralt gave Tybalt a look while the vampire continued to whistle along the winds, his arms crossed in front of his chest whilst checking his awfully long nails, intentionally ignoring his companion until the witcher tried to grab onto a rock, strongly throwing the stone towards his head until Tybalt used his abnormal abilities, instantly dodging the stone coming forth and sprinting beside Geralt in just a second to see him nodding his head for his crackerjack skills that he seldomly uses.

"Coins." the white haired weccan roughly stated before he heard Tybalt huff and grumble from his demands, giving his palm to him and expecting for a bag of coins to be placed on his hands.

"You have your own, Witcher."

Geralt cocked his head to the side with a feigned smile, shaking his head, "My coins will remain untouched. I'm not risking mine for favors asked."

"Fuck you and yer' coins. I hope you feckin' go slow and die as soon as you're done with us,"

In the end, Tybalt eventually had to fish out a bag of crowns inside his coat, begrudgingly dropping them off on the witcher's awaiting palm who has shrugged his broad shoulders for his easy submission. The words to the engraved poster switching to dust, swirling through the air, changing into an arrow pointing at a brick where Geralt had to slightly touch for it to be pushed back.

Thorny, earthy tone colored vines snaked their way out of the hole. The brick of the old house never being seen as the roots formed a symbol of two palms sticking together like it was asking for alms. Geralt placed the coins on the makeshift hand, slowly slithering its way back to its home.

The house was alive. He was sure of that when he felt the aegis slowly fading away. Its stone doors cracking to slide open for them to enter.

Tybalt hasn't moved a step from his side. He returned to crossing his fairly muscled arms, hearing hasty pads of footsteps shuffling from behind as Geralt halfly turned to see a Hirrika panting on his side, yelping as a way of his bark towards the witcher who had his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and stupefaction; stunned to see the familiar beast who has impressively found him despite of his long travel.

"Kolby."

"Your whore's feral pet," The Upir deadpanned, chuckling nasally like a sarcasm.

Tybalt heard a low growl coming the monster, his fangs shown to the vampire who he could sense and remember, his scent awfully making him remember how he'd hurt his master.

"Watch it." Geralt gruffly mumbled, giving Tybalt the side-eye as he tried monotonely hushing the rare beast like how he'd seen you soothe his annoyance or anger whenever Jaskier irritates Kolby.

"Down, Kolby. No teeth." he gruffly scolded with a raise of his palm.

The Hirikka chattered like a cat as he glared at Geralt's temporary companion, spinning on his own place before howling, his snout tilted at the sky as he yowled, the sound making him wince from how loud it was---too sensitive for his heightened hearing. Though, that didn't stop him from judging his gestures, noticing how he was jumping in his own spot whilst doe eyes stared back.

"He's saying something," the white wolf frankly stated, exhaling a languid breath through his nose because he couldn't understand what he wanted, "---Stay here and don't touch Roach or my Hirikka." he mentioned for Tybalt who appeared to be mentally finding their whole interaction as comedic. Geralt took a step forth, subtly leaving a pat on Kolby's head that eventually calmed him down, making him skip his paws to the side.

The Hirikka jumped to sit on his short tail, his knees bent and close to his chest as he silently watched Tybalt and Geralt conversing together with snarls and insensitive jests until the witcher finally moved away from him, bravefully entering the threshold.

"Where ye' going?" Tybalt called out and made him cease his steps, promptly giving the growling Hirikka his heed to see Geralt judging with his slightly entertained peepers, fighting off the curl of his lips because of how his Hirikka was making the higher vampire uneasy. He was agile but lacked knowledge over the beastiality of the continent. Probably, because of how he has been confined in the castle in an early age and known more politics and schemes more than the lore of monsters.

"To ask the Necromage about that witch,"

"Just like that?"

"She might know her whereabouts. Stay here if you don't want to get your vampire nails grimy,"

Tybalt cocked his head to the side, effusive of cursing out the witcher who had a smirk as he turned his back away from him, continuing his path around and ignoring his cavils.

"Why am I even following ye' around, Mutant?"

Geralt of Rivia entered the perimeters. His newly sharpened swords latched on his wide, broad back. Every step had his chest heavier than usual; bred-in-the-bone like he knew there was something happening to you back in the castle that he couldn't decipher and it made him scowl. The energy in the house even adding more of that deep-seated feeling---the home being cursed as well like some sort of magic was ceasing his advancements from talking to this person living inside.

The place wasn't ruined after all. It was all charmed and just a mere visionary trap or distraction that won't let people fall for even staying close to whoever was inside. Clean and utterly fixed, furnitures sat on their proper rooms which held up a second floor that Geralt didn't plan on exploring for as a presence could be felt while he stood in the middle of the kitchen.

"Hmm. Necromage,"

This person was a woman, Geralt silently stated the obvious inside his head. Her voice was tremulous and surprised to see a gigantuan man standing in the middle of her kitchen which she has never seen before in all her life.

"I am no Necromage," Rohesia calmly informed him, her heed turning distant from the mention, "She...has already died. Cristabell, My lady of the rarest in Bethleheigm---the only necromancer in this kingdom. May her soul rest in peace,"

"---You're the witcher." she paused, taking a gander and examining the white wolf before her. White hair falling on the tips of his shoulder blades. Gold eyes. A scowl prominent on his face. This was the witcher she has been warned about from both parties.

Geralt attempted a cynical smile, seeing that she held more lies and have been doing so for a lifetime, "There's no use of lying."

She was feeble. As old as Eanraig in terms of physical appearance but not his actual age since he was a scholar of the forest. The witcher held onto his medallion, seeming to feel no vibrations over his necklace that he strongly felt before the doors have been opened. His white and black spotted eyebrows furrowed for what singularity was happening.

This was supposed to be the Necromage. Yet, why does she felt human who had no magic to offer?

The hoary, old woman was not lying after all.

Rohesia forced to give him a small smile, walking past him to sit on one of the wooden, dining chairs. Gesturing her palm outwards for Geralt to take a seat that he simply answered with silence as he stood rooted on his spot, assessing what she truly was.

"I offer you no lies of secrecy. My mouth speaks nothing but the truth for I am just a mortal who thrives to live peacefully in the continent," she honestly answered his curiosity and judgements which made him nod at her uprightness---making his job easier for him.

The woman really was no necromage at all.

"A mortal who stands for her virtues. Hmm."

"Why are you here, Witcher?"

His glower was permanent even as he sauntered to where she was, standing upright and leaning a hand on the top portion of her dining chairs whilst he patiently explained.

"To find the hag who has cursed prince Althalos of Kaedwen."

Rohesia only offered a small, genuine smile. Her shaky laugh erupting through her chest because she knew this was the man who her former witcher and lover give fair warning to when the Kaedweni started their murdering plots upon fellow weccans who fall for their crimes. Vesemir never wanted to be involved with their delinquencies, explains his periodic leave in the kingdom---his constant visits for the woman seldomly occurring since Nilfgaard has attacked and conquered another domain after Cintra.

"Are you doing this because Vesemir has told you so?"

Geralt went on with his speechless talk, low humming followed suit for the flabbergast he felt over hearing his senior mentor in the art of their kind. The end of his lips subtly turning the opposite of a lour, relieved to suddenly hear his name through another person's mouth---a woman he probably had a relationship with; a former flame and mortal that Geralt least expect for Vesemir to entertain because of the conducts he had told him prior into becoming one skilled witcher.

It is that being involved with mortals and even having a soft spot in the job won't make them any better.

"Does he visit often?"

She ignored his question with a simple, wholehearted feeble laugh. Her circumvent obvious that Rohesia wanted not to talk about Vesemir after he has chosen to leave her for coins and another woman---another mortal years ago, thinking that because she aged badly was one of the reasons why he chose something better than to be with her. Hence, they were even known to be monsters of their own kind. Monsters who slay other beasts in exchange for coins. It was what she believed them to be---yet, she knew to herself that if Vesemir would come back to her, she would still accept him with all her mortal heart.

She dryly coughed, avoiding his eyes and covering her mouth with a tightened fist that Geralt quickly knew she was physically sick just by the looks of it.

"If you...still want to live and take your coin, turn back around and forget that you have stumbled upon this place forever."

The latter shook his head. Determined to find answers from this elderly human who knew his mentor and a fatherly figure he had been to his life. He believed Rohesia knew more than just Vesemir based on how she was trying to push him away.

"Where's the hag?"

"You cannot find the witch anywhere even out in Kaedwen, Geralt."

He was impressed. Geralt raised both of his eyebrows, pursing his lips with a tilt of his head that she knew his name regardless of not introducing himself yet.

"Vesemir has obviously told you more about me,"

She ignored his statement again, grabbing onto the ends of her dirty Tunic as she stood, saying her words firmly and with finality. Never knowing if her decision over dropping out hints would be good for her isolation from everyone---isolation and somehow imprisoned inside a house. The necromage being her sentinel, a guard given orders that she wouldn't escape and try to spill secrets that will ruin such plans. Howbeit, she still had high respects for Cristabell who had been too kind for her that she has brought Rohesia with her whenever she was out for some business.

"The witch you have been finding has been around the castle for decades."

Perhaps, it was time for the truth to set out free because Rohesia knew she had only weeks to live in the continent. Revenge pushing her through the decision she wanted for trying to keep her contained, watching her every move; ruining more of her wrecked life.

"I have been the queen's loyal servant. After she has given birth to Prince Althalos, he has already been cursed when he was a bairn." Pause. "---Sorceress Ingrith has managed to sneak into their quarters and cast the curse by whispering such spell and gaining a tiny drop of his blood. I've all seen her cantrips and heard them as I came back to guard the prince in his sleep. The wail of an offspring shall bring despair for the royal family,"

The sorceress' name felt like a crime to be told. Heaviness in her chest finally unleashing after decades of being caught up with the lies she was telling people who asked or went to gather information as to who has cursed the prince; finding the witch and ending up dying from the hands of her womanly guard. Cristabell recently died from the hands of the last witcher who she knew as Gerd, the necromage dying after their battle whilst she tried to fight for her cousin's trangression---continuing doing so for the sake of her selfish reasons.

"---She...she was also the king's mistress before the queen has given birth to Prince Althalos while she also gained her position. I may never know if it was made from jealousy over the queen's position. Though, it is their life that I promised to stay away from. Only sorceress Ingrith may reverse the curse or happen to know how,"

A beat of silence wrapped them both after Rohesia's candor. Geralt's mouth forming a deeper scowl than ever as he loudly sighed, languidly blinking in weary for being tricked by the sorceress and her right hand, Tybalt of Touissant. His jaw began to clench for who stood outside of the house, the higher vampire making him mad for leading him on circles---the cycle wouldn't have ended if he chose to go forth with his suggested path. It was why he was trying to lead him towards a swamp filled with monsters than the shorter route because the truth was with this rumored woman.

"Should've known."

He deeply grumbled begrudgingly, blaming himself for not thinking it through. His time wasted for you to be saved and taken out of the palace. If only he wasn't as pale as Ivory, his face would've been empurpled with fury for what they've made him appear to be---an idiot or for whatever bullshit they can call him.

"You're coming with me..." Geralt deeply said before he was cut off to her introduction of name.

"The name's Rohesia, Witcher."

He nodded back to the lady, going on with his ceased sentence with solicit, "---Back to the castle,"

Rohesia saw him walk closer to her, face to face with the infamous butcher she has heard tales about. The butcher of Blaviken who has managed to slaughter goons of Princess Renfri's hooligans and also earning another moniker of being a butcher of Ard Carraigh. Kaedwen's capital. The name would eventually spread throughout his kind because of how Kaer Morhen was close by. Her eyes catching onto the badge latched on the rain-guard of his sword.

"I have been told to never step foot again or I shall be put into death,"

"Do I need to beg for your compliance and offer protection?"

"What's in it for you and me?"

The witcher deeply sighed, shifting his amber away from her as Geralt looked withdrawn, his next words sounding like a mumble, dubious of his own bluntness. Disbelieving that he could hear his own voice say the words like an echo of his consciousness.

"You get to save the castle from anguish," pause. "---and you get to save the life of someone dear to me,"

"A woman I assume---your woman," Rohesia sounded so surprised, staring him down in incredulity, "---Is she royal? another sorceress too? a mutant?"

"A mere...mortal," he hesitated to honestly say, his eyes filled with a memory he truly can't forget. Your skeptical voice stuck inside his head when he remembered the first time he met you till the moment you told him how you suited to be a queen.

Geralt clearly remembered his reaction and teasing reply. Telling you how you suited more to be called a midget. His midget. Yet, now you were being treated like his queen where he would kiss the ground you walk on no matter how in denial he gets.

"---Perhaps...a queen to her kingdom in her rightful dimension," he was caught in his train of thoughts, never seeing the stupefaction in Rohesia's eyes over what dimension he meant---having no clue for his words. She could see what Vesemir once was like until life has ruined everything for her, including the sorceress corrupting and controlling the people and castle of Kaedwen.

"Learning to love doesn't suit your kind, Witcher."

"It's because it isn't what you think it is."

Rohesia shook her head for his lies, he was thoroughly unaware of the feelings sipping through his words once he mentioned you. This witcher believed that he wasn't capable to love nor emit feelings just like how her previous lover have been. A typical characteristic of his own kind. Denial and the feeling of being unworthy of recognizing such emotion was making him sound insensitive. But, people who could read others can see through him regardless of how he tries not to, "Deny it all you want. To us humans, it is. Love as many people assume."

"---you're still human after all. As far as I believe for your kind, Geralt of Rivia. Sorceress Ingrith might be glad to see me again soon---I hope."

Don’t hesitate to message me if you don’t want to be included in the taglist anymore, bb’s. I won’t be mad. Thank you.

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @butterpumpkinscotch @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo, @alexwinchester23, @naturalthrone22 @supernaturallover2002, @tellmesomethinggud

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife @nothinggoesunpunished

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Royal We ch.1 (baon)

Summary: Family helps family. Sometimes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

When they first came to this universe, it hadn’t taken long for Edge to realize that things were very different here than back home in Underfell, (no, not home, not for a long time now). The changes took some time to absorb and some might never fully integrate, as his freezer filled with stocked up meals would attest. But there were a few universal constants and while all of them grew up with their brother as their only relative, they all knew that family helped family. Even when that family was a pack of alternates who appeared later in life.

Which was how Edge found himself on his day off sitting on the floor of what was currently Papyrus and Blue’s house, making party favors for Undyne’s baby shower.

The living room was strewn with decorations waiting to be placed, streamers and banners in an eclectic rainbow of colors, uninflated balloons spilling out of a bag like the leftover skins of a particularly garish fruit. The party itself wasn’t until tomorrow, but that left little time to waste, considering the plans Papyrus had drawn up.

Plan was perhaps an overstatement, but Edge could never fault Papyrus for his enthusiasm. His color scheme, on the other hand—well. He’d never approved of the way some Humans were so obsessed with gender that they actually assigned colors at birth but there was a great distance between that and a design that might cause any guests with fleshier eyes to scramble for sunglasses.

Papyrus was bustling around setting things up while the rest of them were sitting on the floor in a circle around a coffee table that was cluttered with craft supplies. He’d paired each of them off to work on separate projects and for all that the occasion was a joyous one, the mood was decidedly not.

“how many of these things do we need, anyway?” Stretch grumbled. His and Jeff’s assigned duty was to pour a mixture of toffee-coated popcorn into small plastic bags, tie it closed with a ribbon, and then affix a sticker on the front that declared in cheery letters ‘Ready to Pop’!

Edge was morbidly curious as to how Undyne felt about that particular sentiment this close to the end of her pregnancy.

A glance at the finished bags confirmed that Stretch’s ribbons were less a bow and more a tangle of colorful knots, Jeff’s only a slight improvement. The bags were sealed at least, and Papyrus was more than content with the effort, which was all that really mattered.

Besides, Edge was busy with his own task; planting tiny succulents into miniature pots, each with a painstakingly attached tag reading, ‘Watch Me Grow!’. Privately, he thought the small cacti were a far better representation of Undyne than any snack, but then, he wasn’t the one actually throwing the shower.

“How many do we need,” Papyrus repeated thoughtfully. Edge pointedly did not ask about the garland in his hand which seemed to be made of dangling fish ornaments and…was that tomatoes? Edge decided it would be best not to know, lest he end up lying awake tonight with the answer still haunting him. “Well, there is Undyne’s co-workers in Security and Alphys’s at the lab, plus their neighbors and friends, and of course us!”

“i don’t need no damn cactus,” Red muttered sullenly. How Papyrus even got Red here was another burning question, though the answer was likely Sans sitting placidly right next to him. His collar was visible over the neckline of his t-shirt, the buckle glinting in the light. Occasionally he reached up absently to touch it as if to verify it hadn’t wandered off when he wasn’t looking. Their entire duty seemed to be putting cans of sparkling water into drink koozies emblazoned with such witticisms as ‘nacho average baby’ over a cartoon of a tortilla chip. It was anyone’s guess as to if that task was actually assigned to them or simple the one they’d decided on doing, but between them, there were four cans done after a half an hour of work.

Sans managed to slide another can into a koozie, bringing their grand total to five. “paps, that didn’t really answer the question.”

“That would be because I am not finished counting!” Papyrus scolded. “There’s also Undyne’s ‘Cooking with Krav Maga’ class and naturally all the Dreemurr family will be coming.”

“great, ass-gore will be here,” Stretch muttered, fumbling to tie another ribbon with varying success. “i’ll be sure to bring my headphones.”

Edge sighed inwardly. Stretch was in a prickly mood and had been all day, and it didn’t take a scientist-level IQ to know it had something to do with the baby shower. They’d known about this for days; when Papyrus asked if they would help, Edge hadn’t hesitated to agree. Now he was wondering if he shouldn’t have asked Stretch in advance. He hadn’t refused to come, but he’d been twitchy and snappish since getting up that morning, only getting worse when they came over. If the party were for anyone but Undyne, Edge would have suggested they go home.

Adding to the irritation was Red in a poor mood of his own and he hadn’t a single qualm about casting sparks around a gasoline spill. “good, no one wants to hear you flappin’ your yap, anyway. save your 280 characters for your twitter freaks.”

“aww, jealous?” Stretch cooed, “‘cause, you talk so much crap, i dunno whether to you need toilet paper or a breath mint.”

Edge exchanged a weary look with Blue, who returned it with equal exasperation. Those two had been sniping at each other all morning and it was Blue’s turn to attempt a least a little fire prevention.

“Really, Papy, that’s enough,” Blue said reprovingly. That might stop them briefly, but they all knew from past experience it wouldn’t last. Red and Stretch were alike in a number of dissatisfying ways, past the darkened circles of exhaustion that were currently visible beneath both their sockets. For one, most of them weren’t above returning a good insult with a better one, but Red and Stretch could be particularly vicious about it. Usually it was better to let them simply work it out between themselves; trying to intercede past a little mild scolding usually ended up getting you mixed up in the spat.

This time Edge was tempted, if only because Jeff looked supremely uncomfortable. He fumbled with his latest little bag of popcorn and ended up with a good portion bouncing into his lap rather than the treat bag.

For the time being, Sans seemed content to allow them to try to rein in their brothers, and that would likely last until their petty squabbling might upset Papyrus. Who thus far either hadn’t noticed or was content to allow the others to handle it. Edge hoped it was the latter. The crack in Papyrus’s skull was still starkly visible, although his balance seemed much improved, if the way he all but leapt from the ladder was any indication, digging furiously through an overflowing box of even more decorations.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said to his brother’s scold, and then promptly added a mumble of, “don’t see why he has to be here, anyway.”

“’cause it ain’t your party, it’s hers, and she’d want ‘im,” Red grumbled. Then, in a smirking sotto voce, “’sides, i figure he’s the baby daddy so be kinda rude not to at least give ‘im a party favor.”

“There is no baby daddy, since neither Undyne nor Alphys want to be called daddy, and it’s much ruder to speculate,” Papyrus called primly, confirming that he was indeed listening to the ongoing bickering. He stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the growing balloon sculpture critically. Edge joined him in looking, biting the tip of his tongue to hold back any questions, especially on whether the design was supposed to be Undyne or an eggplant. Never ask when you didn’t want to know the answer and Papyrus wove in another long, purple balloon as he went on, “and also Asgore can’t be the donor because I am.”

A hush of silence fell, along with a number of wide sockets and eyes turning to Papyrus’s direction. No one’s were wider than Sans’s at what was obviously unexpected news to him as he blurted, "seriously, bro? you're the one who handed over the baby batter for undyne?”

Papyrus frowned at them all reprovingly. “That is rude AND crude, I'll thank you not to refer to it that way.”

"sorry, bro, but fuck,” Sans sputtered, “you didn’t say anything!”

"Is there a reason I would need to?” Papyrus asked, brow bones raised, “Undyne is my best friend and wanted a child, so of course I would help provide the necessary material in her time of need!"

“necessary material,” Stretch muttered, his face scrunching up, and in that Edge could only agree, “right.” He nudged Jeff with an elbow, who yelped aloud and jumped, sending up another miniature shower of popcorn, “uh, andy, i know we're best buds and all, but if you ever need--"

“Nope, I’m good,” Jeff said, a touch too loudly.

“happy to hear it.” Stretch gave him a grin that slowly faded. “see? so if asgore didn’t donate his, uh, time and effort, he can stay home."

“Honestly, Papy you can’t—" Blue began reprovingly, only to be drowned out by Red’s loud snort.

“what the fuck is your problem with asgore, anyway,” Red grumbled. He picked at his gold tooth, a tell that sent tension winding up Edge’s spine even as his brother added with lazy viciousness, “get over it already, you act like he’s your ex who fucked you over.”

The day seemed to be one for unexpected silences. Only this time the stares were directed at Stretch, who said nothing. He only sat white-faced, cellophane crinkling loudly as his hands fisted around the bag in his lap, his skull draining of color as he managed to look at anything but those stares.

Red let out a harsh chortle of laughter, “seriously? all this time you’ve been holier than thou about his lv and it’s actually ‘cause you used to give him the bone over in your ‘verse? fuck, now there is a mental picture,” Red moaned out gleefully, “oooh, fuzzy ass, stick it to me good! ram me with your furry wand of wonder and i’ll get your goat!”

A chorus of protests rose up, with Edge’s snarl of, “That’s enough!” rising to the top.

But Stretch was already standing, a litter of colorful ribbons shedding from his lap as he walked swiftly to the door.

“Rus—" Edge stood to chase after him, cursing his damned leg as it threatened to buckle under him. It was an exercise in futility from the start, as he’d known it would be. Stretch shortcutted the moment he was out the door, heading off Angel knew where to lose himself in the stew of his own thoughts. The temptation to look up where he’d reappeared on the phone app was strong, but Edge resisted it. Stretch had the right to be alone if that was what he wanted, particularly after that dig.

He sighed and went back into the house. Only to pause as he saw the various looks had transferred to him, all of them guarded, particularly Blue; his starry eye lights seemed to be anticipating anger at Stretch. As if this made any damned difference between them. Even Jeff looked near tears, like he expected Edge to already have Antwan on the phone demanding him to draw up divorce papers. It was damn well insulting, and he glared back at them all until those gazes dropped, Blue’s reluctantly last.

All except for his own brother. Red was grinning, savagely pleased, and if they wanted anger, the simmering urge to shout at his brother was rising to a roiling boil in him, his LV waking in his soul to twinge eagerly at the heat of it. Only that was likely exactly what his brother wanted, to be punished for his casual cruelties. Whatever was troubling Red, Edge wasn’t about to reward his masochism.

His own anger fell swiftly into disappointment; lately Red had been bordering on kind with Stretch, if it could be called that, treating him as a brother, or better, if Edge were honest with himself. A brother that needed his protection as Edge decidedly did not. It’d been some time since he’d deliberately needled Stretch and Edge couldn’t even understand why he’d chosen to do so today. Whatever his petty reasons, they weren’t sufficient enough to excuse that.

Edge kept his voice low and even as he said, “That was cruel.”

That satisfied smirk faltered and Red shifted to lean forward. “yeah? well, it's about time he starts getting’ over it. it ain’t the same guy and he’s married to you.”

“Affection for someone else is not any kind of betrayal and considering that all of you calculated our worlds have ceased to exist, there isn’t much opportunity for closure, is there,” Edge said, acid creeping in. "The state of my marriage is no concern of yours."

Red’s sockets fell half-closed as he said, dangerously soft, "you think so, boss?"

Then he flinched suddenly, yelping as Sans slapped him upside the head. "you’re so eager for stretch to get over shit, how about you practice what you preach.” He shoved a can of sparkling water into Red’s lap. “shut up and put on a fucking koozie.”

Red scowled hard and Edge did not miss his crimson gaze flicking to the collar around Sans's throat. Grudgingly, he did what he was told.

“Do not interfere with my marriage,” Edge said coolly. Not that such a statement would stop his brother, but at least it was said between them. Then to Papyrus. “I am sorry, but."

Papyrus only flapped his hands at him, shooing him away, “No, no, go, talk to Stretchy Me! I’m sure Cherry here would like to think about how much he hurt Stretch’s feelings and yours, his own brother, who has recently suffered an injury. And there are my own injuries to consider as well, sticks, stones, and words do hurt!"

Edge let him ramble and started for the door, then hesitated. The others were accustomed to a certain amount of internal friction, some of it formerly his and Stretch’s, from the moment they woke up in this universe. Their Human companion was not so inured to it and Edge crouched to set a ginger hand on Jeff’s shoulder, “Jeff, I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Jeff waved it off, offering up a lopsided grin. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen Thanksgiving at my grandparent’s place. Don’t think my grandma ever got the gravy stains off the ceiling.”

“can’t just drop a hint like that and not give the story, andy,” Sans said, lightly. The others murmured agreement, eager to latch onto another topic.

Edge could hear as he went out the door, “Well, uh, see, my grandpa was originally from Norway, and—”

There were any number of places Stretch might go to nurse his internal wounds, but Edge had a fairly good guess as to the likeliest one. He drove home, parked his car in the driveway, but instead of heading up to the front porch, he went around the side of the house towards their fenced backyard. Before he was even close, he could hear Stretch talking and he went quietly through the gate to see him sitting outside the coop with Noodle settled into his lap, the laces of his untied sneakers trailing into the grass for Dumpling to peck at.

His skull was resting against one of the support posts, still too pale, his sockets closed and his vape drooping loosely from his long fingers. Vaping instead of smoking cropped up sometimes when Stretch was truly irritated, as if he subconsciously wanted control over something and settled for his nicotine addiction. Or perhaps it was to protect his feathered companions from secondhand smoke.

Noodle didn’t seem bothered either way, chirring softly as Stretch stroked his free hand down her back.

“—not like i don’t know i’m being a dick. that guy just pisses me off sometimes. asgore, not red. actually, they both piss me off, now that you mention it.”

Noodle made an inquisitive sound and Stretch sighed out a cloud of vapor. “yeah, yeah, i was in a mood before we even went over. i dunno, all that baby shit gets on my nerves for some reason.” He scratched lightly under Noodle’s chin and she cooed contentedly. “you’re right, it’s no excuse for being shitty. especially to papyrus, he’s all excited about throwing this party. even if the balloon thing was creepy, you should’ve seen it, like cthulhu’s second cousin after failed plastic surgery.”

“You weren’t being a dick.” Edge said, quietly. Stretch tensed and his sockets slid open, but he didn’t look up, his pale eye lights straying down on his poultry pal. Edge walked over and sat next to them, keeping a careful distance away, easily breached if Stretch wished, or a comforting barrier if he didn’t. “Perhaps a little rude.” Edge held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A little. My brother, on the other hand, was embracing his dickish nature.”

Stretch made a faint, amused sound, “red embracing his dick was not a chat i was expecting today.”

Then he leaned to the side, crossing the distance between them to rest his skull on Edge’s shoulder. He took the unsubtle hint and slid an arm around his husband’s slim shoulders, holding him in close, closing his sockets against the faint tremble in Stretch’s voice as softly spoke.

“he wasn’t my boyfriend. fuck, i never saw him get out of the ruins. i…might’ve given it a shot if he had,” his voice dropped to a bare whisper and Edge hummed encouragingly, already anticipating what was coming, “but i was fucking everyone back then. i was maybe a little infatuated, okay? that’s it.”

“All right,” Edge said, calmly, even as he tightened his arm around Stretch, holding him closer still. He was not jealous of Stretch’s yesterdays; his only commitments were his tomorrows, and despite what his brother might think, Edge was certainly not about to allow anything so trivial as a former crush on a dead man come between them.

Stretch heaved a watery little sigh. “but that isn’t it, not really. he was my friend and i promised him i’d take care of the kid. instead i—"

“Did what you had to do,” Edge interrupted firmly. He understood impossible situations better than most, his own LV-tainted soul aching to think of Stretch enduring what he had for so long, an impossible choice to make between his world and the intent of a murderous child.

Yet, even now, Stretch couldn’t be convinced that was true. He only sighed out a quiet, “sure.” Then, louder, “anyway. he was my friend. he would have hated to see what he was in this world. it’s just…it’s hard sometimes.”

“I know.” Hard to see alternates of people they’d known, a lifetime of memories to be set aside while learning a new person with an old face. Undyne was his own personal struggle and Edge could call her friend, but it wasn’t the same, it couldn’t be.

Next to him, Stretch snuggled in closer even as Noodle let out a querulous protest over the lack of petting. “i’ve been thinking. my hp is on the rise, right?”

“It’s 5 and a quarter, love,” Edge said dryly, reaching over to offer the chicken a gentle pat, Noodle’s dismay quickly turning to a rapturous croon, “and as happy as I am for it, I’d prefer if you didn’t decide to take up hang gliding or street fighting.”

"you're hilarious, babe." Another long, slow breath, before Stretch blurted, "i know i kinda railroaded you when we talked about this before. if you really want kids--" he faltered, his voice breaking as Edge listened in dismayed confusion, "i mean, if that's…we could…"

Suddenly Edge knew precisely what Rus was going to offer and he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want him to think in even the tiniest way that he’d lost some measure of Edge’s love by preferring not to have children and and he didn’t know how to stop him from strangling out the words.

So Edge cupped his face in a hand and turned Stretch’s head towards him to kiss that stammering mouth lingeringly, until he stopped trying and simply melted into the gentle touch. By the time he drew away, Stretch was the one making thin, dismayed sounds, trying to chase after that kiss for more, his eye lights hazy soft. Instead, Edge pressed a light, teasing kiss to the slight nodule of his nasal cavity.

"No, I don’t think so,” Edge told him, slow and carefully. Watching that much-loved face to make sure Stretch was hearing him. “I’ve considered it and I’ve decided I’m entirely too busy to add parenthood to my schedule. I’m going back to the Y this week, I think I’m better off trying to secure a place in this world for the children already in it.”

Poorly hidden relief flickered over Stretch’s face and Edge leaned in to kiss him again, silently hoping that he was truly believed this time. There was no doubt in his mind that Stretch would force himself to endure the stresses of having a child if he thought Edge wished it, but making Stretch bear the weight of unwanted parenthood was a nightmare not to be considered. He’d love the child, surely, but at what cost? Far higher than Edge would ever consider paying.

A sudden cackle came from inside the coop and Stretch jerked away, sitting bolt upright.

“the egg!” Stretch gasped, scrambling to his feet, “i never did get a chance to research her adopted egg. you think maybe it actually—” hatched, he did not say, almost superstitiously hopeful.

“It’s possible,” Edge hedged, doubtfully. They both started into the coop, only for a voice calling over the fence to stop them.

“Hello? Hello, is anyone home?” The words were couched with near panic and the voice was a familiar one. Stretch beat him to the fence, opening the gate as he limped as quickly as he could over.

“Janice?” Edge said, surprised and concerned. The fur on her face was matted and wet with tears and she wrung her hands, shaking as she tried to speak. It brought back unpleasant memories of the attack at the Embassy, when one of the protesters threw a brick at her. Even then her pain and fear were tempered under practicality as she asked Antwan to bring her children to the hospital, her thoughts on keeping her boys from fearing Humans more than they already might. To see her bereft of her usual firm control was concerning.

“Calm down,” Edge soothed, pulling her into his arms without a thought, even as he cast a wary glance around the neighborhood. Nothing seemed out of order, not yet, “What’s happened?”

She leaned against him heavily and he nearly staggered back a step. Tall as he was, they were of nearly an equal weight. “It’s Jude, he didn’t come home for lunch and I can’t find him anywhere!” She hitched out a sob. “None of the other children have seen him, my family has been looking but we can’t find him, I can’t—”

Her voice dissolved and Edge gave her a last pat before firmly pushing her into his husband’s startled arms.

“Stretch, stay with her,” Edge commanded, reaching for his phone, “I’m going to make some calls.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch agreed hastily. He rubbed a soothing hand down her back as Janice struggled against her tears. “hey, we’ll find him. little guy couldn’t have gotten too far.”

Edge was already pulling up his contact list and couldn’t help the darkly sour thought that if this didn’t pull his brother out of his bad mood, nothing would.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #kustard #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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caffeinechic · 4 years

Text

Good Omens Fic Recs 1/?

I went to fix a link in this post and managed to delete the entire thing like an absolute fool.

But my complete annoyance with myself won’t be bested with my determination to post this lot. So here I go again. I am so sorry if this has shown on your dash a million times. And sorry for the double links / tagging as I honestly went half mad over even the basics. This is where I am with life.

I have about 300 Good Omens fics bookmarked at this point to trying to pull out my absolute favourites sent me down a re-read (and in many cases a re-re-re-re-read) rabbit hole, which was an absolute joy so no complaints here!

These are just some of the ones that have just really stuck with me for one reason or another so I’ve gathered them up under the cut

4 Authors I just need to do like a HUGE rec for as they’re life ruiners. How dare they be this good. HOW DARE THEY.

@princip1914 @princip1914

Yeah I started pulling out the bookmarks I had for @princip1914 and realised it was...everything they’d written. All of it. Just...all of it.

But my particular favourite out of an outstanding batch is the following - which I have read approximately 70 squillion times. It stuck with me for so long in a way that I don’t think many fics have, ever. I actually can’t recommend this enough:

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

“But how,” Aziraphale gasped, agonized and close to tears. “How can you be sure. Crowley, dear, you got thrown out of heaven for questioning everything. How can you be sure about this?”

Crowley loves and Aziraphale doubts. God intercedes. A groundhog day kind of situation ensues wherein Aziraphale has to fall in love with Crowley over and over again as a human until he gets the point. Highlights include: delivering medical care in rural Louisiana, stargazing in Vegas, strangers on a train, and teaching middle school.

@bestoftheseekwill @bestoftheseekwill

Same “problem” with @bestoftheseekwill - READ EVERYTHING. Oh my god, the human AUs, THE HUMAN AUS.

Special shout out to Acts of Service which was the first Human AU I’d read and got me completely hooked and now whenever seekwill posts I immediately read.

Acts of Service

"You seem very familiar to me. I can’t say why that is." As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley turned away from the fire, and Aziraphale was momentarily concerned that the spell had been broken, that he had crossed some invisible line. But Crowley smiled and brought his beer to his lips.

"Maybe we met in a past life. Does your lot believe in that?"

"Past lives?"

"Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled into his wine. He was sure Crowley was poking fun, ever so slightly, but he liked it. "Not strictly speaking. No."

Crowley shrugged, taking another long sip of his beer. “A mystery then."

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

OH!! but also

That this could be the kingdom

- this one sat with me for a while. Stunning

I have lived my whole life with a wrecked heart. Fr. Aziraphale Fell’s present mirrors his past, as long ago roommate, classmate, and former friend Anthony Crowley reappears in his life in an unexpected and disarming way, challenging Aziraphale’s choices, and bringing him back to the breaking point, when he made a decision he couldn’t take back. It isn’t temptation, it’s revelation.

@mygalfriday @mygalfriday

Ah here, listen - I went to get my bookmark list for @mygalfriday and just ended up re-reading all 12 fics this week.

i can't say the words, so i wrote you into my verse

Aziraphale blinks as it slowly dawns on him exactly what he’s looking at. Crowley has a tattoo. Well, another one anyway. Unlike the small serpent curled just beneath his temple, this one takes up far more space.

And listen if you don’t read the blind date au series then I don’t know how to help you!

I couldn’t find Rend_Herring Found @rendherring @rendherring on Tumblr but I had to put my phone and my head down after I read both of these.

The Lightness of You

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

This Soul Outstreaming

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault.

Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap.

When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks.

Aziraphale, unaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

Fics that, to me, are just stunners. I love them so much.

Slow Show - @mia-ugly @mia-ugly Honestly if you’re seeing a rec list WITHOUT slow show...I’d be legit surprised In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Barriers, and the breaking thereof - @cardinaldaughter @cardinaldaughter Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Anthophilia - @fortinbrasftw @fortinbrasftw Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops - @emmagrant01 @emmagrant01 Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ghostinthehouse - not 100% sure that this is also their tumblr handle so if anyone can confirm that would be great! They're professors. They're married. Their students don't realise. Cue shenanigans.

Multiple short arcs with one-shots (and often pauses) between them. Characters continue from one arc to the next. It's marked as complete, because each short arc is complete in itself, but there will be more arcs and one-shots in the future.

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - @forineffablereasons @forineffablereasons Anthony J. Crowley, a big-time attorney from London, is sent to small-town Tadfield to close a deal before Christmas that would sell out half of high street to a fancy developer and put him up for partner at his firm. The deal will run the local businesses out and change the landscape of the town forever, but that’s none of Crowley’s business; he’s just doing a job.

But as the town invites him to share in their lives and their hopes and their holiday celebrations, and as the enigmatic Aziraphale invites him to share in something more, Crowley starts to wonder: if everything has its price, is he still willing to pay what this deal will cost?

Slow - write_away It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions.

You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it.

It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

You, soft and only - @thehoyden He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

A Bushel and a Peck- @thehoyden Sometimes, a family is a demonic nanny, an angelic cook, and a kid who isn't actually the Antichrist.Or: Crowley helps Aziraphale secure a different position at the Dowling Estate.

Long is the way, and hard - Kate_Lear The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

A story of Crowley's thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

the 21st century, in which they finally work it out - @fieldbears @fieldbears This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

A Few More Rescues - @poetic----nonsense @poetic----nonsense 5+1 Times Crowley Rescued Aziraphale According to the Romantic Tropes of the Era, and One Time Aziraphale Turned It Around on Him (plus Prologue)

The Cottage, the Husbands (series) - Dragonsquill A demon and an angel fall in love and decide to take on the monumental task of living together in a cottage by the sea.

#good omens fic recs #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #my recs

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herohikara-wol · 5 years

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Crystal Nunh

Summary:

Or:

The Crystal Exarch finds the Warrior of Darkness in the middle of his heat and decides to help him out, realizes entirely too late that he's not really a Tia anymore.

Tags: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some Fluff, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dorks in Love, Almost Love Confession, Not Beta Read

The reports had been concerning to say the least, even though the threat to his champion’s very soul had passed, to hear Hero had locked himself in his room after looking flushed and feverish worried G’raha. Especially since he refused to let anyone near him. Hero was not one to shut his friends out, especially when they were concerned. Urianger had come to see him personally regarding the matter. “In our time here thou hath proven again and again to have naught but his best interests at heart. Perhaps thy presence will be of comfort to him.”

Of course G’raha was unsure of why his presence alone would suffice. The scions had known him longer, hadn’t they? Hero was close to all of them, treating them as if his own family. When he’d finally succumbed to being called, Hero had nearly throttled the Exarch demanding to see his children. A lucky guess told him the angered Miqo’te meant Alphinaud and Alisaie. From that point Hero was a cheerful bastion of calm determination, he followed every order, even if he seemed full of sass at times. The only one Hero didn’t seem to treat as family was Urianger, and that was partially his fault.

Hero had endured a lot for his sake, which is why G’raha was intent to make up for it. In this case he was trying to make up for it by feeding the warrior of darkness the same way Hero insisted on feeding everyone else. Half a loaf of freshly baked bread, a salty broth soup loaded with meat and his favorite vegetables if the twins could be trusted, and freshly squeezed juice. Nothing too good for his champion. If Hero wasn’t too ill to stomach the food at least. He took a deep breath and knocked first, fidgeting a little when he heard a weak whimpering voice pleading to leave them alone.

“Hero I’m just coming to check on your condition, it’s the least I can do.” He heard the door unlock for him, no protests as he stepped in and shut it behind him either. “There, was that so hard? I know you try to suffer in silence but I owe you everything, I only want to h-” The Exarch paused as he set the tray down, his nose finally catching the scent in the air. Arousal- not illness. By the Twelve, it went right to his head, leaving his cheeks flushed to match the color of his hair back in his youth. “You- you’re not ill at all are you?” Hero had unlocked the door, yes, but he’d gone to hide back under his blankets afterwards, all G’raha could see of the other man was deep blue eyes that wouldn’t even look up at him. Hero was trying to hide himself, cover himself, and it had been years since G’raha had done similar. He couldn’t remember his last heat anymore, and here he’d intruded on the warrior of darkness during his. “No. I- it’s fine, I’m fine. I swear. Just- thank you, please go… I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”

Something they might both regret. G’raha wanted to reach out and take the younger man into his arms. The feeling hit hard and he tried to step back away from Hero, only succeeding in bumping the table and the food on it. He wanted to kiss the younger man, stoke the fires of passion in him and hear him scream and beg over and over. The Exarch licked his lips slowly. “What do you mean regret?”

“I… I like you- but the last time I liked someone they died for me, and you almost died for me and I can’t I can’t I can’t- not again. Never again. Please, I’ll be fine. It only lasts a short while.” G’raha remembered his own heats lasting for what seemed like a whole month, but that had been years ago and he’d had a young lust addled mind. In his older age his thoughts were clearer.

Clear enough to see that Hero only let him in because the bard wanted someone he could trust. “I want to help you.” Of course, that could just be the scent around him stirring his own desires. He’d tried so hard to keep his distance, just be friends. There could never be anything romantic between himself and the other Miqo’te. “If you want me of course, I’d never force myself on you. If you tell me to leave I will leave.”

Hero hesitated.

G’raha held his breath.

Hero’s eyes met the floor.

G’raha tried to take a deep breath so he could walk out the door with some dignity still.

“Raha- help me? Please?” The ginger Miqo’te’s ears twitched a bit and he glanced back at Hero, to see the younger man start to unwind the blanket from around his body. Each inch of lean tanned muscle G’raha saw made it that much harder to look away. The man, for all his wars, for all his fights, was beautiful. Not that Hero usually covered much of his frame to begin with. The bard was slender and the muscle built in his arms and legs made him look like a skilled battle dancer.

Of course, he had been expecting Hero to at least still be in his smallclothes.

Hero was not still in his smallclothes.

Hero was laying back on the bed, completely nude, arousal on display as the ink blue tips of his hair fell over his lust darkened eyes.

Hero looked like a five star meal, and G’raha was starving.

He had to shake his head to clear his thoughts again, “Of course, let me, I… It has been a while for me.” His robes were suddenly too warm, too thick. Trying to unwind them felt like it would take too long. He had to help his champion through these trying times. Hero needed him.

G’raha needed Hero just as much. That’s probably why it felt like disrobing took the better part of an hour. It wasn’t until he’d sat down to remove his sandals that Hero finally moved closer to him, crawling across the sheets to nuzzle his cheek to the Exarch’s shoulders. The tanned miqo’te did feel feverish, and as Mystel did not suffer the same issues with heat, G’raha wasn’t surprised Hero’s condition had been mistaken for illness. “You smell like fresh baked bread and incense.”

“I made some bread for you to go with the soup- when I thought you were sick. Maybe you should eat before we-” G’raha meant to turn to face Hero properly, he also meant to finish untying his other sandal. Instead he wound up pressing his lips to Hero’s own, and the soft moan he got in response made everything else fall away. All at once he had a fistful of raven hair clutched tightly in his grasp, Hero’s lips parted so easily he couldn’t help but taste the inside of the warrior’s mouth.

G’raha was floating and sinking at the same time, tumbling into the mattress and pulling Hero down with him, atop him, claiming the younger Miqo’te with his lips as Hero pressed against him. The bard was small, even for a Miqo’te, he’d almost forgotten how tiny Hero seemed after reading tale after tale about his deeds. His warrior of darkness was not the larger than life figure from the tales. He was lighter than G’raha would have expected too, light enough to lay comfortably on top of him, to straddle his hips while their tongues met.

Light enough for G’raha to consider letting Hero ride out his lust and need on his length. The Exarch was not the spry man Hero had once known, he’d grown older, and age meant some activities he’d have enjoyed vigorously in his youth would leave him with stiff joints and sore muscles now. Besides, the idea of his champion coming undone just from using his shaft for naught but personal pleasure…

It appealed to the darkest part of him. The part that loved watching Hero as he fought and danced in the field of battle. The part that could spend hours doing nothing but observing the warrior of darkness and feel perfectly content. The part where just considering the idea of letting Hero fuck himself senseless made G’raha harder than he’d felt in years. Now if only he knew how to verbalize it.

“I want-” The younger Miqo’te only broke their kiss to nuzzle at his cheek and neck, flushed and greedy for more than just fingers gliding over his exposed body. “I need- Raha please- I need-” Him. He could fill the blanks in without question, Hero needed him.

“Lift your hips for me then, these old bones aren’t what they used to be.” A white lie, he was only slightly worried he wouldn’t be able to give Hero the carnal attention the young Tia needed. Had it been like this for him too? He couldn’t remember, it had been so long since his last heat. Clearly the tower had changed him, allowing him to go without for so long. “We can try it like this, can we not?”

If the request struck Hero as odd, his face didn’t show it. He was obedient for someone usually so prone to snark and sass, not only lifting his hips but changing positions so he could take the length and ride it with ease. The only thing G’raha had to do was help guide it in, finding the warrior’s body more than willing. This was not Hero’s first time, it went in so easily he had to wonder if he really was the first to come in here and help with the warrior’s need.

That thought was stricken down as fast as it came up, it wasn’t his place to judge when he’d literally fallen into bed with him, not even fighting the urge to bed the younger Tia. It felt like pure instinct to dig his fingers into the warrior’s rich tan skin and thrust up- just enough to help. He swore, he was only trying to help Hero deal with this. Convincing himself he was doing it for Hero became harder with every roll of his hips. The younger Tia’s body was greedy, clinging tight around him as he moved inside it, and he idolized Hero so much. Was it any surprise the first words out of his mouth were praise?

“You’re doing so good, just like that, move for me just like that. You look so beautiful.” Flushed and panting, bright blue eyes shaded by lust and desire. Even the sheen of sweat from trying to ride G’raha to completion served only to make the warrior look that much more beautiful. Raven hair streaked with blue clung to his skin, fell over one eye with every toss of his head as the younger man moaned and whimpered against him.

At first Hero tried to stay upright, bouncing as he rocked his hips on G’raha’s shaft. At some point the younger Miqo’te leaned in to kiss him, and he could feel the warrior’s length press against his belly, twitching against his skin. Hero was so warm compared to him, and that heat was starting to wear on the edges of his mind. The scent from Hero’s need was as intoxicating as the tongue twisting with his own. He was lightheaded and dizzy by the time their kiss broke, and the raven haired tia’s swollen lips looked so damned inviting he wanted another. Until Hero’s face buried into his uncorrupted shoulder and the younger man bit into the flesh of his neck while his body tried to squeeze the very life out of G’raha’s shaft.

The noise that came out of G’raha’s mouth was guttural, unrecognizable. He didn’t know he could make sounds so animalistic. He wasn’t prepared for the feeling of Hero’s release against his belly or the wave of pleasure that hit him as he rode out his own orgasm, leaving the warrior of darkness- his warrior- filled with seed.

A sense of possessive pride hit him as Hero whimpered in his arms, spent but still warm. For a moment his eyes brightened again as Hero nuzzled against his chest. “Thank you Raha, thank you, thank you…” Hero kept repeating it, and for a moment G’raha was puzzled.

“Why are you thanking me? You asked, I couldn’t leave you here like this.” His voice came out breathy and rough, maybe he’d screamed more than he thought.

“Because usually a Nunh doesn’t have time for a Tia, but you made time for me. So thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do, I will always make time for you. I-” His confession caught in his throat, “I’m sorry, did you say Nunh? Hero, I’m a Tia, same as you. I’m not even really part of the G-tribe anymore if we want to be honest.”

But the younger Miqo’te just shook his head with a fond smile, “This is your territory, these are your people, you protect and guide them. You’re their leader. Sorry Raha, but you’ve become a Nunh without realizing it.” Hero purred against his chest as the words sunk in. Was that why he hadn’t had his own heat in so long? He’d thought it was the Tower’s corruption but now…

“Well then, if I am to be a Nunh then I insist on bringing you back to the tower to finish up your heat in privacy. You can sleep in my bed and I’ll be able to take much better care of you, my warrior.”

“Deal.”

#lemon writing #G'raha Tia #M/M #G'raha Tia x Warrior of Light #Hero x Crystal Exarch #Heat #Male Heat #Miqo'te WoL #Male WoL #my writing #FFXIV Fanfic #Plot what plot?

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raiders-r-us · 5 years

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Headcanons-How Gage Feels About the Other Companions

Cait- Doesn't get along with her at all if he meets her before she gets clean, sees her as just another junkie commonwealth raider type.

If he meets her after she's clean, he has a quiet respect for her, since she worked to better herself. Her constant drinking annoys the hell out of him though. She wants to fight him every time she's drunk and he's within eyesight; he's not interested in a fight that doesn't end up with someone's guts on the floor and their money in his pocket. He figures Sole wouldn't be too happy with him if that happened to Cait.

Curie- It's not a secret that the idea of synths creeps him the hell out, but with Curie it's a whole new level. It's one thing to build a person in a lab, you can almost forget they weren't born like normal people; but Curie started out as a robot. What does that say about humanity if you can take a programmed personality and slap it in a human shell? Doesn't help that she's so damn nice all the time. "Monsieur Gage, if I may, perhaps I could help you with your eye." He shudders every time he hears that accent, and he avoids her like the plague. He is not at all pleased if Sole forces him to see her when he's sick.

Preston Garvey- Hahahahaha fuck you.

Danse- Gage and Danse don't get along at all and it's very mutual. Danse is quick to dismiss Gage as just another piece of raider scum. Considering Gage's thoughts on the Brotherhood, he thinks Danse ought to look in the mirror before he goes pointing fingers.

If Gage is romanced by a Fem!Sole, Danse makes him very insecure. The "white knight" military man probably has more in common with Sole's late husband than a busted up old raider ever could.

Codsworth- Gage does not like robots; especially creepy robot butlers with stupid accents. He thinks it's super annoying the way he nannies Sole; and he'll probably break his fist on a wall if the damn thing compares him to Sole's husband one more time. He'd smash the damn thing and scrap it for parts if it were up to him, but for some reason Sole considers it a comfort to keep around.

Deacon- Gage, for all his faults, is not a liar; and he can't stand liars. He doesn't trust Deacon half as far as he could throw him, and it drives him crazy that Sole does. He's forever keeping a cautious eye on the railroad spy, waiting for some shifty shit to go down.

Dogmeat- Gage tries to act all tough and indifferent to the "mutt" at first, but soon falls in love with man's best friend. When he thinks no one's looking, he even sometimes shares his food with Dogmeat. Sole has caught him more than once passed out curled up on the couch with fluffbutt over there.

Hancock- Hates him at first; chem downing junkie ghoul that he is. Gage warms up to him though, as he realizes that Goodneighbor is a thriving town that doesn't judge, and Hancock worked his ass off to make it that way. He respects and identifies with the need to walk away from family when they make a choice you just can't respect.

He does wish he'd stop offering Sole chems though.

MacCready- Gage just can't believe a word MacCready says about his past. A cave full of kids who kick people out once they grow up? Nope, too weird, not buying it. Because of this, he doesn't believe a word the young mercenary says, and feels about the same for him as he does for Deacon.

Nick Valentine- Resents the hell out of him. Sole looks up to this guy-robot-synth-thing like a father figure; and like any prewar father figure, Nick doesn't have many nice things to say about a guy like Gage. Gage finds it hard to look at Nick, he freaks him out almost as much as Curie does, just in reverse. This obviously robotic looking thing has the mind and memories of a prewar lawman, it's not just programming, he used to be a person...but what the hell is he now? Creepy, if you ask Gage.

Piper- Oh God just so damn annoying. Does she ever shut up? Not every cause matters, and his business certainly doesn't belong in a fucking newspaper for all to read. He hates it when Sole indulges her with tales of their exploits. Gage thinks if Piper REALLY wanted to keep her sister safe, she'd worry more about combat training than journalism. Piss the wrong person off and kiss your family goodbye; and Piper doesn't take any care in who she pisses off. What's more important? He'd like to ask her. Your family, or the scoop?

Strong- When he first meets Strong, Sole narrowly stops Gage from killing him on sight. At first, all Gage sees is a goddamn fucking mutie. Gage and Strong form something of a strange and unlikely friendship, full of lots of boasting and chest slapping. Gage takes an interest in Gatorclaw hunting, he likes bringing back trophies to rub in the mutant's big dumb green face.

X6-88- At first, Gage trusts him about as much as he trusts the institute as a whole...which isn't saying much. Surprising to himself though, he finds himself on weirdly good terms with the courser. Not too many of Sole's companions can relate to Gage's quiet, somewhat calculating disposition; he appreciates X6's tendency to leave him alone. He also appreciates how X6 judges by skill, not by a warped sense of black and white morality. Neither of them are very fond of words, so the extent of their communication is a friendly nod of the head in passing.

Longfellow- Gage sits in childlike wonder when Longfellow tells the stories of his youth and the sea. He wouldn't admit it, but he sees Longfellow as the strong father figure he wished he had in his own youth. Usually Gage doesn't give a shit what people think of him, but it cuts him deep when Longfellow looks at him with disappointment upon finding out about Gage's position as a raider. Longfellow's life actually makes him consider leaving it all behind; running off to a secluded and inhospitable wilderness to build a life with Sole away from all the bullshit. Something to consider anyway.

Preston Garvey for real this time- It's no secret that there is heated animosity between the two, but Gage can't help but note the similarities between them. They both placed Sole in charge, taking a back seat as second in command; both of them with a fire in their hearts to accomplish their goals. Garvey's goal however, is futile to Gage. The commonwealth, and the wasteland as a whole, is just not a peaceful place. There will always be a bigger badder monster or stronger force of manpower lurking around the corner to fuck up your day; sending in Sole to rescue people who don't even have what it takes to stand up for themselves does nothing in the long run. Gage usually prefers to keep his distance from Garvey and his holier than thou speeches, but he always tags along when Sole goes to speak to him. He's not above knocking Garvey's teeth in if he tries to trash talk him to Sole again.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #gage #porter gage #nuka world #headcanons #cait #curie #codsworth #danse #deacon #hancock #maccready #old longfellow #dogmeat #preston garvey #piper #strong

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jangyeevns · 5 years

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i’m posting this here since it’s where most of my mutuals can see posts referring to anything related to rp or anything of concern — plus i’m not about to post this on my sideblogs first as this is super important.

i wanna say first off that i regret some of the things i said initially pertaining to this topic on the main of the rp i’m co-adminning and it just proves how you can still be ignorant when trying to right a wrong, but that’s why it’s important to have there as is for all to see. i hadn’t understood the complete issue with using tags for krp, though i had been straying from identifying as such here for some time due to my own awareness of some questionable characterizations and backstories from muns i’ve encountered since exploring this area of the rpc; but in using those tags, i was counter-productive by validating those problematic portrayals of east asian muses unintentionally and it’s something i regret as i know it has hurt korean/east asian muns throughout the rpc.

with these tags’ continued use, we prioritize ( oftentimes ) non-asian muns rather than create everyone and every muse equal, thus we inadvertently condone the fetishization, infantilization and sometimes outright dehumanization of east asian muses and it’s a lesson i don’t think many on this end of the rpc have had as of yet. i didn’t know a lot about this as i had been in my bubble of mutuals for some time and hadn’t really explored the topics which concern us all since i was only ever in the tags specifically to find groups — and that’s not me making excuses as i want to take accountability for my involvement in this, nor insinuating it’s someone else’s fault, rather i’m saying these discussions don’t reach us like they should because we can be so disconnected from other people in this community and that’s not in our best interests nowadays.

so from this point on, i won’t be using tags such as ‘ indie krp ’ thus automatically identifying myself as such, because i want to do better by other muns who have to deal with the issues seen in said problematic portrayals directly and try to expose the inherently racist connotations their use holds by creating a conversation around them, but i also want to do better by myself as someone who claims to be an ally and wants to uphold my views on diversity and respect in a way which doesn’t wind up excluding and discomforting others like they had before.

this means that i’ll continue to add a diverse range of fcs as planned on my main indie and may swap out some fcs for muses i already have which are inactive, the other indies being put on hold as it stands because of a lack of muse — though they’ll be restricted to mutuals when ( or perhaps if ) i regain it. i should note that them being inactive for now has no correlation with this issue, it’s something i’ve been wanting to put out there for almost a week now.

i’m not trying to force my perspective on any of you — nor do i want to come off as holier-than-thou or as if i’m speaking over the muns most affected by this issue, which you can read more about HERE as it’s summarized quite well — but i hope you take something away from this like i did as we all have a lot to learn from each other still, and i hope we can all move forward better informed and more considerate of the views of those this particular matter affects most.

#i'll reblog this on my main indie shortly since i'm removing those very tags from my posts there #while part of me feels like it might be seen as covering my tracks it comes down to wanting to start fresh #i've already admitted i'm culpable after all

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danyka-fendyr · 6 years

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Scar Tissue Chapter 2: Dynamic Du-OH- A Sudden Realization

A/N: I’m posting this without editing because I hate myself. I will eventually come back and fix my many sins. Tagging @writingtheworks the works again. Do I think that Bruce Wayne invites his butler to family dinners? Yes, yes I do, and Gotham’s snooty societal standards can’t stop me or him. Take that you elitists. Rorie was exhausted. You really couldn’t blame her. She’d been listening to Jason monologue Romeo and Juliet repeatedly for about an hour now. She loved her best friend, but she was ready to stab Shakespeare. She understood this was his masterpiece, but did he have to do this to her?

“Jay, I promise you, you will get the part. The first 5 times, heck, the first 10 times, this was the most beautiful performance I had ever seen in my life,” I told him.

Jason broke character, collapsing out of a dramatic pose, arm extended, head held up, looking to an imaginary balcony.

“You cried the first time,” he said, grinning.

Rorie had never seen someone so pleased over her tears. ...Well, okay, that wasn’t necessarily completely true, but she’d fought the Joker, alright? He was pretty sick, and not in the good way.

“Yes, because it was amazing. We’ve been over this. You are amazing,” she said.

Jason blushed under the praise, his neck, cheeks and ears tinting pink. When Jason blushed, he blushed with his whole head. It was sort of cute. Or at least, Rorie assumed it would be cute if you were like, into that kind of stuff. Rorie, of course, was not.

“Anyway, you should try to get some sleep. We have patrol tonight. Plus, you wouldn’t want to look burned out for your audition. It’s no good having a Romeo who looks sleep deprived,” Rorie tried to reason with him.

“What if he’s sleep deprived because he’s been up all night thinking about his Juliet, and how she refuses to audition, despite Alfred’s best efforts,” Jason teased.

“And you. Don’t forget you,” Rorie sighed.

Alfred and Jason hadn’t gotten off her back about this since they first started holding auditions for Romeo and Juliet. Rorie refused on the principle that the characters made a long series of stupid decisions ending in a tragedy that could have been completely avoidable. Jason had countered with the fact that he had caught her reading it out loud, rather passionately, mind you, when they had been assigned the story for English class. It wasn’t Rorie’s fault that the story was still emotionally compelling, despite entirely lacking logic. Juliet admittedly had some pretty lines.

“This is too cliché. Why couldn’t the school play be something prettier, like Wuthering Heights?” Rorie objected.

“Your obsession with Wuthering Heights will never end, will it?” Jason asked.

“The writing is beautiful Jason!” Rorie cried, more passionate even then when she was playing the part of Juliet.

“Maybe if you get the lead role this year they’ll choose it next year. You could get friendly with the Mrs. Dowly, convince her it would be a good idea.” Jason carefully dangled the carrot in front of his prey’s face.

There was a pregnant pause while Rorie considered.

“You really think so?” she questioned, shooting him an uncertain, slightly untrusting look.

Jason nodded, his enthusiasm making the gesture comical so that he resembled a bobble-head. “Absolutely! Mrs. Dowly always considers how her leads feel.”

Jason would know. He was the theater teacher’s pet, and had been the lead many, many times. All the other theater nerds were jealous of him, if they didn’t absolutely hero worship him (something Rorie found ironically humorous, considering their nightlife).

Rorie sighed, the sound deeply resigned. In contrast, Jason whooped.

“I will only be auditioning,” she warned him.

“Absolutely,” Jason said.

“You will in no way try to convince Mrs. Dowly to show me any kind of special favor.”

“Of course not.” More bobble-headedness, this time a vigorous shake, like he was a wet dog.

“If I do, by some miracle, get the part, you will not gloat, tell me you knew it, or anything of the sort.”

At this, Jason pouted. Rorie glared.

“Can’t I be proud?” He gave her the puppy dog eyes.

He gave her the puppy dog eyes. Jason knew she couldn’t resist the puppy dog eyes.

“Fine. A little pride. But none while we’re in school!” Rorie caved.

“Yay!” Jason chirped, wrapping his arms around her, trapping hers by her side.

Rorie pouted, and Jason celebrated. It was at this moment that Bruce walked in, Alfred following closely behind with a curious expression on his face.

“What’s going on here?” There was a tone of deep, rich amusement to Bruce’s voice, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in what was usually about as close as he came to a smile (unless he was playing the role of ‘Brucie Wayne’).

“Rorie’s going to audition for the school play!” Jason cheered.

“With conditions!” Rorie added, seeing the look of excited shock on Alfred’s face and the knowing approval on Bruce’s.

“Well, miss, I suppose we’ll have to get you in shape!” Alfred declared.

“Oh no.”

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Wonderful, miss! The way you sigh it out is beautiful. Very wistful. Now if you could just make it a little bit less breathy,” Alfred instructed.

Rorie puffed a sigh, and Jason tried not to laugh at her. She looked frustrated. Not as frustrated as she could be, since she wasn’t doing math, but her hair was messy and her posture slumped, face red from trying to hold back an oncoming temper tantrum. Alfred had this tendency to sometimes work out the details a little too much when it came to Shakespeare, or really any kind of play or production. He was a man of the theater indeed.

Jason decided Rorie might need a rescue.

“Maybe I could work with her for a bit Alfred. You could take a break, maybe make some snacks?” he suggested, knowing Alfred would never leave drama without a specific task and purpose.

“Cookies?” Rorie asked, a forlorn hope swimming in her eyes.

“Ah! Of course! You lot do look as though you could use something to munch on. It will raise the spirits!” Alfred clapped his hands, looking as invigorated as he always did when he was allowed within range of fine art. “I’ll prepare some fruit, and perhaps some cookies if I feel it is warranted.”

By that Jason was pretty sure Alfred meant that Rorie ate too many cookies and that she was going to get cavities. He was trying to be nice right now though, since it was obvious that Rorie was seriously considering dropping out of the school play.When she got the part, the entire household had been elated. Well, Jason and Alfred had been elated, and Bruce had been smugly pleased. Emphasis on smug. That was his adopted daughter, after all.Jason was pretty sure that if ‘Brucie Wayne’ wasn’t supposed to be keeping up his eligible bachelor status, Bruce would have posted his pride all over ever social media platform he knew how to work. Jason’s phone pinged, and he checked his notifications.

Scratch that. Bruce wasn’t able to keep it in anymore now that he had not one, but two children in theater. He had just made the dorkiest post Jason had ever seen in his life on Twitter.

“So proud of @jtodd and @roreo for scoring roles in the school play! I look forward to seeing them play Romeo and Juliet, respectively. If you have the time, come down to @gothamacademy and watch. #Illbesittingfrontrow”

Jason hoped none of the other kids at school saw that. Jason knew every one of the other kids at school had seen that, even the ones who weren’t theater geeks. Jason was pretty sure any kind of a reputation he had was gone now.

“Oh no,” Rorie groaned.

“Oh no what, Miss?” Alfred said, poking his head into the room at the first sound of oncoming disaster.

Rorie extended her phone to him, letting him see the tweet Jason himself had just been looking at.

“All the kids at school will see this, Alfred! We’re done for.” Rorie exchanged a look of horror with Jason.

Alfred looked thoughtful.“We shall see, miss.”

And see they did.

Arriving at school the next day, Rorie did her utmost to go incognito. Sunglasses and a dark hoodie obscured her figure, and she kept her head bowed as she walked through the halls. Jason didn’t bother with this. His strategy was to not show any kind of weakness.

He strutted down the halls, trying to appear more confident than ever before, his hair slicked back with gel he had stolen from Bruce a while back and his favorite leather jacket on. He would have been wearing sunglasses, but Rorie stole his coolest pair.

As it turned out, Jason’s strategy worked better, unfortunately for Rorie. Some of the boys tried to pick on him, it was true, but he just ignored them. If you looked closely enough, you might be able to see that he was riled up, but only if you knew him well. He kept his anger close and in check. He could always exact revenge later if he still thought they were worth it.

Rorie was taunted mercilessly though, since she reacted a little volatiley to the whole thing. The second someone had insinuated that her rich daddy bought her spot, she was spitting words that were dangerously close to obscenities, a seething pot ready to boil over. Jason had swept in several times that day to save her when it looked like she might not be able to control herself. In thanks, she gave him his sunglasses back.

Now, Rorie was sitting in the library, the only place where people would leave her alone, it seemed. She was reading through Jane Eyre again, trying to distract herself from the snake’s nest of anxiety, self-doubt, and bitter, petty rage boiling in her head. It wasn’t working that well.

It worked less well when Amanda Bixby sat next to her. Rorie didn’t dislike Amanda particularly, but she also didn’t particularly like her. Amanda was...Well, Amanda was a bit of an airhead. She didn’t mean to be, but she just happened to be that one girl that never thought about anything but makeup and boys. There was nothing particularly wrong with this mindset, but it simply didn’t mesh with Rorie’s more practical attitude.

“So, Jason’s like, your brother, right?” Amanda said, her tone friendly yet suspiciously slimy sounding to Rorie.

“Yeah, I guess. More of a best friend, really.” Rorie shrugged.

“But you’re super close, yeah?” Amanda confirmed.

“Well yeah. We live in the same house.” Rorie didn’t feel it necessary to mention that they had shared a bathroom until last year when she had demanded Bruce let her have her own.

Rorie was prepared for a plethora of things. Amanda was into theater, so it was entirely possible that she was hoping Rorie would be able to share some of Jason’s acting secrets with her. Or, it could be that she needed help with her English homework, something Jason also excelled in. As it turned out, Rorie was woefully unprepared for what actually happened.

“So what kind of girl does he usually go for?” Amanda asked.

Rorie choked a little bit. “What?”

“Like, does he have a type?” She twirled a strand of long brown hair around her finger.

“Umm….I don’t really know. He doesn’t talk to me about girls,” Rorie said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“Yeah, but I mean, you’ve got to know something about his girlfriends. Are they tall? Short? Blondes, brunettes? C’mon, gimme something here,” Amanda said.

In truth, Rorie was unsure that Jason had ever even had a girlfriend. He was only 15 after all. 15 was a bit young for a girlfriend, wasn’t it? Rorie felt like 15 was young.

“Why do you ask? I mean, it’s not like Jason’s particularly attractive or anything.” Rorie laughed nervously.

“Are you kidding me? He’s a total dreamboat. All the girls know it. Plus, have you ever seen his arms when he takes off that leather jacket?” Amanda bit her lip in a way that Rorie definitely did not like. “I bet he’s ripped. Not to mention that he’s tall. And he’s only going to get taller you know.”

Amanda was clearly not in the building anymore. Her eyes had glazed over dreamily, and Rorie took that as her cue to be anywhere but where she presently was. Sneakily, she made her escape, mumbling under her breath about some urgent play preparation she had to do.

Rorie raced out of the library so fast it was almost superhuman, forgetting to put her sunglasses back on as she went. They were perched on top of her head when she crashed into someone, causing them to clatter to the floor, and her to nearly follow. Fortunately for her, someone had good reflexes and caught her, a warm, firm hand holding her back and pressing her against a lean, muscular torso.

“I am so sorry, you have no idea how mortified I am, rea-” Rorie stopped short when she realized that the person who was holding her was rather familiar.

She pulled back, peering into their face to find none other than Jason Todd himself. Rorie wanted to say “speak of the devil,” but she was a bit distracted at the moment, because at it turned out, it would seem that Amanda Bixby was right. Jason Todd was a dreamboat.Rorie was unsure how she hadn’t noticed it before. It wasn’t like anything had significantly changed between now and an hour again, when Rorie had last seen Jason. However, now that it had been mentioned to her, he had very nice, well-defined cheekbones, a strong jaw, incredibly long black lashes, and the prettiest pair of blue eyes Rorie had ever seen in her life. She swallowed heavily as she realized that, prior to knowing who was holding her up, she had been appreciating their toned body structure as well.

“Careful there, Rorie. You’ll get hurt.” Jason smiled at her, revealing a blinding white set of perfectly straight teeth that seemed intent on sinking themselves into Rorie’s heart.

Oh no. Oh no.

Opening night had finally come, and Jason was bouncing around with excitement. He had no reason to worry. He had done this dozens of times before, and he had every confidence in his leading lady.

He was watching her right now, mumbling her lines under her breath and coughing as hairspray was applied rigorously to her carefully created Shakespearean hair.

“Oh, Romeo, oh Romeo,” Rorie said, rocking back and forth slightly, to the deep consternation of the girl working on her hair.

“Actually,” Jason said, watching himself appear in the mirror behind her, already in full costume, hair done, “it’s ‘Oh Romeo, Romeo’.”

“I’m gonna fail. I’m gonna fail in front of everyone, and they’ll all laugh, and this will be the end of my acting career, and I’ll have to switch schools.” Her eyes, previously closed, snapped open. “I’ll have to switch schools Jason. I’ll have to go to a boarding school in Scandinavia where nobody knows my name.”

“You’ll be fine,” Jason reassured her, placing both his hands on her shoulders and shooing the irate amateur hairdresser off.

“But what if I’m not?” Rorie asked desperately.

“Then I’ll fail even more epically. I’ll say lines from Napoleon Dynamite instead, and then I’ll trip and fall on my face, and then I’ll roll over and start making snow angels, except there will be no snow, at which point I will have made my first mistake as it is obvious that one cannot make snow angels without no snow.”

“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Rorie dead-panned.

“See! It works!” Jason grinned broadly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Rorie, on her part, tried to look slightly less miserable.

“You’re on in 5,” someone informed him as they passed by.

Rorie gave him an unsure look, seeking a few last moments of reassurance.

Jason walked around until he was facing her, crouching so he could look her right in the eye. “You’re gonna be great, don’t worry.”

He smoothed down a few stray pieces of her hair, giving her one last strong, certain smile before heading to the wings. It was showtime.

Acts 1-4 went flawlessly. Despite her nerves, Rorie was a natural on stage. She sounded like Shakespeare had written her himself, and Jason was matching her ever move. They were a perfect pair, naturally, and they had the kind of trust most lead actors could probably only wish for. This came as a package deal with the many shared near-death experiences.

It was Act 5 where things began to get sticky. Specifically, the death scene. Everything had been going fun. They had rehearsed this scene in bits and pieces plenty of times before, and everything was timed perfectly. The grief they portrayed was stunningly believable, the laboured breaths and the hasty tears working together to paint a picture of gut-wrenching agony. Jason had caught a glimpse of Dick crying in the audience.

Specifically, it was Act 5, scene 3, line 125 that was giving Jason a good deal of trouble. He had said all the lines leading up to it, and now he found himself agonizingly close to a “dead” Rorie with the task of kissing her.

He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would have to kiss her for this performance. Maybe some tiny part of him had even looked forward to it, entirely without his knowledge or consent. They hadn’t practiced this particular scene, however, and Jason had conveniently forgotten about it until now. Or rather, he had been making a conscious effort not to think about it at all.

He hovered over her, his mouth inches away from hers. She was so warm underneath him, hair splayed out and hands neatly folded over her stomach, eyes lightly shut. Jason tried to steady his heart rate, failing miserably, and after running through a plethora of alternative scenarios in his mind, each more wild than the last, he determined that he would just have to do it. If she hated him afterwards, there was nothing he could do about it.

Gently, he connected their lips. It was like a revival. Her lips were soft and warm against his, and she tasted like oranges and cinnamon. Her body, almost unconsciously, craned into him, kissing back so softly and subtly that the audience couldn’t have noticed, but Jason most definitely did. Without thinking, one hand reached into her hair, cradling her head as he kissed her like Romeo would kiss Juliet, like a man would kiss his lover with his last dying breath, slightly clumsy, but intimate and gentle, with a fervor Mrs. Dowly had probably not foreseen.

He broke away, rushing through his poison scene and dying as quickly as possible. It felt fitting, since he was pretty sure he was already dead. Then, it was Rorie’s turn. What she did next was not entirely expected.

She worked her way through her lines with an untold urgency, weeping at the sight of her Romeo lying dead below her. Her performance was like nothing Gotham Academy had ever seen before, as emotionally charged as it was. And then, he broke from script. She kissed Jason.

It was similar to the first time, but less clumsy, and Jason nearly broke character out of sheer shock. He didn’t have the time though, with the brevity of the kiss. It was hard and fast, and then she stabbing herself with a fake knife as ripples of surprise waved through the audience.

The last few scenes were played out, and everyone took their final bows. Jason could see Dick sobbing at this point, overcome by emotion. Jason felt similarly overcome, unsure of what exactly had just happened. He rushed his way backstage, finding Rorie in the mess that was the closing of opening night. He grabbed her arm, whirling her around.

“Rorie,” he breathed out her name, still stunned even now.

She turned pink, staring at her feet as she answered. “Yes.”

“You kissed me,” he stated.

“You kissed me first.”

“On script,” he said.

“Are you mad?” Now she looked up at him, twinges of hurt flecking her eyes and accenting an ocean of bright green worry and fear.

“Am I mad? No, I’m definitely no mad.” Now, Jason grinned. He grinned like a fool. “Just wondering if you’ll do it again.”

Rorie smiled shyly, starting to look as giddy as Jason now felt.“At least buy me dinner first,” she said, mischief in her eyes and tugging at her mouth as she shrugged in feigned nonchalance.

“I’m pretty sure dinner is on Bruce tonight, but if you think I’m not going to buy you dinner at the next available opportunity then you are very, very wrong,” Jason said.

Rorie laughed, reaching up to hug him in his favorite way, the only way he ever wanted to be hugged by her ever again.

“Deal, boy wonder,” she whispered in his ear.

Dinner was awkward. Dinner way very, very awkward.

It wasn’t that Bruce disapproved, after the two stumbled through an explanation of their budding relationship. It wasn’t that Alfred disapproved, or Dick, even. No. Horrifyingly, they were all delighted.

“What do you mean you knew?” Jason and Rorie shrieked in unison.

Bruce tried to bring the table back to some form of decorum, since Dick’s exclamation of, “I knew it!” and small victory dance coupled with Rorie and Jason’s indignant screams was slightly out of place in one of Gotham’s nicest restaurants.

“I mean, it was obvious. You two are always all blushy and cutesy around each other whenever I come over,” Dick explained, cutting into his steak.

“We are not!” Rorie protested, burying her face into her bouquet of brilliant red roses, of which it had turned the same hue.

Jason in turn felt like burying his face into the orchids he was currently holding for her, a gift from Dick. The roses were from Bruce, of course. Alfred had simply baked cookies back at home.

“I’m afraid you are, miss. It’s rather endearing, if it’s any comfort to you,” Alfred reassured.

“This is so embarrassing. You all knew?” Rorie said.

“And now the whole school knows, after that display.” Dick grinned. “You two got so lucky Mrs. Dowly didn’t tear you to pieces.”

As it happened, Mrs. Dowly had rather liked the show. She said that Rorie’s improv had been so impassioned Shakespeare should have written it into the original. Rorie had wilted into the very bottoms of her shoes, looking as though she were trying her best to melt into the floor.

A waiter came by to check on them as they were finishing up, Dick shoveling the last bites of his steak into his mouth.

“Any dessert?” he asked politely, no doubt with good intentions.

“No!” Jason and Rorie shouted.

The last thing they wanted was more awkward dinner conversation.

“It would seem not,” Bruce said, smiling his, “people are watching,” smile. “We’ll just have the bill.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter ran off to retrieve the bill, leaving Jason and Rorie to suffer once more.

“So how long had you been thinking about that kiss scene, huh Jay?” Dick asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Jason groaned, his face turning red in that full-flush way that he had about him. Rorie, on the other hand, decided to change tactics. If you can’t beat’em, join’em.

“You know, it’s kind of cute when you do that,” she said.

“What?” Jason asked, confused and slightly alarmed.

“Blush. You do it with your whole head. Neck, face, ears. It’s cute.” Rorie shrugged, trying to hide her own blush.

“Ewww, this is officially too sweet for me now,” Dick said, feigning a gag.

“Please Dick, try to behave like an adult,” Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The waiter came by and Bruce quickly paid in cash, clearly having come prepared for an outing with his children. Rorie could only guess how enormous the tip was.

“Alfred?” Bruce said, raising his eyebrows as he looked at the man.

“I have already informed the valet that the car is to be brought around, sir,” Alfred said.

“Thank goodness, because I could use a good night’s sleep,” Bruce said.

Rorie and Jason grinned at each other. Bruce Wayne might get 8 hours, but his alter ego never did. It was time for the Bat to roam the streets of Gotham, Robin and Batgirl at his side. It was time to be a hero.

#jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd x oc #scar tissue #batman #batfam #gotham #batfamily

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