#ALSO I NEED TO PLANT SOME CORNFLOWERS.. if they do end up growing in your garden i'd love to see a picture of them!!

[clingyduofan]

YAYY!! actually i like dandelions for no reason as well. dont think about it also i LOVEEE lilies theyre the most gentle thing in the world. to me. my fav colors are pink and white which i think is not so surprising considering my minecraft skin literally looks like this

ikr?? not a lot of difference which is neat cuz i didnt intend it to be this way i also like sunflowers ig though theres a gross story so not really not anymore at least anyways thank you for letting me ramble abt my fave flowers <3 actually cornflowers grow in my garden i think maybe if we're lucky we'll get to see them ths spring :3

THAT'S SO REAL lilies are so pretty!!! wish I had the chance to see them more often I love them. also I love your Minecraft skin it's so cute !! pink and white is such a good combo

[empressofthelibrary]

Tell me about Jamie and Rachel

......Okay, I've been trying to keep my mouth shut about them because I'm worried I'll lose the motivation to write if I spill the beans, but... When I look at the pace I'm actually writing at, I might not get there until I literally retire. So... Here we go. Spoilers ahead, obviously.

Long story short, they're Bailey and Dick's daughters. I'm not sure how obvious that was, but I'd be shocked if nobody had put that together yet, honestly. And they might be from another dimension. They hatched from eggs that grew from a plant Bailey got as a wedding gift from the girls' fairy godmother.

...I'm gonna explain everything, but it's a helluva ride, so buckle up. Time travel is heavily involved, so be warned. It gets confusing.

The earliest seeds of this start not in Bailey's relationship with Dick, exactly, but with a cryptic warning from a random blonde girl with a very strong grip and intense orange eyes. She tells Bailey to "stay away from the peacock man" and... Vanishes back into the crowd.

Bailey brushes it off as a prank from some weird kid.

Fast forward a little bit, and Bailey gets called in to body-double for Princess Lydia of Valdania. The country is in political turmoil, Lyd is announcing a marriage of state, the risk of assassination attempts is high. There's a masquerade ball involved, because what's the point of fanfic if not self-indulgence, and Bailey encounters a man dressed as a peacock. She has completely forgotten the warning from the weird kid, but her "bodyguard" steps in before she can accept this wierdo's request for a dance. That becomes important later, I promise.

At some point, through some kind of Star Trek Bullshit, I'm sending Bailey into the 30th century. Someone else needs to be with her; it can't be Wally, for obvious reasons. She gets back with the help of Cary Wren, the GL of the time, but... Cary misses the target by about a decade. Bailey lands about ten-to-fifteen years ahead of when she left, practically in the lap of a twenty-something Lian. (Lian is growing up normal, fuck canon, this whole "Shoes" thing is stupid.) Bailey panics once she realizes she's not when she's supposed to be, and who she's looking at. She's familiar enough with the scifi genre to know that finding out your own future is bad. Lian is trying to do damage control, making sure Bailey learns as little as possible, while still getting her home. But she can't keep a perfect lid on things, and Bailey comes face to face with a very curious child -- One with red-gold curls framing her freckled face, a gaptoothed grin, and giant, almond-shaped eyes, blue as cornflowers.

Everyone freezes. Chris -- now also an adult -- scoops the child away as fast as he can. Bailey does not understand the tension in the room. She has a niece, clearly. That kid looked exactly like her nephew Aiden did at her age. Obviously Phoebe had another kid. Why a civilian child is here is a mystery, but she's trying really hard not to think about that.

The other person on the adventure with her points out the obvious. Bailey laughs it off -- It's pretty much physically impossible for her to have kids. And who would the dad even be? She'd be an awful mother besides. Nah, no way. That cycle ends here. (The thought had crossed her mind, but it scared the shit out of her, so she shoved it down deep.)

Fast forward a bit. Bailey freaks out and runs away from an actual relationship beginning with Dick, because change is hard and scary and good things never stay and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah commitment. I've talked about this a little.

To be more specific, she runs away to space with Kyle. While in space with Kyle, the party runs afoul of a Black Mercy. Bailey gets sucked into a dream. She's married to Dick, and has been for fourteen years. They're both going gray, getting old. Together. They have a little yellow house with a porch swing and a picket fence. There's a shelter cat, a cranky old-as-hell ginger tabby with one good eye. The sidewalk is covered in chalk drawings.

And they have two fantastic, adorable, smartmouthed daughters. Jamie's older, eleven, and already almost as tall as her father. Rachel is six, and steals the chocolate chips from the pancakes Dick makes on Sundays. They're both bright, compassionate, opinionated girls, so full of light and life and joy. Jamie has Bailey's righteous anger and outspoken nature. Rachel has Dick's quick mind and mischievous tendencies. Bailey loves them, loves this life, so much. It's everything she's ever wanted. Everything she didn't realize she wanted. Everything she was afraid to let herself want.

But she does. She wants it so, so much.

And then Zyzzanyx, the imp she'd... encountered... previously (that's another post) pops in. Explains that she's gonna die if she doesn't make herself wake up -- that Kyle and Laney and the others are gonna get hurt if she doesn't help them. And Bailey has to let it all go.

(The Man Who Has Everything did not do enough exploration of the long-term psychological ramifications of this concept to suit me, okay?)

Bailey is deeply shaken by this dream. She starts to realize that she does want to be a parent, but the idea of stability and putting down roots still scares the hell out of her. It takes someone else pointing out that she's already basically adopted Lanos, the amnesiac navcom AI who is from another Earth, for her to really start to come around to the idea.

...This is what leads to her freakout that has her knocking on Ollie's door at four in the morning, unleashing a wall of text, and recounting the whole tale so far over several bowls of chili.

Unfortunately, Laney leaves. Bailey doesn't really have a stable place to share with a teenager, and... Lanos has a big sister to get to know, and a whole new universe to explore. They stay in contact, but it's a bit like sending your kid off to boarding school.

Shortly after that, she leaves for Los Angeles. She doesn't really have anywhere to stay, having lost her apartment while in space, and she's been couch surfing. Bette offers her a proper room in her penthouse apartment in LA, and a chance to rebuild the Titans West. Bailey takes her up on it. Staying in the Gotham/Metropolis/NYC area was too close to Bludhaven and Dick anyway; the further away she could get from him, the better.

From there, the next big chapter we get in this saga is what I refer to as the Little Mercies Arc. And this one I need to do a lot of research before I write, I know. But essentially, someone is making designer drugs derived from a Black Mercy they got ahold of and embiggified to a truly dangerous degree. You know those century-old rhododendron bushes that are the size of a small car? It's like that. But Bailey and Jason take this person down, and burn the stash.

...Or. Most of the stash, anyway. Bailey picks up a single sleeve of the Little Mercies. She tells herself it's for research. Study. Finding out how it was made. But it's not. She knows it's not.

She misses her daughters. She misses the life she could have lived, if she hadn't fucked things up with Dick. She's only human, after all.

You can see where that's going.

Bailey stabilizes, gets some help, starts getting better. She gets more involved with the local community, doing volunteer work and stuff; that was Ollie's idea, and it's a good one. She forms connections with people, even starting a new relationship with an old acquaintance, Jonah Pavoni -- a nurse, formerly from Central, who helped her decide to take up being a superhero.

...Cut ahead about... Twentyish years or so. Metropolis. Four teenagers in spandex are in hot pursuit of a man in a peacock-themed outfit. They are:

A speedster in green -- Kickstart, also known as Trenton Swift; currently the second-youngest ward of the West-Allen clan, until his parents can be found.

An acrobat in blue-and-black -- Madcap, Blythe Phillips; daughter of forcibly-retired minor-league supervillains Punch and Jewlee, seeking to redeem her family name through vigilantism.

A blonde Kryptonian girl with orange eyes -- Liora of Kandor, once Liora Tyr-Van; an escapee of the bottled city, hoping to find a way to unshrink her people before their resources run out. I'm leaning towards Spitfire for a name.

And at the front of this quartet, a young archer, black-haired, blue-eyed, and both enraged and terrified. Rachel Marion Grayson-Adler, Fledgling, third-generation superhero. She's eager to prove herself, and desperate to stop the man ahead of them.

He's headed for the Jules Verne Museum, after the time-bubble Clark donated, the one he used to visit the 30th Century growing up. If he gets ahold of it, if he jumps back to when he wants... It could literally wipe her family out of existence.

Unfortunately, they don't make it. The guy gets away with the time-bubble. So what do a bunch of 15-17yos do to solve this problem?

Steal the other time-bubble from the Flash Museum, obviously.

They leap into the timestream after him, but none of them know how to pilot the dang thing. Ray and Liora are trying to shoot the other bubble down. Blythe is hitting random buttons because one of these things has to help, right? Trent is just trying to steer while the three girls move around the tiny, cramped ship.

...Both bubbles crash. All five time-travellers are now scattered along the timeline. And this is where it gets confusing, so stay with me.

Blythe lands on a random rooftop in Gotham, just before the whole thing with the dragon-wizard from another dimension. That is also its own post. But that happens after Bailey gets back from space but before Laney heads out.

Liora tumbles into the middle of Bailey's team-up with Kara, Bette, and Shayera. She helps, but she also has to gtfo because the giant robot dinosaur they're fighting is kryptonite-powered.

Trent... Actually snaps back to the time they left, and goes for help in the form of the Team's Designated Older Siblings, Jamie and Wade.

Rachel crashes into the middle of the West-Park dining table, appearing out of thin air, at roughly the same time Bailey is getting her head back on straight.

And the other guy, the one they were chasing? His bubble lands in the wrong time, but not too far off the mark. He's outside a small volunteer clinic in Keystone City. It doesn't take much use of his touch-telepathy to steal the knowledge, training, and clothes of an unlucky nurse, a witness to the crash, and he slides in seamlessly. He's now Jonah Pavoni, RN.

Jonah's plan all along was to steal the time-bubble and go back to before the love of his life -- the woman who saved him, the brilliant, shining angel, the ethereal wonder he's loved since childhood -- before she married some asshole who didn't deserve her. When he crashed in the wrong place and time, he didn't know if he'd ever find her again. But three days later, the Pied Piper drags her in. She's injured, but the wounds are more mental than physical. Of course -- his goddess couldn't be brought down so easily. She just needs... A little encouragement. A nudge or two. He can help with that.

It's like fate brought him exactly when and where he needed to be, placed him in an even better position to convince Bailey of his devotion. Now nothing could keep them apart -- not the misalignment of their ages, not distance, not that stupid neglectful jackass. No, now he could be here for Bailey, from the very beginning, building her up, adoring her, showing her the worship she deserves. Finally, he could be hers, and she could be his. As it was always meant to be.

...Man's a little bit not right in the head.

Blythe and Liora are trying to find their friends, and worrying about Jonah later. Liora crosses paths with Bailey once, and in the interest of still having her best friend to find, tries to warn Bailey to be careful. It doesn't work that well.

Rachel, however, needs to find Jonah right now immediately. While also keeping her identity secret from her extended family and avoiding the hell out of anyone who might recognize her, so she doesn't Marty McFly herself out of existence. She's a walking ball of anxiety, my poor lanky dorito girl.

Wally would like to help, but she keeps saying she isn't allowed to talk to him about it and there are time-travel rules and he has no fucking clue who this sassy lost child is but she called him Uncle Wally so clearly she's family of some kind. But his family is really damn big, and he doesn't know who he's supposed to help her avoid. She's an archer with super strength, she might be Roy and Donna's kid? Somehow? But she also used the phrase "Uncle Clark," and her eyes are really blue, and she has that dorky little forehead curl -- Kon has weird time-travelling clone daughters, right? And... He and Bart are close...?

While all that is going on, Trent, Jamie, and Wade arrive in the present day. They're in Gotham. It's a full moon. On Friday night. Naturally, things are going sideways all over the city. The addition of two speedsters and an acrobat are easy enough to hide. ... For a bit. Eventually they get spotted by the local nosy busybodies. Wade is completely unfazed by the arrival of the bat, Trent is mildly shocked to see Mr. Wayne still in the suit, and Jamie is dying because that's her grandpa how could this go any wronger.

More bats show up, that's how. Including Dick.

They eventually nab Blythe -- who has been having fun stopping criminals, harassing the local vigilantes, and bonding with Steph in the few months she's been stranded -- and as they're trying to leave, Dick puts it all together. He has a daughter. From a future that, after Bailey literally left the planet to avoid putting a name on whatever was happening between them, seems unreachable.

Things get emotional, obviously, and moreso when they part. Jamie can't stick around, she has to find the others. No, Dick can't help, he's already figured out too much and putting the fabric of spacetime at risk. Or something.

Dick, reluctantly, lets them leave to go find Liora. I'm not totally sure where she's been during all this, but I'm batting a few ideas around. They grab her and set to finding Rachel.

While all this is happening, Jonah reveals the full truth to Bailey. He's the kid she saved in her latest adventure. He's been in love with her for two decades, since that fateful moment. He's crossed time and space and warped the laws of reality just to be with her. He'd planned to just come back to this point, but what he'd gotten -- this chance to get to know her, to watch her become the hero he always admired -- it was more than he ever could have dreamed.

And now, now they could be together. He's finally repaired the time bubble. They can sweep away to the time he left, have a life together. He's waited for her for so long, can't she see how much he adores her? Won't she be his?

...Bailey, on her end, has had a series of bombs dropped on her. By a guy she's not even sure she can call her boyfriend yet. Ending in what sure as hell sounds like a proposal? And he... Might be a kid?? She says no, like any sane person would, with a few expletives thrown in.

Jonah does not like this answer. He didn't want it to go like this, but... He reaches for Bailey. If she won't love him willingly, he'll just make it happen.

THWIP!

Suddenly there's an arrow sticking through Jonah's palm.

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HER," Rachel screams, barely clinging to her vantage point.

A fight naturally ensues. I don't have it choreographed well, but we wind up with all three parties -- Bailey and Jonah; Rachel and Wally; Jamie, Wade, Trent, Liora, and Blythe -- all in the same space. During the chaos, Rachel falls from some great height, while injured. Bailey dives after her.

It's too great a fall for her to survive, if she can't recover. And with her wounded -- maybe Jonah has, like, feather-shaped daggers and he stuck one in her side? -- she can't do much. Bailey is trying, but she can't quite reach --

-- and then two feathered wings, shining a brilliant gold, like flame and sunrise, unfurl from Rachel's back.

Ray scrambles to pull up, flapping awkwardly, moving on instinct alone. She pulls up, rising into the air, crowing and laughing and on one hell of an adrenaline high. Bailey helps her get back to the others. Ray gets patched up. There's celebration and relief and joy. Someone makes a "Literal Flying Grayson" joke. Wally still wants an explanation, please and thank you?

Once all that gets shook out, Bailey turns to Jonah. He tried to kill her daughter. He is a threat to her girls, and he won't stop until he's stopped permanently. Clearly, there's only one thing to do.

Wally steps in, trying to plead for mercy. Bailey laughs, and agrees. She'll show him mercy, alright.

...Remember that giant mega Black Mercy? It went into the care of one Dr. Pamela Isley, retired since her wedding to Harley, and considered mostly rehabilitated. Her indoor garden has a real nice skylight.

So yeah. Bailey can show him a little mercy, alright.

There's a whole lotta crying as the time-travellers make their goodbyes. Bailey tries to put on a brave face, because you gotta for your kids, but she doubts she'll ever see their future. But she's so, so proud of them, and she loves them so much.

Fast-forward a bit again. Throughout Bailey and Dick patching things up and figuring out a relationship for real, there's a whole lot of dramatic tension as they both try to keep their mouths shut about the possible future they've both seen, but don't know the other one knows about. Bailey is scared to death that Dick would be with her for that future -- only a possibility she doesn't even know how to reach -- and not for anything inherent to her, and Dick doesn't want to put any pressure on Bailey and make her run away again. It's a whole thing! But they do work it out, and... Well, wedding bells do ring.

And Bailey gets a very unusual wedding gift from Zyzzanyx, her old ally. A small chest, containing what sure looks like two tulip bulbs. Zazz explains that these'll grow into the girls, so... She and Dick can plant 'em when they're ready. It's old magic, and it'll take a drop of blood from each parent, but, well. She's fond of the little rugrats too, she guesses. And watching Bailey be miserable about not having them is, y'know, depressing or whatever.

Bailey thanks Zazz for this, and releases the imp from her life-debt. (Like I said, that's it's own post; this is already a mile long.)

The girls eventually happen. Jamie is roughly of an age with Wade, less than a year younger. Ray is born about five years after that, I think. They grow up safe and happy and loved, with a phenomenally huge number of aunts and uncles and grandparents.

There are many arguments and discussions regarding youthful vigilantism and sidekickery, but once again, Bailey cannot stop the future. It's allowed, but under very strict conditions regarding school and social lives. Jamie begins training at age fifteen, taking on the name Dawnbird, and patrolling with her dad.

Rachel learns archery from Aunt Cissie, and then from Uncle Roy and Grandpa Ollie, when she won't be deterred from masking up once she turns fifteen. She uses Fledgeling as her moniker, one of her mother's nicknames for her, as something of an olive branch. Bailey relents and lets Ray be her partner.

I could go on, but I think this post is long enough as is. Most of the rest of what I have is bits and pieces and fun facts anyway. If there's anything anyone's curious about or wants me to elaborate on -- or if you need a diagram, 'cause I got a little Charlie Day here -- my askbox is open!

[cozmicclown]

Welcome Home Secret Audio Tapes Transcribed (Accurately): Tape #4 Frank & Barnaby

Still posting these because the secret invisible transcripts under the audio tapes aren’t 100% accurate, and I like things to be exact. I may be motivated to post more of these if I spent less time doing them up nice. I’d also be WAY more motivated if I could find that special specific American typewriter font with the rounded Tuscan serifs used in the real WH script pieced together on that secret page. I’m beginning to suspect that’s a CUSTOM font.

Yes I know the last one I posted was audio tape #2, I’ve got #3 written out but not done up/aged, but I had this one finished and if I didn’t post it now it would be harder for me to get to it later.

Full Written Transcription Under Cut

Page 1

EXT. FRANKS FRONT GARDEN - DAY

SCENE FADES IN, AS FRANK FRANKLY, HOMES MOST STUDIOUS AND DETAIL-ORIENTED NEIGHBOUR, IS CAUGHT MID SENTENCE EXPLAINING SOME FINE DETAIL OF HIS METICULOUS GARDEN.

FRANK

“Blue, don't actually have any blue pigmentation. They have to grow in soil that is basic as well, so the pine straw should be left for the other beds-“

BARNABY B. BEAGLE, LARGE, BLUE, STAND-UP COMEDIAN CANINE (WHO GETS AROUND A LOT FOR A SUPPOSED LAY ABOUT), INTERRUPTS FRANK AS HE STROLLS UP THE PATH TO FRANKS FRONT GARDEN.

BARNABY

“You're tellin' me that these flowers are liars, Franky?”

FRANK

(Exasperated sigh as he notices Barnaby approaching.)

“Urgh, I'm not telling you that these flowers are liars, Barnaby. I'm talking about how these flowers are specially selected to look this way.”

FRANK GESTURES TO HIS CORNFLOWERS IN THEIR POTS.

BARNABY

“Eh, bein' blue isn't anything special, pal. Don't ya know that blue is all the rage nowadays?”

FRANK

“I don't think people are painting themselves blue, frankly. Are you saying your fur color isn't natural?”

FRANK SUGGESTS THIS WITH A SLIGHT CHUCKLE.

BARNABY

(Feigning insult.)

“I beg your pardon!? I'm a natural beauty, as far as you know.”

Page 2

FRANK

“Heh. I doubt you're any sort of beagle. I've never seen any blue dog before in my life! Now, if you don't mind, we'd like to continue tending to my flowers in peace.”

BARNABY

“You're gonna have to do more than tend to 'em if you want 'em to grow up nice and big. You know what they say: you gotta entertain your plants to make 'em happy.”

FRANK

“Heh, That's true... but I'm not going to let your snappy patter poison my petunias

I'd hardly call your material entertaining, much less fertilizer.”

BARNABY

(Subtle standup tone.)

“Oh, don't you worry, Frank. The last thing I'll do is overwhelm your orchid. Your plants all seem clover it.”

FRANK

(Annoyed groan before taking a deep breath.)

“Uuurrggggh. Not with these puns again. You're going to make all of my hard work wilt! Your humor is too dry for my impatiens.”

BARNABY

“Hey, hey! Not a daisy goes by where you don't get impatient... but hey, I'm just pollen your leg.”

FRANK

(Another deep breath and annoyed groan.)

“Uuurgggg. Will. You. Just. Get. Out of here!? My plants don't need your ridiculous jokes to grow; go find an audience for your silly gags somewhere else.”

Page 3

BARNABY

(Starting walking away backwards.)

“Alright, alright, I'll grow... But every dogwood has his day! I'll still poppy in from time to time, even if you're still a little rough around the hedges!”

FRANK GROANS AND FUMES AT EACH PUN AS BARNABY GETS FURTHER AND FURTHER AWAY.

FRANK

“Hrrrrr, hm. Urgh, honestly with him! I don't know how you can stand to be around him, Wa//=Y.”

End Scene

[abluescarfonwaston]

Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched. 

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again. 

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

[mordoriscalling]

The Colour-Magic Theory (1/?)

Intro

Here comes part 1 of me playing with magic and giving myself Geraskier feels. Hope you enjoy! (Also, no beta, pls have mercy.)

***

From a look, a song and unwanted friendship, new lives are born. The stack of firewood is swallowed up by flames the moment Geralt casts Igni.

“Oh, I love that trick,” Jaskier says and puts his hands close to the fire, warming them after his fingers got stiff from playing the lute in the chill of the autumn evening. “Why don’t you use it every time, I wonder?” the bard asks, observing his companion sitting across the bonfire. “It’s so much easier.”

The witcher only grunts in reply, as is his way, and continues munching on a strip of beef jerky. Jaskier, however, isn’t deterred by the silence, and continues staring at Geralt expectantly. His questioning gaze is like a physical touch. It sends a tingling sensation down the witcher’s spine, the way it always does.

With a resigned sigh, Geralt answers, “I usually want to save my magic for when I really need it, but you were whining so much about the cold that I just wanted to shut you up quicker.”

Jaskier gasps and lays a hand on his breast, about to dramatically take offence, but doesn’t voice his hurt in the end. Something else intrigued him. “Save your magic?” he asks, “what do you mean?”

The witcher measures the bard with the blank “no more questions” look for long enough that any sane person would give up. Jaskier isn’t exactly sane, in Geralt’s (and some others’) opinion, and stares at the witcher right back, unmoved. When it comes to stubbornness, their relation is a diamond cut diamond type of situation.

Finally, Geralt gives in, huffing in irritation. “Magic always has a price. When you take power from Chaos, you have to give something back. The give and take tends to affect your physiological well-being, especially when the stakes are high.”

“So...” Jaskier begins, confused about his understanding of the matter, “casting signs weakens you and that’s why you don’t use magic often?”

“No,” the witcher answers, confusing his companion even further, “My extra mutations... they must’ve changed it. Using magic doesn’t have any effect on my body at all.”

“Fascinating,” Jaskier replies, then immediately gets up to rummage through his travel pack. He comes back to sit across Geralt with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. “What is the price you pay, then?” he asks the witcher and starts writing something in the notebook without waiting for a reply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “I haven’t told anyone about this.” The bard’s head snaps up and he stares at Geralt in shock. Then, understanding dawns on his face. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Alright.” The next moment, the page is torn out of the notebook. It lands in the bonfire and turns into ash. Geralt stares into the flames silently while Jaskier waits for him to speak up.

“My powers deplete themselves,” the witcher says, “It takes time for the magic to return.”

“Peculiar,” the bard remarks, “And a pretty shitty deal, too. I’d rather have it affect my physiology than have to wait after every silly spell.”

Geralt shakes his head. “There’s something else. It’s... hard to explain. In a way, I can negotiate with Chaos. Make my magic not exhaust itself as quickly as it should. It’s useful when I’m in a fight.” His mouth sets into a grim line. “I still haven’t figured out the price I pay for that, though.”

Jaskier smiles a wry little smile, not commenting for once, and Geralt lets himself look at the bard, who meets his eye squarely. The bright gold connects with the cornflower blue and time stands still. Just between the two of them, the colour of the bard’s irises is suddenly so vibrant that it alerts Geralt’s witcher instincts. Jaskier tends to have that effect on him. The bard is always full of energy  – all flutter and movement, brightness and sounds – and it’s too much not to be suspicious. Too much for Geralt’s heightened senses as well; Jaskier’s constant chatter almost gives him a headache every day. His singing is even more bothersome, considering that Geralt’s medallion reacts to it.

“Maybe the price is putting up with you,” the witcher jokes, deadpan. “You!” Jaskier cries, directing an accusing pointing finger at Geralt, “You bastard! I’m a delight and a gift to this world!”

Geralt huffs out a laugh but does nothing to deny it. Jaskier may be annoying and strange but he’s a blessing all the same. Since he joined Geralt two years ago, he’s been working relentlessly on improving Geralt’s image and changing the public perception of all witchers. The bard wants him reborn as a hero, which is a fool’s errand, but he’s grateful for it anyway. The thank-you gets stuck in Geralt’s throat whenever he wants to say it, even though he’s already less spat at in villages. Thankfully, Jaskier seems to understand. Many things pass between them with little words.

Later, when they lay down to sleep, Jaskier’s quiet question reaches the witcher’s ears.  

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

*

The bard walks a few steps ahead of Geralt, who follows him on his horse’s back. Jaskier is composing. He’s always in front of Roach when he’s preoccupied with the creative process. The song about the healing of the Striga that he’s working on is in the middle stages – the first version of lyrics is ready but every single line needs perfecting. This is exactly what Jaskier is doing now: trying out the sound of every word and looking for ones that fit the melody better.

The bard is so engrossed with the task that he doesn’t notice the obvious – how the nature around him moves to get closer to his voice. Geralt’s keen eyes notice the way each straw of grass and every leaf lean in, just a touch, to “listen”. The air has gone completely still and the meadow is eerily silent; even Roach seems to be holding her breath. Geralt’s medallion vibrates.

The witcher decides that this moment is as good as any to confront the issue.

“You’re not human.” Jaskier freezes in his tracks, his body going rigid with tension. The acidic stench of fear fills the air and Geralt shifts in the saddle, disturbed by the smell for the first time in decades. “I am not,” Jaskier replies, his back to the witcher. “Do you want to tell me?” Geralt prompts, his voice gentle like it almost never is.   The bard turns to face him, face pale and hands trembling. “You really don’t know what I am?” “You should be the one to say it,” the witcher answers softly. Jaskier releases a shaky breath and nods. Stepping off the path, he walks into the tall grasses and strums his lute. When he opens his mouth, he sings in a language which the witcher has never heard in his long life. The tongue consists mostly of croons, trills, whistles and swishing sounds, and it’s enchanting even to Geralt’s ears. The air becomes thick with power immediately. It’s not Chaos, however. It’s a whole different type of magic.

The fae are creatures of nature – they are born from its energy. Guarding its Order and sustaining its sacred rhythms is their ancient task that they’ve always been fulfilling, hidden away in their own dimension of the world. They belong to the magic of nature and they don’t move out of it. Usually.

Jaskier didn’t belong anywhere, not until recently. His rhythm has always been too fast. He flutters from place to place, both quickly bored and immensely fascinated with everything and anything. The skies have always drawn him in the most – he still dreams of being a bird and flying anywhere he wants. In the end, Jaskier’s Queen found his temperament unbearable enough that she didn’t clip his wings any longer and allowed him to mingle with mortals.

Jaskier’s done his fair share of that, along with quite some mischief, but his life of adventure truly began only when he saw the brooding loner in Posada. The man’s restrained disposition and the guarded gold of his eyes were arresting, intriguing. Jaskier instantly wanted to know what secrets the witcher held. A few years later, he’s sure he won’t ever grow tired of uncovering them – every little bit of information, of understanding Geralt better, sends a thrill of rightness and belonging through his being.

Freeing his magic puts him at ease, lets him truly breathe. And so, the bard carries on singing, not afraid anymore. He smiles, radiating happiness. His glamour has dropped a bit and his sharp fangs are showing but the witcher only smiles back with the tiny upturn of his lips. Jaskier laughs in between the lines because from this moment on, he’s well and truly safe.

When the song ends, the meadow is completely silent for a moment, then the buzz of insects picks up anew and the gentle gust of wind returns.

“You’ve said enough,” Geralt remarks, and that’s all he has to say on the matter.

After that, the bard opens up to his companion even more, if that’s even possible. Geralt has a suspicion that Jaskier’s chatter was to serve as a distraction from his magic. Now that it’s out in the open, Jaskier’s silences, previously almost non-existent, has got longer. The bard doesn’t shy away from using his power around the witcher, too, and uses it in various ways to make their lives easier. He enchants a client into compliance when they don’t want to give Geralt the promised pay, or asks plants and animals to tell them where the nearest shelter is. When Geralt has a restless night, Jaskier’s humming puts him to sleep. The witcher’s medallion always vibrates then but Geralt isn’t alarmed by it any longer. It’s become a welcome thrum.

Their dynamic changes but they don’t look for any ways to describe it; they simply live the new way and enjoy it. The lazy, warm afternoons are the most pleasant, when Geralt stretches out in a shade of some tree and dozes off to the sounds of Jaskier's lute. Other times Geralt uses Aard to toss some object and Jaskier tries to catch it, laughing, his giggles lovelier than the tinkle of silver bells. Chaos and Order swirl around them, the sky is blue and the sun shines bright on the lush green grass. It could mean nothing or it could mean the world but what matters is that they both find peace. This is why Geralt doesn’t call Jaskier his friend – the word doesn’t fit.

Then Cintra happens and they part ways for three whole years.

TBC

Part 2

[syndianites]

The After; The Athar: Chapter Three

Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 [Here] - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. Wag escorts Martha to Jordan’s house and decides to have a day out with Sonja.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: A good handful of these first chapters are going to be set up and exposition for later. I wanted to put some worldbuilding and character buildup with more than just Wag and Jordan because it’s nice and feels more fleshed out that way. This is more or less my version of a post-S2, maybe S3 fic, so I wanted to go ham on it.

——————————————————————————————

The trek home was much more light hearted. More dramatacisms about the flower, a joke about Wag’s weed quest here, and easy banter shared back and forth. Wag would like to think that Sonja looked more relaxed on the way back, like a weight fell off her shoulders.

But that was an ongoing battle. It would be some time before it really fell away.

Of course, halfway home Sonja dropped another bombshell.

“I think I’m going to break up with Tucker.” Sonja spoke up.

Wag tried not to visibly startle. No, he didn’t see this coming. Should he have? Maybe. Actually, he expected Tucker to be the one to end it, after the whole Shadow’s business.

And here Wag was, staring at her like a fish struggling to breathe.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s going to happen whether I bring it up or not.”

“Are you breaking up with him because you’re afraid he’s going to break up with you?” He was still trying to pick his jaw off the floor.

“Hmm.” Sonja considered this for a moment. “Yes, but also no. I’m not afraid he’s going to, I just have a strong feeling he will. At the very least, we’d need to take a break since all of-,” she gestures to herself vaguely, “-this happened. And, honestly?” Her head tilted to the side. “It’s probably for the best. I do love Tucker, and it will take some time to let those feelings simmer and fade if we do break up, but I think we’ve been… drifting from each other for a while.”

“What?” His eyes snapped back to hers. “Really?”

Sonja nodded. “This wasn’t our first fight. Or, well, falling out. Things were fine before we jumped into the void, but we didn’t agree with how to handle the new world. How to handle Ruxomar’s Mianite.”

Wag nodded slowly. He wouldn’t know the difference. If he was being honest, he didn’t really know the other heroes that well before Ruxomar happened. He was a wizard, tasked with building, magical in every sense, and he had his own squad. The most he had thought of Tucker and Sonja’s relationship was when he helped build their home.

She sighed. “Tucker was very intent on following that Mianite. Ever the devotee. Granted, Tom and Jordan were the same with their gods but theirs were… different? I guess? Ianite wasn’t around, to start, and Dianite was dead. But we always had an idea on Mianite.”

Her tail swished behind her and she grabbed it for a moment, running her hand down its length before letting go. “He was who all of Dagrun worshipped.” Her voice took on a darker tone. “Or were supposed to worship. Tucker only wanted to believe the best of Mianite. I wasn’t quite with it. We would fight, sometimes, about Mianite, or something he did, or what his effect on the town was. Then there was the Ianitas, there was Inertia, there was-” She took a breath. “There was a lot.”

Turning to look at Wag, she gave him a smile and a shrug. “It got a bit tense between us, for a while. Well, it has been tense. Things didn’t really cool off until we were floating aimlessly in the void, again, and we had time to think and talk it out.”

“So you think that with your whole Shadows business coming out you guys need some time apart? To let the tension simmer down?” It was starting to make some sense. Let time and distance see if the heart will grow fonder or if the mind will let go.

Or something like that.

“Kind of.” Sonja turned back towards their destination. “I just. I don’t know if after this we’ll be able to make it work anymore. And if we can’t I’d rather end it on good terms than, I don’t know, explosive, world shattering, terrible terms?”

“Basically, you still want to be friends if things don’t work out.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

They walked in silence after that. A comfortable one, but heavy nonetheless. Wag had a lot to think about. He was about to go through a break-up too. Should he say something? Ask her about it? Martha and him didn’t really have any rough, tense things that were breaking them apart. They hadn’t fought, or brought up dark, hard secrets. It was just a falling apart. They still loved each other.

There was just someone missing.

And there was nothing Wag could do to make up for that hole Steve had left.

He looked back at Sonja, who was casually thumbing one of the petals of the cornflower they’d picked out for Mianite. She was lost in thought, but there was a determined look in her eyes. She was moving in the right direction. Growing, letting change come through.

Wag wanted nothing more than to plant his feet in the ground and stay where everything was easy. Easier. But the world had other plans.

In the end, when they made it back home, Wag hadn’t said anything. There was a place inside him that was afraid of speaking his decision into words. Afraid that if he said he was going to break up with Martha that things would start to fall apart.

He sure hoped not.

---

Wag spent the rest of the day sorting out the flowers they’d found and parsing through potion orders. Most of what they’d picked were more natural- flowers, some vines, and a butt load of four leaf clovers. Which so happened to grow more frequently in the area they’d gone to.

He knew from experience.

The potion orders were easy enough to set up. He’d finished boxing and tagging all the luck potions- there were only three left to do- and scheduled a shipment time, which meant going to his mail cart and placing in a whole crate of them for the post office to deliver for them.

This area had a post office now, freshly installed around the time the town popped up. Convenient for wizards who didn’t get out much.

Then he organized the rest of his current potions in terms of difficulty- easy ones go first- and picked up any new orders from the mail.

Boring, boring, boring.

Once he’d set all of that up he took to his greenhouse. Tended to his plants. Checked on his latest crossbreeding project. It was still developing, but he checked each stage for weed-adjacent properties. None yet.

And then, silence. Nothing to do. He could eat, he could sleep, he could read until his eyes bled. Oh, wait. Scratch that. He could read until his eyes dried out.

He rolled said eyes at that train of thought. In reality, he was just going to go to sleep. The sun had just set, which was excuse enough for him. Sure, he could research his magic related issues, or his weed related quest, or something, but he’d done enough thinking today. Had enough problem sorting.

But as he laid down to sleep, clad in sweatpants and a simple gray shirt this time, he was wide awake.

There was an unsettled buzz humming beneath his skin. Something restless and worried. Things were changing faster than he wanted them to. 

Sure, he could take a town forming, he could take new people showing up, he could take the Ruxomar people living here, all of that was fine. New things weren’t as hard to keep up with.

But the old things changing?

Seeing Sonja’s and Tucker’s relationship crumble, seeing Jerry’s Tree change, Mianite’s Temple change, being left behind by his fellow wizards. Everything to do with Martha. It was like life was starting to move on without him, and Wag was still left knee deep in everything that had happened. The past was clinging to him, dragging him down, stopping him from reaching into the future, practically tearing him from the present.

How long until he didn’t recognize the people around him? How long until they grew so far from him that he really became just some random guy making potions in a tower? Would people care? Would they think back and wonder what happened to him?

It hurt to think about. If Wag had his way, he’d banish the thoughts from his head forever, but things have a strange way of crawling back when you don’t want to think about them. Still, it was a struggle. Everything felt like it was moving too fast, like Wag was too far behind to catch up.

He really should try to get out more.

But why? So he can watch things change? So he can look on helplessly as the world around him becomes something new? What’s worse, seeing change happen and being unable to keep up, or stepping out of your house one day to see that nothing was the same?

Wag rolled over.

Dear Athar this is not what I want to be thinking about. 

He’d just have to do his best to keep up. To claw his way back to the present when the past tries to drag him down. If he can at least stay with it, change won’t feel so bad. If he’s in the thick of it, surely he, too, will feel it? Will change for the better.

Wag sure hoped so.

The distant sound of bells broke his thoughts. His doorbell, to be exact.

By now it was the dead of night and any right-minded person was sleeping right now. Or trying to. Wag considered whether it would be better to stay in bed, wallowing, or get up and see what’s what.

Another ring urged him to rise.

He spiralled down, and down, and down his stairs, his room being at the top of the tower. Wag missed elevators so much. Maybe he could be the man to pioneer the elevator. Start with a simple pulley system, like they use in mines, and work up from there.

Letting go of that train of thought, he finally reached the bottom floor and strode over to yank the front door open.

It was Tom.

“Bought time you showed up mate, I thought I was gonna hafta walk up there to get you myself,” Tom chirped. “Oh!” He leaned in. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Wag gave him a deadpan look. “Didn’t you just say you would have gotten me up if I hadn’t answered?” Tom grinned at him cheekily. “Thought so. And, for the record, no. I was pondering life’s mysteries like one normally does at,” He squinted into the outdoors. “Whatever fucking time it is.”

“Wonderful! May I come in?” Tom asked, already walking in.

“Be my guest.” Wag made an aborted movement to complain about the fact he walked in anyway, but thought better of it.

Tom wandered the foyer for a moment, trying to get out extra energy, before he flopped onto Wag’s mediocre couch. Wag knew he ought to offer food and drink, but it was too late at night for him to care. Instead, he took a seat beside Tom, whose head was leaning over the back of the couch.

“It’s been a while, huh?” Tom’s face was lacking his normal energy. Like the act of sitting let it all out. His hands, however, fluttered nervously, fingers drumming, palms smoothing down his pants.

“We saw each other yesterday.” Wag regretted not getting a drink. He was feeling Tom’s restlessness. It would be nice to have something to do with his hands. “Not that long ago.”

Drawing his shoulders up, Tom released a sigh. “Long enough.”

Silence again.

“Have.” Tom stopped. He was mulling over his words, a rare occasion for someone who prefered to think on the fly. “Have you been doing alright recently?”

A strange question.

“Define recently.” Wag wasn’t about to open up another heart to heart discussion. One per day was enough.

“Y’know. Recently! Like, the past few days.”

Try since we fell back into the world.

“I guess? I haven’t felt any different than before.”

This is where Tom’s eyes sharpened. He appraised Wag, took him in. Surely, what Tom saw was a tired, weary man. A Waglington far from his best. Hair messy, eyes dark, the strain of life held deep in his shoulders.

Except, none of his keener friends had noticed. Why would Tom?

“You haven’t been doing well for a while, huh?” 

Or, rather, why wouldn’t Tom?

Still, Tom being the one to notice was a shock.

Wag looked him in the eyes, held them for a moment, then looked away. That was answer enough, in his opinion.

“Shit,” Tom softened up, curling forward to rest his elbows on his knees, face pillowed in his fists. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Why? Well, there were a number of reasons. They bounced in his mind every time he thought to himself, ‘Would anyone care?’

Feeling insignificant, feeling useless, hopeless, like after everything he’d done it didn’t mean anything.

Maybe he was depressed.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know how- I,” Wag couldn’t find the words. “I didn’t want to bring everyone else down with my problems when they all have their own.”

Tom straightened up and turned towards him. Leaned in. Got close to his ear. “Wag.” His voice was breathy, light.

“That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

And loud. Fuck, did he have to get that close.

“It’s not dumb! It’s just how I felt. Feel.” Tom didn’t have to be a dick about it. “You guys do have shit going on, though! Everyone is trying to deal with their own crap, why would I add mine like a sour little cherry on top?”

Said asshole flopped on top of him, forcing Wag to lean back to accommodate Tom on his lap. “That’s not what I meant. How you feel is how you feel. What I meant is that we don’t give a shit about what all we have on our plates, we care about you.”

Wag moved to hold his head in his hands, making sure to dig his elbows into Tom’s back. “And I care about you enough to not want to worry you.”

“Wag.”

“Yes.”

“That’s-”

“Bullshit?”

“Bullshit.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Wag’s waist and snuggled in. Wag fell back into the couch. “Still. I don’t want to drag you down.”

“If we can’t deal with your problems, we’d let you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“I would, at least.”

Wag huffed. “I know you would. You like to let everyone know what’s on your mind.”

“Sometimes.” Tom’s voice was flat. It was unsettling.

“Do,” Wag rubbed soft circles into Tom’s back. “Do you have a problem you want to talk about.”

Tom buried his face into Wag’s stomach. “Yes,” his voice was muffled, but audible. “But not now. I’m here because I felt like you were thinking too hard and needed someone to talk to.”

That was interesting. He ‘felt’ like it?

“I appreciate it. But how-?” Tom squeezed his waist. It was a clear not now.

“Did you want to talk about what’s up with you?” 

Wag shook his head, then realized Tom couldn’t see him. “No. I’ve had enough heart dumping today.”

They sat in silence again. 

“Are we gonna just lay here?” Tom said nothing. “Did you just wanna snuggle on the couch until one of us decides to get up?” 

Wag received a non-committal hum.

“Alright then, but if someone walks in on us here I’m going to have to tell them they we’re involved in a long standing affair.” Wag moved to lay alongside Tom on the couch, comfortably curling an arm around him. Tom responded with a quiet chuckle.

An easy silence washed back over them. Having Tom as a warm weight next to him was helping, surprisingly. Or maybe not surprisingly. It was harder to think about all the things that made you feel like shit when you had someone else holding your waist in a death grip. Was it a little painful? Yes. Did it help nonetheless? Also yes.

In the end, he was grateful Tom showed up.

---

Wag woke up with a pain in his back and a groan. Which wasn’t terribly unusual, except he couldn’t remember what he did to get his back right to the point of aching without being downright horrible. Or why his neck would feel stiff.

Then, of course, there was the weight settled on his chest. Tom. Tom drooling on his chest.

Ever the good friend, Wag decided to help him wake up. By lovingly pushing Tom off him. Only to go crashing down to the floor as well when Tom, sensing movement, latched on tight.

“Aw, fuck,” were Tom’s first words of the morning, followed by a, “What the fuck.”

Wag shoved at Tom. “Let go. I love you too, but I would rather not sit on my couch all day.”

“Well, why not? That’s as good a way to spend a day as any.” Tom held on with an impish grin, still groggy from his sudden awakening.

“Aw, you guys looked so cute up there.” A voice from the stairs drew their attention. Martha. “And here I thought you guys were such good friends, cozying up to each other. I’d come down to give you a blanket, but I suppose you won’t be needing it now.”

True to word, a blanket was held in her arms. Wag flopped onto Tom, squishing him into the floor. “Oh, Martha dear, you are just a little off. You see, Tom and I here are not friends, we are-”

Tom jumped in, “Lovers. Have been since we met in our early teens. Sorry to break it to you, but Wag was mine first and I want him back.”

Martha’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?” There was a teasing note in her voice. “Does that make me the rebound? Waggles, I can’t believe you would disgrace me so.”

If anyone was the rebound, Wag thought, it’s me.

“Yep!” Tom popped the ‘p’. “And now that we are well and fully together again, what shall we do with you.”

Wag rolled his eyes and sent Martha a wink. She hid a giggle behind her hand.

“Well, Tomothy, I have bad news for you.” Wag looked down into Tom’s eyes, giving his cheek a mock caress. “Martha is way cooler than you. She’s got purple hair, to start, and some spectacular magic tricks. I don’t know if you can compete with that.”

There was a flash of something in his eyes, and for a moment Wag saw Tom's mouth open only to be replaced by a dark, pained look. Then it was gone, replaced by Tom’s usual mischief.

“I can’t believe you!” Tom let go, finally, to push Wag away and roll to the side clutching his heart. “After all we’ve been through! That one time I gave you my meat! When we did drugs together! And you’re leaving me because my hair isn’t purple!”

He got up, dusting his legs off, and sashayed to the front door. “That’s fine, I’m too much of a boss ass bitch for you anyway. Ta ta, my not dearest. Until we never meet again!”

Then he was gone.

Martha piped up again, having moved to place the blanket on the couch. “As dramatic as always.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I only stopped by to pick something up for Dad. I’ll be leaving as well.”

Wag pulled himself off the floor as she passed, giving her a smile. She hesitated before returning it.

She opened the door with a look over her shoulder. “Goodbye, love.”

And, just as she started to walk out, she muttered to herself, “Did Tom already make it down the mountain? Strange.”

Then Wag was alone. Again.

---

It was midday when Wag found himself back at the bakery, quietly eating an apple tart while Gretchen eyed him from over the counter. There were a few customers here and there, though most of the village inhabitants out fishing for the day or working their craft. Wag, of course, ran on whatever schedule suited his needs per day.

Gretchen, who was preparing dough for tomorrow, was clearly waiting for him to say what was on his mind. He ducked his head farther into his hood.

He was that obvious, huh?

“So, how has your da-” Gretchen cut off his attempt at light conversation. “You asked when you came in. Try again.”

Stunned, he reconsidered his words. “What do you think of-” She cut him off with a click of her tongue.

Clearly, she was not taking any bullshit today. Which was unfortunate. Wag wanted nothing more than to fill his days with insignificant bullshit if that meant he never had to face his problems.

Fuck.

Why was asking for advice so hard?

Gretchen hummed quietly to herself. Wag finished the tart. Slowly licked his fingers clean. And came up with nothing to say.

A customer came and went. The door closed with a soft jingle of the bell at the top.

He broke.

“I need to break up with Martha and I don’t know how.”

Gretchen turned to him with a surprised and considering look. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What?” He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She paused in her ministrations. Wiped her hands off on her apron. Turning to him, she leaned against the counter. “I didn’t think you’d consider that you weren’t happy with your relationship. It’s clear as day that you two aren’t much of a couple. Whether you were before you got here aint none of my business, but as you are now? I coulda mistaken you for friends, at best.”

Oh.

Ouch.

“Yeah,” Wag trailed off. “I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure how much of a couple we were either. Back then. Do you mind if I,” he waved his hands half-heartedly, “vent a little?”

Gretchen gave him a fond head shake. “I already put the dough down, I’m all ears.”

“So, um.” He wasn’t sure where to start. When they first met? When he started thinking that he might like her? When he realized he loved her? When they got together?

Steve?

“Martha was already in a relationship when we met.” Gretchen raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. “The guy she was with was the farmer type, rough, could fix anything with a little elbow grease and a stern look. Followed Dianite, the new one.”

Wag took a second to figure out where he was going with this. “They were engaged, actually. And then broke it off later. Martha and I grew close after that. But the thing was- is- Martha still loves Steve. Misses him. But he’s-” He broke off, lost again.

“Dead?” His head snapped to her. She held her hands up. “Hey, you were talking about him all past tense, and from what I heard about whatever happened to that other place, if someone didn’t show up here after all that calamity, they aren’t going to show up ever. They’re gone.”

Yeah, he was. Steve was six feet under. Farther than that. He was lost to the void with Ruxomar. Lost to Dianite’s soul. Claimed by the acts of the past for a better future.

And look where that got them. 

“Yeah, he’s dead now. It killed her, I think. She lost her mother, had all this power, yet she could do nothing to stop Steve from dying, too.” Wag was beginning to connect some dots, the kind of dots you look at and roll your eyes and claim are just things that happen in shitty romance novels.

Gretchen had her head on her fist now, invested. “Why did they split?”

“Uh,” Wag struggled to recall the information. “Because... I think it was because Steve ‘moved around too much’.” He made air quotes. “Or went on too many missions for Dianite? I don’t know the details.”

“Oh, that’s no good.” When she saw Wag’s confused face, Gretchen continued. “If they split over something like that, there’s always a good chance they still loved each other. I’m afraid to say it, but you may have been the rebound.”

Wag hated to hear that. “Hey, she flirted with me before their relationship was over. It was a mutual flirting thing, too!”

Gretchen groaned. “You guys flirted, while she was in a relationship, that you knew about, and when it was over she came to you? That sounds suspiciously like needed comfort after leaving the love of her life and knew you could give her that.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but deflated like a two weeks old balloon.

Taking a breath, a wheeze at best, he tried again.  “You don’t understand. Martha is, she’s amazing. She’s dedicated, and smart, and talented, and she’s always trying her best even under the pressure of being a demigod and having everyone look to you expecting greatness out of you.”

His heart was beating faster.

“And she’s polyamorous! She has room in her heart for more than one love, and we both knew that! Steve knew that! Martha didn’t rebound on me, exactly, but Steve and I had a mutual understanding that we both had places in Martha’s life and that was that.”

“She was kind, and caring, and only wanted the best for the people around her. There are so many amazing things about her.” His words were sweet but his voice was desperate.

“There’s no way she would be able to use someone- to use,” Wag grew quieter, “me, like that.”

Would she?

A hand on his arm startled him. Gretchen looked at him with soft eyes. “Hun, I don’t think she was truly ready for another relationship. She definitely didn’t go into it looking to use you. In fact, I’m sure she was in it because she loved you.”

She let go to move around the counter and lead him to a seat. “You can see it, sometimes, when she’s with you. The gentle fondness in her gaze, the warmth in the smiles she directs at you.” 

“But you can’t build a solid relationship without hashing through the issues and problems you have.” Gretchen rubbed up and down his arm. “And Martha being caught up on this Steve, that’s something you have to address. It’s no issue to love more than one person, but to let the love you feel for another get in the way of the love you feel for another is.”

“I just feel awful letting it go like this. I should have put in more effort, tried to bridge the gap more, done something.” Wag was trying to keep his breathing steady. It was working, somewhat. “I’ve let myself get into such a fuckin’ rut that I can’t even keep track of everything.”

Gretchen pursed her lips. “If I may be so crass, you’ve let yourself get so hard focused on everything about you that you haven’t given the time to look at the people around you. Before yesterday, when was the last time you’d taken the time to catch up with your friends? How much of their lives do you know about?”

He wanted to say something, give a date, but he came up blank. “I’m trying my best.”

“You are, and I see that. But you can’t blame yourself all the way through. You’ve got to consider Martha’s view as well. Neither of you are the villain here, neither of you tried to sabotage or destroy your relationship. Both of you were just trying to feel like things were going alright while other pieces of your life fell apart.” Taking the seat next to him, she shook her head.

Again, he moved to say something, but she cut him off. “If you don’t think that those of us ‘round town don’t notice that you heroes have some shit going on, you’re wrong. We may be the more common around here, but we have eyes. Whatever happened to you, you can’t let it be the reason you get stuck in something that makes you more upset or hurt. Got it?”

Hesitant, he nodded. She didn’t know much about him, yet she could see right through him, huh? How obvious had he gotten in all his time spent away from people?

“You know, I didn’t come here to have a heart to heart about my emotional issues.” Wag tried for a teasing tone but fell a little off.

Gretchen took the bait. “No sir, you came here because you’re too much of a wuss to just go up to Martha and say ‘Love, I’m afraid this ain’t gonna to work out. Can we just be friends?”

“Ok, but she could literally electrocute me.”

“Ain’t gonna be any more painful then the dance you two are doing right now.”

He had no answer for that.

“That’s what I thought. And, if she’s as nice and amazing as you say she is, would she electrocute you?”

“No. But her uncle might.”

Gretchen laughed. “Ah yes, the new Dianite. That’d be a sight to see. ‘This man we’re all suspicious and wary of smiting a local and apparent hero! Is this man actually the second coming of an evil and villainous Dianite?’ That’d go over well.”

“Ok, so maybe I don’t need to worry about getting my ass cooked by a god. I’m still nervous.” Wag was, however, feeling a little better about the situation.

“Now, now. You shouldn’t get too comfortable.” A smile grew in her face, a devious look in her eye.

“Why?”

“Spark, you know, her father? The man who built this village, who we all respect and acknowledge as a good man? If he were to come around and to, I don’t know, teach you a lesson for hurting his daughter, none of us would bat an eye.”

“Gee, thanks. If you find me dead in a ditch you’ll know what happened.”

“Are you all ready then?” She stood, smoothing her apron. “Because I’m going to kick you out regardless if you say yes or no. If I let you stay here you might not leave.”

“I was going to say no, but I suppose I’ll wander off, then.” Wag stood as well. He shuffled in place for a moment while Gretchen returned to the other side of the counter. “Thanks. For, you know. All of that.”

She shook her head. “You better keep coming in and buying my goods. Call it an even deal.”

As he begun to walk out, he heard her call, “You’re welcome to come back if you need another talk!”

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to.

---

“Martha, I need to talk to you. About our relationship. I think it’s time to end it.”

Wag was back in his tower, pacing back and forth. No, he wasn’t running from the issue, he just had no fucking idea where Martha was. At all. He should have asked.

Oh well. Too late now.

Instead he had to make the choice of: wait for her at home or attempt to track her down. His decision was fairly obvious. The only issue with said decision was that he had was that there was no way to know when Martha would show up next.

It also occurred to him that Martha preferred not to come around. Shit.

Where would she be? She’d been talking to Jordan, at his request. Maybe they were still talking? But she’d come ho- come to the tower this morning. Why had she come over? What had she said?

Oh!

She was picking up something for Spark! That meant she was probably with him. Or, he’d know where she was.

…

He didn’t know where Spark was either.

“Damn, I wish I’d paid more attention to when Martha talked about Spark,” Wag muttered to himself, starting towards the door.

Then stopped.

First, Spark was intensely boring in his routine and life. Second, he still didn’t know where to find him.

He missed being able to teleport to people.

Alright, so maybe he should have shown interest in his potential father-in-law, but it was too late for that. He had to find Martha, and finding Spark might be easier. 

Who would know where he was? The townspeople might like him, but they all had their own lives. Still, he could ask around. Who had seen him more recently, other than Martha?

A thought struck him.

He face palmed.

Jordan. Not only had Jordan and Martha been talking, which meant he might know where she went, but Jordan complained about Spark lecturing him all the time. If he didn’t know where Martha was, he’d likely know where Spark was. Even if it was to make sure he could avoid him.

Alright, easy. Jordan was probably at his house. Tree. Tree house? He had a pretty good track record of keeping close to home, at least.

So off to Jordan’s it was.

---

Today, Jerry’s Tree made him feel small. It was like it was looming over him as he ascended the hill. Grand and regal. It had seen death and destruction and met the challenge to come back better.

Wag did not feel like he was rising to a challenge so much as descending into a pit of pain. Sliding into a sweet embrace with death. Rolling into the grave.

Maybe he was being dramatic, but the thought of breaking up with Martha created more dread than he felt before in his life. 

In any case, it was as he pondered the looming nature that he wondered what it would be like to live there. Then promptly remembered what he’d noticed the day before. 

He looked over to the Casa de Sparklez. It looked homey and modest against the sprawl of branches and bark. Sure, it seemed insignificant at first glance, but it was simple. Nice.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hadn’t it also been destroyed? Now that Wag thought about it, the last he’d seen of it before Ruxomar was a pile of ash and suspended ruins. How was it in this condition? Fixed?

Was it Ianite, again?

How many of Jordan’s homes ended in ash?

This was definitely not the reason he was making his way up. He had to focus. Focus! Ask Jordan about Martha and Spark. Easy.

Instead of making his way to the Tree right away, Wag stopped to knock on the de Sparklez door. There was a beat of silence. Did he assume wrong? Was Jordan actually living in the Tree?

Then he heard footsteps. Quiet and uncertain, but there. A flash of movement through the windows. Then the lock was turned and the door swung open.

One Mr. Captain Sparklez in the flesh.

“Hey, Wag,” Jordan drew the words out. “What brings you to the good ol’ Casa de Sparklez and not-” He looked over to Jerry’s Tree. “-my house.”

Wag offered him a smile. “I had a hunch you’d be here.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow but motioned him in regardless. The interior looked the same from the few times he’d been inside. Birch and quartz, sleek and stylish.

“How have you been, Wag?” As Jordan spoke up Wag turned to look at him. He seemed like he was in good health.

“I’ve been... better. But I’m doing better than I was, I think.” Wag could be honest with Jordan. He was pretty sure. Jordan, among all the heroes, was least likely to judge him for having issues. Ianitee and preserving balance and all.

They wandered over to Jordan’s couches where Wag declined any food or drink. “That’s good. Always good to be better, y’know, since we’re all finally getting a chance to relax.”

“Now,” Wag put his arm on the back of the couch, “I wouldn’t say that. Say it too much and things will turn south again.”

“Oh, believe me, it’ll turn south again. It always does.”

“Well that’s quite the vote of confidence in us.”

Jordan snorted. “It’s not a lack of confidence in us, it's a lack of confidence in the universe! Who’s to say that we won’t have another World Historian show up? Or another Shadows?”

Wow, speaking of Shadows.

“Gee, and here I thought I was the downer.” 

Jordan laughed, shaking his head. “Only a little,” He rubbed his legs. “I’ve been using our downtime to get myself resettled, re-setup. To get back to,” A wave of his hands. “Normal? How things used to be? I’m not sure, yet.”

“Is that why you’re living here?” Wag bit back the ‘because it feels more like home, here?’.

He received a shrug in response. “It’s easier to get in here than to wander through the tree.”

Either that was a flimsy excuse or Wag was reading too deep into this. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was. All he’d done recently was think and talk deep. Better catch himself now before he gets ahead of himself.

“So,” He pushed his thoughts to the side, “Ignoring the fact that there’s elevators in the tree, how’d you manage to get this place back in shape?”

Jordan looked away for a moment. “It took a lot of time and resources. Needed to get all that wood and quartz back, y'know? But it gave me a reason to avoid Spark, and it gave me time to… think.”

“About?”

He turned his gaze towards Jerry’s Tree, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “About how much things have really changed, and how much they haven’t.”

Well, Wag was no stranger to this topic. He was a little tired of it. “How haven’t they changed? Seems like more and more things are growing and becoming different. Nothing feels the same.”

Jordan was quiet for a minute. He was steadily getting out of his comfort zone here. “Well, there’s a lot of constants. We’re in the same world, with the same people, with the same ideas of who we are. I know I follow Ianite, I know I stand for balance, and no matter how much Spark tries to tell me I’m doing it wrong, I know what my role is as Ianite’s champion.”

“Sure, the,” he waves a hand towards the window, to the tree, to the countryside, “everything, has changed. The tree got bigger and better and less like I remember, and there's new people and a whole, real village here, rather than the strange village-folk from before. And, yeah, it’s weird having the people from the last world among us, but we know them. We know us. Even when things change it's still-”

Jordan locked eyes with Wag.

“Us.”

Yeah. He was right. Everything was changing, as everything would. But in the end, after everything has evolved and adapted and become something new, what’s left?

Us.

[myaekingheart]

52. Anniversary

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME! Today, August 18th, marks ONE WHOLE YEAR since I first posted the very first chapter of this fanfic! This is so wild, and I never thought I'd get this far in only a year but I couldn't be prouder of myself as a writer and of the story I've been telling. This fic makes me outrageously happy and I hope it makes all of you, the readers, happy, too. I also want to say a huge thank you real quick to everyone who has read this far, or read any of this story at all. Your kindness, your comments and kudos, have all meant the world to me and I love and appreciate all of you so, so much. So thank you. And here's to another great year! <3

               Are you ready for this? Kakashi thought to himself. He glanced to his reflection in the mirror, fixing his hair and toying with his top collar button. Three years ago, he had kissed his childhood best friend on the roof of their apartment building. He had given in, let her comforting presence overpower him and melt away the darkness in his heart. She was everything missing in his life, and quite frankly she saved him. He turned the dainty little ring over in his hands, studying the polish of the gold and the iridescence of the inlaid pearl. Just the thought of it made his hands shake, and he cleared his throat to regain composure. Even though he desperately wanted this, that didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified. This is it, he thought, inhaling as he turned back to his reflection. Tonight, I’m going to ask her to marry me.

               Naru turned this way and that in front of the mirror, readjusting her hair. “Hey, how do you think I would look with blue tips? Or maybe pink?” she asked. Rei hardly paid any mind to her as she surveyed the pile of clothes on her bed. She had twenty minutes left to get ready, but all fashion sense was evading her. Not that she really had any to begin with. Naru pursed her lips and studied the shorter side of her asymmetrical cut. “Maybe I should just let my side cut grow out” she mused.

               “Mmhmm…” Rei said distractedly. “Whatever you want to do.” The blonde peered over her shoulder and it was then that she was reminded of the true dilemma in the room. Sighing, she waltzed over and immediately plucked a dark blue skirt, white blouse, and floral haori from the pile and handed them to Rei.

               “Here” she said. “Where this with sandals, keep your hair down, maybe put on some earrings, and you’ll be good to go.”

               “Thank you” Rei said, overexaggerated as if to express that Naru should’ve been helping her all along. As she began to change, however, her eyes landed on the chakra plants on her windowsill. It would be wise to water them before she left for the night. She had no idea when she would be home, if at all. Her eyes skated down the line, inspecting each, but paused on the cornflower at the end. Today, it appeared brighter than usual, almost as if it was glowing. Kakashi.

               It was hard to believe three years had passed since that day he kissed her in the summer sun, soaking wet and reeking like flea shampoo. The time had sped by so quickly, it almost left Rei dizzy. She wondered what he was doing now; she tried to envision him in his apartment preparing for the night but couldn’t make anything out. It was as if there was a block on her perception of him. Her fingers grazed the petals of that cornflower and an electricity pulsed through her, strange and magnetic. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with a feeling of magic and mystery as if the stars overhead planned to realign and change her entire life.

               There was a knock at the door just as Rei was fastening her sandals and hopped on one foot to let Kakashi inside. The minute she saw him, all the color rushed to her face. It wasn’t often that he dressed up so when he did, it was clear he meant business.

               “These are for you” he said, presenting a handful of red roses. She smiled then leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Happy anniversary, Rei.”

               “Just give me one second to stick these in a vase and then we can go” she said, scurrying off to fix them up. As she did so, Kakashi patted his back pocket cautiously to ensure that the ring was still there. The incident with Tenshi the previous weekend had him paranoid beyond compare. He couldn’t afford another incident.

               He held her hand as they walked along, the sky screaming red and gold. Dinner was reserved for 6:30 at a little steak house near Kaminoki, but Kakashi wanted to take his time. He wanted to savor every moment of this night and of her. Besides, he still hadn’t decided when, exactly, he wanted to propose. He had assumed that he would do it when the time was “right,” but how was he supposed to know when that was? Would he feel it, or would it just come along and strike him and he would get down on one knee almost out of his own volition? He had no clue, and that terrified him. But he didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now. Dwelling meant being out of the moment and not giving his full attention to what was right in front of him. And what was now right in front of him was a problem.

               “Hey, Kakashi-sensei!” a voice called and then Naruto was barreling down the street with Sakura in tow. It took all of Kakashi’s strength not to shove Rei into an alleyway on their arrival, having to remind himself that he didn’t need to hide her anymore. He sucked in a deep breath and prepared for whatever shenanigans they were about to sucker punch him with today.

               “Kakashi-sensei” Naruto started, “Sakura and I need to ask you a question! It’s about this jutsu—Sakura thinks the hand signs are this”—here, Naruto made a bunch of obscene gestures with his hands not even remotely close to any actual hand signs— “but I think they’re—”

               “Naruto, please stop” Kakashi said, reaching out to pause the genin’s demonstration. “Whatever you were just doing, that wasn’t it. Now, if you’d excuse me, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” And with that, Kakashi took Rei’s hand and attempted to walk away, but of course his students were far more relentless than that.

               “But Kakashi-sen—” Naruto started, but Sakura whacked him on the arm and shut him up.

               “You idiot! Can’t you see Kakashi-sensei is on a date?” she shouted.

               “Ohhh…” Naruto said, then turning to his sensei asked, “Is that why you’re dressed up like some fancy butler?” Truthfully, Naruto had never seen Kakashi dressed so nicely. Or even wearing anything other than a jonin uniform.

               “Is tonight something special?” Sakura then asked, leaning forward and hooking her hands behind her back.

               Rei nodded. “It’s our anniversary” she answered.

               Sakura’s eyes went wide and a grin touched her lips. It didn’t even matter how long they had been together, the thought of something so sweet and romantic made her heart soar. She only hoped that was what her future with Sasuke would look like.

               “Mmhmm, so if you’d excuse us…” Kakashi said, skirting around the kids. They watched the couple depart for a moment before a sickening idea planted in their heads. This was a very special night indeed, but there were specific standards to be met. They couldn’t guarantee their sensei would masterfully succeed. No, if this night was to be the ultimate romantic escapade, there was only one choice. Naruto and Sakura would have to get involved.

               “Do you even know anything about romance?” Naruto asked, wrinkling his nose. He couldn’t possibly imagine her as some sort of love expert. She lacked the experience. Sakura shot a death glare at him, then detailed her master plan.

               Kakashi pulled out Rei’s chair for her, then took the seat across from her. Try as he might, it was clear to Rei that something was definitely off. She could see it in Kakashi’s eyes that he was panicked about something, and it in turn made her panicky herself. “You know” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers, “we don’t have to do this if you’re not feeling well or some—”

               “No!” Kakashi interrupted. Then, calmer, “No, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I promise.” She of course wanted to believe him, but there was still something in the way. Just as she was about to respond, however, their waiter approached looking inexplicably…bizarre.

               “Good evening!” he said perhaps too emphatically. Rei and Kakashi exchanged confused glances. Their waiter was much shorter than the average man, and his suit jacket was far too big. His accent was undoubtedly fake, his hair scraggly, and oh my god, it was Naruto. He flourished his hand and bowed to them, trying so hard to pretend he was doing his job correctly, only for the actual waiter to approach moments later with a look of disgust on his face. He shooed Naruto away quickly and then detailed the night’s specials.

               It was after they had gotten their drinks and had their orders taken that Kakashi felt a desperation well up inside of him. He had thought it would be better to wait until dessert to pop the question but his anxiety was getting the best of him. He just wanted to get this over with. “Rei…” he said, the tone of his voice much different than it had sounded all night. “It’s been three years since we kissed on that rooftop.”

               “I know” Rei said, brushing her hair out of her face. “Crazy, right? I mean, the time has gone by so fast!” Her heart was pounding in her chest. She knew she probably sounded fake, disingenuine, but she could see a strange look in Kakashi’s eyes and she was terrified of where this was going.

               “That day changed my entire life, for the better” Kakashi continued. “It made me realize that—”

               Just then, the waiter returned clearing his throat with a look of disdain upon his face. “For you” he said tiredly, then presented a bottle of fine wine. “From the gentleman and his lady friend over there” the waiter then added, motioning to Naruto and Sakura hiding behind a large house plant near the front door. Kakashi sighed and shook his head, but gratefully took the wine regardless.

               Their dinner arrived before he could make another attempt, but he tried not to become too disheartened by it. He wanted Rei to be happy and enjoy herself and he feared that if he showed his feelings, it would bring her down as well. They laughed and reminisced as they ate together, stealing bites of one another’s food off their plates and sipping wine as they did so. It was like they were young kids in love all over again, on a first date where anything was possible.

               “I’m really glad things turned out the way they did, you know” Rei then said as she finished her meal.

               “What do you mean?” Kakashi asked.

               “You know, like when I joined the ANBU” she replied. “I’m really glad it brought us back together, and that things fell into place like they did.”

               A smile touched Kakashi’s masked face. “I am, too” he said. He shifted in his seat, his heart rising in his throat. This was it. This was his chance. “I don’t know where I would be without you, and I don’t think I ever want to run the risk of losing you. That’s why—”

               Before he could finish speaking, a pair of musicians slid in next to their table and began attempting a sweeping acoustic. They were loud and unskilled, drowning out the couple’s voices. Rei blinked and squinted at Kakashi as if it would help her hear better but it was no use. She couldn’t even read his damn lips.

               These lowly musicians were obnoxious, over-the-top, and looked way too young. As they should have for it was almost immediately clear that they were none other than Naruto and Sakura back at it again. They kept singing something about “when you’re in love” as if they knew what love really was. They were twelve. Not even the fake mustaches could make them look any older.        

               By the time the song had ended and the young genin were whisked away by the waiter once again, Kakashi had completely lost his chance. This was never going to work if they kept popping up and ruining everything. He excused himself under the guise of needing to go to the bathroom and tried to track his two students down.

               He finally found them outside the back of the restaurant, getting yelled at by the manager for harassing her fine establishment. Kakashi eased his way into the conversation, saying he would handle the rest of the punishment. “What, exactly, do you two think you’re doing?” he asked.

               “We were thinking we needed to make this night as romantic as possible” Sakura replied. Kakashi sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

               “You do understand how unnecessary all of this is, right?” he asked. “And that you’re really doing more harm than good?” The genin glanced to each other and then blinked despondently, the harsh reality of their actions stinging.

               “We just wanted to help!” Naruto said. “Though it was all Sakura’s idea.”

               As frustrated as he was, Kakashi knew he couldn’t stand to rip Sakura apart with criticism. Deep down, he was certain she was just projecting onto them to try and cope with the rejection from and subsequent loss of Sasuke. None of this was very easy on her. However, that didn’t give her a free pass to meddle in other people’s love lives, either.

               Kakashi finished his spiel and sent the two kids home, then turned around to reenter the restaurant. He barely had one foot in the door when a loud crash and piercing cry echoed from the dining hall, and he knew immediately that something was very, very wrong. Naruto and Sakura, hearing it themselves, defied Kakashi’s orders and rushed in after him.

               It was the waiter himself who was the culprit. Seeing Rei all alone at the table, he decided she was the perfect opportunity to begin his ultimate attack. He attempted to take her hostage, but she fought back hard. The only issue, as was blatantly clear now, was that she had been drinking all night and therefore was now heavily intoxicated.

               The rest of the wait staff revealed themselves to be enemy-nin of the same village, the waiter’s underlings, all prepared to take the entire restaurant hostage and throw down. Kakashi leapt in and released Rei from the man’s grip, asking if she was alright before fending off an approaching enemy. She lied and said she was perfectly fine, swinging drunken punches at a nearby plant. Meanwhile, Naruto and Sakura entered the brawl.

               Rei swung one more hard punch at the plant, bending its biggest branch backwards only for it to fly back around and smack her in the face. She rubbed her cheek before whipping around just as Naruto made at least ten shadow clones, and her vision went hazy. “Oh my god” Rei muttered, catching Kakashi’s attention. “There’s so many Narutos, what the fuck…”

               Kakashi patted her shoulder lovingly and directed her toward a safe area where he knew she would likely not hurt herself anymore than she already had. As he did so, he replied with an exasperated, “Yes, and unfortunately they’re all as annoying as the original.”

               By the time the battle was done and the enemy had been defeated, the entire restaurant was in shambles. Kakashi kicked open the door to a storage room to find the real waitstaff bound and gagged, for how long he didn’t even want to think about. He and his students set them free and assured them that the enemy-nin were going to face proper punishment for their crimes as they were carted away by the local police. And when he returned to Rei, he had found she was nearly passed out, face flushed and drool dripping down her chin. He lifted her up in his arms and shook his head with a mild laugh. So much for a happy anniversary.

               “We’re really sorry we ruined your dinner, Kakashi-sensei” Sakura apologized as they made their way home. “We’ll make it up to you, we promise.”

               All the color drained from Kakashi’s face. “No, really, it’s fine” he protested. “I wouldn’t worry yourselves.”

               Naruto walked behind them, staring quizzically at Rei slung over Kakashi’s shoulder. She was mumbling something nonsensical in her sleep, and her breath reeked like booze. “So how long have you two been together, anyway?” he then asked. Sakura seconded the inquiry. It was the least he could do to answer them that if nothing else.

               Rubbing the back of his neck, Kakashi hesitantly replied, “Three years now.” Naruto and Sakura’s jaws dropped. The entire rest of the walk home was overrun with them questioning how he could have kept his girlfriend secret for that long without losing his mind. The more they pressed him for answers, the more Kakashi realized he truly had no clue. Perhaps he had some regrets and that if he had the chance to do it all over again, he would be open about her from the start, but deep down he knew the person he was three years ago was vastly different than who he was now. She had changed him in perhaps the best way possible. With her, he felt like he still stood a chance. That he had a purpose. That he was worthy of finding happiness. She was his whole world, and he would go through hell and back to keep from losing her.

               A smile touched his lips as he laid her down upon his bed, gently removed her sandals, and began tucking her in. Her eyes creaked open and she looked at him sleepily, not totally aware, as if everything was in a haze and only partially real. “Did we beat them?” she croaked. Kakashi pulled down his mask and his lips brushed across her dewy forehead.

               “They didn’t stand a chance against us” he replied. “They’ve all been taken away to prison.”

               “Good” Rei yawned. “As they should be.”

               After a moment of silence, Kakashi then rested a hand on her lower back and said softly, “I’m sorry, I know tonight probably didn’t go as expected.”

               “No, no, it was grrrrrrrreat” Rei replied, snuggling into her pillow. “Best anniversary ever.” Kakashi knew that had she been sober, they would both agree that that was a big lie. It was not, in fact, the best anniversary ever and after everything, Kakashi could even argue it took the spot of the worst. His hand reached around to his back pouch and he felt that little box inside, as well as a mild sense of defeat. He had a plan and he thought he could stick to it but for some reason, there was always some obstacle blocking his path. He wondered if this was fate’s way of telling him this was a bad idea, trying to veer him away from something he so desperately wanted. But he was tired of taking the lonely path. He was tired of never getting what he wanted. It was about damn time he was happy for once in his miserable life. And god, did Rei make him happy. All he ever wanted was for her to be there, his guarantee of happiness, every day for the rest of his life.

               The clock read 11:58pm. He still had time. Leaning down, he brushed Rei’s hair out of her face and kissed her cheek softly, lingering there just long enough for her eyes to flutter open. “What was that for?” she asked.

               “I just wanted to” Kakashi replied. “There’s a lot of things I’ve wanted to do tonight, Rei, but the most important one is this: I love you, and I need you to know just how much. You came back into my life and changed everything and I will be forever grateful for that. You saved me when I thought I had nothing left to live for. You are my entire world, and you make me happier than I ever thought possible. I don’t ever want to lose you and that’s why…” here, his breath hitched in his throat. He averted his eyes, reached into his back pouch, hesitated. He wrapped his fingers around that tiny little box, let himself feel the full weight of it, sucked in a deep breath, laughed nervously. This was it. It was finally happening. He wasn't sure if he was really ready for it. But at this point, he had no choice. If he wanted to get this done, he needed to do it right now. He pulled the box out of his pocket, slid down onto one knee, flicked it open with his thumb. “Rei…will you marry me?”

               He looked up, her face mere inches from his, and his heart sank. She was fast asleep. He hated that deep down, he was filled with a tiny sense of relief. He closed the box, slid it back into his pouch, pressed his lips to her cheek. The clock read 12:02am. He had missed his chance. The timing wasn’t right. Something always got in the way. But that was alright. He slowly got undressed and then slipped into bed as carefully as he could so as to not stir his girlfriend. He rested his hand on her lower back and closed his eyes. Nothing went as planned, but that didn’t mean this was the end. They had their entire lives to get married. When he proposed, he wanted it to be special but not in an extravagant and outlandish sense.  He had gone about this all wrong and as such, the universe was resisting him. But the next time things would be different. Next time, he was going to do this right. He rolled over and wrapped his arms tightly around Rei, knowing that the future was vast and their potential was infinite. And that alone gave him peace.

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Damage Control (4/5)

Author’s Notes:

So do you think ya’ll are primed for some Karamel smut?  You’re welcome.   ;)

The chapter is smut from start to finish.  There be no plot here.

Remember we’re moving deeper into Dom/sub territory.  If that squicks out pick the story up again at chapter 5 -- you likely won’t miss much plot.

You’re welcome.

Title: Damage Control

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5

Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze

Thanks for comments/likes and for being awesome people in general: @pwettypwita, @anaveragegirl15, @baskingintheinsanity, @iminyourhandskara

  Chapter 4/5

                  I’d give up the ghosts

                      Locked up inside me

                             If I ever once had cared

                And time won’t ever fade

                         Silken threads that break

                                Thrown to the wolves

                   I’m always frozen

          --Four Star Mary – “Thrown to the Wolves”

  It is pushing four o’clock and she’s heard nothing from Mon-El, and of course, she has no way to contact him if he’s outside of the DEO.  Getting him a cell phone, no matter how rudimentary, goes to the top of her priority list.   Kara needs to talk to him, about this Valor business, but most of all she needs to see him, to make sure he’s all right.

After lunch, the rush of calls transferred to her office phone dwindles down to a trickle, and she’s left with notes that need compiling.  Rex Berger’s call to confess seeing man downtown siphoning electricity from a rooftop transformer in the wee hours of the morning, hadn’t been the last one of the day.  There had been two more to follow; each on a different nights and each with a similar story to tell.  This has been going on for some time, perhaps since before they got together, and she needs Mon-El to tell her everything, for the sake of his continued support by the DEO and for their relationship.

The morning started out with such promise when she’d climbed out of bed and gotten dressed, minus one important garment; and just when she thinks the morning’s potential is going to turn out to be a wash, her phone rings.

“Danvers,” she answers, her tone indicating uncertainty as to what to expect on the other end of the line.

“Kara?” came Eve Tessmacher’s voice.  “I thought you should know Mike’s up here looking for you.”

“Mike?” she wonders aloud, trying to place the name for a second before it hits her. “Oh! Mike…right!  I’m hiding out on the 14th floor.  Can you send him down here to 1427?” Involuntarily, her heart kicks into overdrive racing towards an unknown finish line.  

“Sure thing, Kara.”

Kara’s face flushes, the heat traveling down her neck to her chest and below.  Her hands shake a little, so she stands from her chair and wipes them against the front of her skirt, over and over and until she can old them up without seeing the tremors.

Less than ten seconds after Kara hung up with Eve, Mon-El is slipping into the room without knocking and locking the door behind him.

Kara giggles. “I guess you took the stairs.”

She throws herself at him before he has the chance to speak, planting her mouth against his.  Mon-El’s brain calmly tells him to pull away, to remember what he resolved to do upon seeing her, but his body screams otherwise.  He wages an inner war, his mind seeking the tactic that will turn the tide in his favor.

He seems stunned into submission by her aggressive kiss, which she finds exhilarating since it’s usually the other way around.  Taking advantage of his dazed state, she drops to her knees before him, her fingers unerringly locating the closures of his jeans, and wastes no time vanquishing them.  Possibly at super speed.

“Kara, that’s not“—he attempts.  Her hand dives in and wraps around his cock and he is lost, all thoughts of super hero madness and nighttime electricity raids evaporating like rain drops on the sweltering planet Ertrenea.   “Gods,” he hisses.

The warmth of her hand sends the blood rushing to that appendage with a speed he finds unprecedented.  He had been with many lovers over his lifetime, but none had suborned such a spontaneous and primal response as his Kara.  As though she owns him body and soul, commanded by her will and her will alone.  

The pad of her thumb circles over the rounded head of his swiftly hardening cock and she must prevent herself from taking him into her mouth completely quite so soon. She wants to taste him, to feel his silken steel cradled by her tongue, but she also loves to hear him tell her what to do.  Her core throbs at the thought and she spreads her knees farther apart to relish the sensation.

Letting go of him, she slides her hands around his backside and takes hold of the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down until they bunch up around his knees.  There’s something thick and bulky in his back pocket but there’s no time consider looking more deeply.  She places a kiss on the tip of his spear before tilting her back and looking up at him.

“Tell me,” she whispers, her voice thick with arousal, her cheeks growing ever pinker.

“Kara, I don’t think“—he tried once more.

“Tell me.”

She’s impossible, his goddess; so perfectly impossible to resist.  “Take your hair down,” he demands.  “But leave the glasses on.  And take off your shirt and bra.  I want to see you.”  The words are barely past his lips before it’s done, and he thanks the gods for super speed.  She’s so beautifully vulnerable on her knees before him, staring up at him from behind her glasses with half-lidded cornflower blue eyes.  Mon-El gulps hard, his own salivary glands working overtime as her gazes down at her, and the cock bobbing in front of her face.  “Open your mouth.”

As instructed, Kara opens her mouth, rolling her tongue out like a red carpet, her eyes never leaving his.  Her hands roam up his muscular thighs, until her thumbs come close enough to caress tantalizingly near his testicles.  Already, with only the lightest touch and the barely controlled lust he sees deep in her eyes, his cock is as hard as stone.

Her mouth remains open, demanding its due like a baby bird demands a worm.  Mon-El obliges by placing the weeping head on the tip of her tongue.  Kara closes her mouth over the head and then slides down the shaft until she can feel the tip brush against her tonsils.  She withdraws smoothly, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks on the cock to apply pressure, before diving forward again.  

Her salivary glands work on overdrive to create lubrication, and each time she takes him into her mouth, the cavern grows warmer and warmer.  The pressure she applies is enticing and breathtaking, though not nearly as satisfying as being inside of her clutch.  She adds her hand to the mix, wrapping her fingers around the shaft as she withdraws, and pumps it once or twice as she circles her tongue around the head, before sliding her mouth back down upon again.

“That’s my girl,” he sighs, his reason for tracking her down all but forgotten in the depths of his pleasure-addled brain.  “Just like that.”  Mon-El gazes down at her, her eyes closed in bliss, as though she enjoys the giving of pleasure just as much as he enjoys the receiving of it.  He drops a hand to the top of her head and sifts his fingers through it before fisting a handful of her gloriously thick golden locks until she opens her eyes.  “Are you wet?” he asks.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” she hums around him.  The vibration of her affirmative answer ripples through him, sending a shiver up his spine.  He groans, gripping her hair tighter as he guides her head over his cock, her mouth so hot and wet around him.

“Reach under your skirt,” he tells her, “and touch yourself.”  His thighs and ass harden in an effort to not give in to his primal desire to fuck her sweet mouth until his cock hits the back of her throat.

Without hesitation, she brushes her skirt out of the way and slips two fingers into her molten wet folds, rewarding Mon-El with a deep humming groan, which has him hissing in ecstasy as liquid fire fills her bones.  Her fingers delve into the grasping greediness of her core hunting satisfaction before retreating to electric switch of nerves near the apex of her folds.

Her moans travel down his cock, spider tendrils of pleasure spreading outwards as they voyage up his spine to the base of his skull.  His jaw tightens as he bites down on his lower lip, releasing a growl from deep within his chest.  Mon-El grips her hair tighter, holding her head steady as he begins to piston his hips toward her willing mouth.  Now that he’s finally taken control, she drops her other hand to her breast, cupping and squeezing her nipple to full arousal as his cock fills her mouth.

Kara wants to feel him rutting like a beast inside of her.  Fingers toy with her clit, but it’s never enough to satisfy the yawning, gaping greed that lays siege to the core of her, when only he will do. It’s never enough when it’s just her fingers and not his.  But nonetheless, she enjoys his passion for her, even if it means she’ll have to wait to feel the fullness of it.  She wants him to come in her mouth, to taste his essence in the back of her throat, even if it means her own release will be short and hollow.

But Mon-El has other ideas.  Somewhere along the line he decided he didn’t want to come in her mouth, didn’t want to waste the erection, when he could feel the heaven of her clutch fluttering around him and then gripping his cock as though it’s her anchor to this mortal plane.

When he pulls out, a look of disappointment and confusion crosses her features before he’s lifting her to her feet and turning her around, pointing her towards the ancient metal desk.   It doesn’t take much encouragement for her to bend over, elbows on the Formica surface as fingers grasp at the edges of the eyesore in front of her.  Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Kara sees that he’s pulled a condom from somewhere, perhaps his front pocket, and he’s currently freeing it from its foil confines.  She wiggles her hips in anticipation.

“Impatient for me?” he smirks, rolling the condom in place like he’s a pro at it now.

“Maybe a little,” she replies coyly, licking the taste of him from her lips.

Mon-El lifts her skirt and examines her folds; finding the dark pink haven swollen and glistening with desire; hungry for him.  He aligns his cock with her waiting core and presses just the tip inside, enjoying the sound of her aroused gasp and the way her back arches involuntarily.

He asks her the question then, the one she loves to answer.  “Will you have me?  Will you take me inside of you?”

 “Yes, Mon-El,” she replies, biting on her lower lip in anticipation.

He moves in increments, allowing just an inch or so to penetrate her heat, teasing her as he withdraws almost immediately, before dipping in again.  Grasping at her hip, he runs his other hand all over the stunning perfection of her back, tickling her spine until it bows gently beneath his touch.

“Mon-El,” she whines, panting lightly between her lips.

He loves that sound.  The sound of her desperation, of her breathless need.  “Yes, sunshine?” he asks, teasing her repeatedly with just a fraction of his hardened steel.  He decides in this moment to draw her out of her comfort zone a little more, to make her use that word he’s dreamed of hearing pass her lips.

He wants to teach her that true intimacy means more than just teaching a lover the ways of pleasure, or lovemaking or even the highly charged claiming of a mate. Sometime it’s just two bodies taking what they need when they need it.  Sweaty passion that steals beyond the higher functions and barges deeper into the heart of a more primal need.

“Tell me what you want,” he goads, reaching around to grasp her breast.  He cups the soft flesh and rolls it between his fingers before taking the nipple between thumb and forefinger and twisting the sensitive bud.

The pain turns almost instantly into pleasure and she’s flooded with the sensation of her core growing wetter in response.  She gasps at the revelation of it.  His cock teases her, her clutch clamping frantically around its head, in a desperate bid to draw him further inside.  She aches and throbs for him.  “Please,” slips out between her pursed lips, a sigh only heard by their ears.

The sound of a hard slap rings throughout the room, and a powerful stinging sensation spreads across her backside.  It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before.  Of course, she’s seen people get slapped before, heard that familiar sound of flesh colliding violently with flesh.  Rude men who overstepped their boundaries, and underestimated the courage of the women they’d insulted.  Enraged women coming to blows over something they both felt passionate about, from opposite sides of the issue.  In movies, in television and even on news reports, the sound is something she’s not unaccustomed to hearing.

She is, however, unaccustomed to feeling it.  In the past, any attempt to slap her had always resulted in the assailant walking away with an injured palm, if they were lucky and broken metacarpals if they were really committed.  It is a sensation she finds undeniably intriguing and deliciously human.  An invigorating warmth almost instantly joins the spread of the sting, the two sensations working in concert to sensitize every nerve in her body, particularly the ones below the waist.

Mon-El’s eyebrow perks up and a grin expands slowly across his face.  “Oh,” he chuckles.  “You like that, don’t you?”  When she doesn’t answer immediately, a blush heating her face, he raises his other hand and provides a slap to her opposite cheek. She jerks in response, a tiny mewling cry springing forth as she bites down on her lower lip to prevent a longer, louder noise.  “Don’t you, sunshine?” he presses.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she confesses, pressing her lips tightly together.  Her hands grip the sides of the desk more tightly as she waits, prays, for the next blow to strike.

“I want to hear you say it,” he orders, allowing his cock to dip back into her heat, but only just the tip.  He punctuates his instruction with another slap, harder and firmer than the previous ones. She squeals, a shaky breath escaping through taut lips.

Kara contemplates defying his command, in hopes that he’ll smack her toned, tenderized rump again, but suspects that his reaction to her tiny rebellion would have the opposite effect as the one desired.  Already he’s caressing a warm spot on her cheek with the backs of his fingers, intent on taking away the invigorating sting.  “Say it, sunshine, and I’ll let you have another,” he cajoles this time.

“I like it,” she huffs, wiggling her hips as if to evade the comforting caress of his hand.

 Mon-El seizes her hips in a stronger hold, his fingers digging in to her radiantly ivory skin. His solid steel shaft, so desperate to sheath himself inside of her, slides tantalizingly along the crease of her ass.  “Now, now,” he chastises, “you know that’s not what I meant.  “Oh…oh no,” he exclaims melodramatically.  “The beautiful red skin is starting to fade.”

“I like it,” she confesses, her voice soft and timid, a hint of embarrassment.  “I like it when you spank me, Mon-El.  Please?” she asks, her entire body tensing for the awaited blow.

“You like it when I spank your….” His voice trails off, leaving the sentence open-ended for her to finish.

“I like it when you spank my ass,” she finishes.

“Good girl,” he smiles.  “And good girls should get everything their little heart’s desire.”  With that, he delivers a blow to her cheek, calculated for maximum sting across the outer layers over her dermis.  She will redden, but she will not bruise.  Kara’s entire body sighs with relief, as though waiting for the strike is more painful than receiving it.  Mon-El’s other hand comes down on her opposite cheek and Kara jerks forward on her elbows, her eyes closing, a small smile gracing her lips.

In quick succession, he delivers four more whacks, enjoying the way her toned ivory bottom turns a livid red beneath his hand.  Her skin there is hot to touch, and he knows that she will feel it all the more when he’s pounding into her, his pelvis smacking into the battered globes of her perfect backside.

It is surreal, this awakening within her, as though layers of protective coating have been peeled away and she’s left with an evocative and erotic glimpse at human frailty.  Of course she’s heard about this sort of sexual play—to be honest, she always viewed it as a deviancy left in the wake of a past rife with physical abuse—but never imagined herself as a willing participant. Let alone an eager one. Now, she’s anxious to know more, to feel more.  

Kara comes back to herself long enough to realize Mon-El has ceased spanking her, and the tip of his cock is once again penetrating her hyper-aroused core. “Yes,” she gasps, ready to finally feel him moving, thrusting inside of her.

He slides in so slowly, she wonders if it’s another tease as she takes in his girth inch by inch, stretching to accommodate him.  “Rao!” she cries.  “That feels so good.”

Mon-El reverses his tactic from earlier, this time buried deep within her, he withdraws only a fraction before sliding back in.  While intimate, it promises little in the way of the satisfaction for which she’s looking.  “Is this what you want?” he teases, knowing it’s not what her body begs for.

“More,” she pleads, reaching back to grab the hand clasped to her hip.  Catching him off his guard, Kara slams back against him until her ass hits his pelvis and the resulting sting takes her breath away. Mon-El tightens his grip on her hips so that won’t happened again.

“You want to be in control?” he questions.  “Is that what you want?  Maybe I should sit in the chair and just let you ride me.”  

To some it might sound like a tempting offer, but to Kara it is a very real threat. When it comes to seeking pleasure, Kara finds that control is of no interest to her.  Control is something she has use every day at every moment. Except when she’s with him.  With Mon-El, she can let go—surrender—and know that in his care she is safe and protected.

“No!” she begs.  “No, baby, please?”  Of course, she is completely capable of taking care of herself, of protecting herself (she is Supergirl, after all), but there’s a certain aphrodisiac property to having a choice.  It turns her on to give away her power to him, to trust him not to abuse it.  With him, she feels human, the way his hand stings her skin when he slaps her ass, or the way his strong arms can position her body in any way that pleases him. For an all too brief time, in moments like these, she gets to feel like just like any other girl in the world.

As though her perfect match in every way, Mon-El enjoys seizing the control. Perhaps because so little of his life is at his command.  He lives off the government’s stingy largesse, adhering to a curfew like a child they don’t want caught out after dark, forced to follow a set of rules that at times seem arbitrary and contrary to everything his native culture offered. So, seeing Kara on her knees before him, or begging him to make her feel good, makes Mon-El feel needed and important. And if she’s the only one that needs him, or sees his importance, that’s enough for him.

“Harder,” she answers.  “Faster.” Kara’s voice is shyly tentative, and calculated to be so.  Mon-El likes the insinuation of her innocence, of an innate shyness that only he can breach, and she knows it -- gives it to him for his pleasure.  It’s a game she’s learning to recognize and play, a little more each time they’re together.  “Take me,’” she offers, her voice so sweet and fervent at the same time.

With a flurry of movement, Mon-El whips off the jacket and tee shirt he’s wearing and tosses them over his shoulder.  He wants to feel more of his skin against hers; another slap rings out as his palm meets her pink ass.  “Take you?” he chuckles, rocking gently—too gently—into her body.  Leaning forward he covers her back with his chest and places his lips against her ear.  “I already have you,” he points out.  He cants his hips and snaps back, hard; she groans, bowing her neck backwards.  “I’m buried inside you,” he reminds her.  “How would you suggest I ‘take’ you any more than I already have?”

His physical control is ironclad.  How else can he speak so calmly to her, buried deep, without crumbling into a mass of frenzied and sloppy flesh?  He reaches under her body and cups her breast, tugging and twisting the nipple, adding harsh twist at the end.  A sharp pain streaks through her body, quick like a lightning bolt.  Like the slaps on her hind end, the sharp pain dissipates, leaving behind a spreading warmth and a strongly aroused nipple.  “Uuunnhhh,” she moans.

“Ah,” he grins, nipping at the exposed cartilage of her ear with his teeth. “She likes that too, does she?”

“Yes,” she confesses.

“Who’s my good girl?”  He graces her with another pinch and twist, her body jerking beneath his.  Her clutch squeezes him tightly, and he revels in the intimacy of it.

“I am,” she swears—vows.  “I am.”

“Tell me what you want,” he commands.  “I know what you want, what your body needs.  But I want to hear you say it.  Say the word.  You know the one I’m talking about, sunshine.  I want to hear it from your own lips.”

“Mon-El,’ she complains.  She adorably balks at his request, as though she’s still that little girl who learned to be good for her parents, and not his good girl, long legs spread, bent over the desk, her body writhing beneath his touch.

Mon-El releases her breast and slides his hand up her chest and neck to grab her chin. He turns her face towards his and covers her mouth his lips, tongue plundering without shame.  She hungrily joins in, her tongue jousting with his, loving the rough feel of his hand gripping her jaw.  He pulls away, leaving her bereft.  “Shall I make love to you slowly then, until you fall apart with a sweet sigh?”

He removes his hands from her completely, gripping the edges of the desk just below her hands, before he withdraws all the way and then slips slowly back into her heat.  Mon-El tucks his head into the crook of her neck as he pulls out once more, before sinking back in.  There is nothing about her clutch that isn’t magnificent; her heat, her tightness, and the way her muscles grip at him as he tries to leave and welcome him home when he returns.  He can do this all day, hours on end, withholding both their climaxes until she weeps for the need of it, as he enjoys every second of the sweetest torture the universe ever devised.

“No,” she declares.  “I don’t want that.”

“Well, I know what you don’t want,” he agrees.  If possible, he retreats even more slowly, leaving just the tip inside.  “Now tell me what you do.”

“I want you to…fuck me,” she confesses.  It’s forbidden and so very dirty to acknowledge such things, though she has no idea where the notion comes from.  Perhaps from the earlier years of her upbringing, or maybe it’s just that she’s releasing a part of herself she’s kept locked inside for her entire life. But saying the words is followed by a sigh of relief, as though a chain has fallen away.

“That’s my girl,” he coos, placing a series of hot open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder and shoulder blade.  “Now say it again.  I want you to say it over and over again until you’re not afraid of saying it anymore.”   He stands up straight and grasps tight to her waist with one hand, while he takes his cock into his other.  He guides the head of his cock up and down her glistening seam a few times before settling on her clit, and teasing the bundle of nerves until he hears her hiss sharply.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, following his order without hesitation this time.   Mon-El rewards her with a hard smack on her ass.  

The redness from her previous spanking has long since faded and she needs priming once more.  “Ooh,” she cries.  “I want you to fuck me.”  Kara proclaims her desire three times more, each time receiving a spanking, allowing that delicious warmth to spread across her backside until her skin is fevered and hypersensitive.  “Please fuck me, Mon-El.”

“Close your legs,” he instructs, with a smack.  Mon-El’s left half a dozen scarlet palm prints on the canvas of her perfect ass.  Kara complies with his instruction, locking her knees as she does while he swiftly unzips her floral skirt and sends it to the ground pooling around her feet, leaving her perfectly naked before him.  She’s going to be so tight wrapped around him, feeling every inch of him pounding into her liquid heat.  Gripping her hips mercilessly, Mon-El plunges into her tight, wet clutch until he’s balls deep.  A loud smack is heard when his pelvis meets her rosy red ass.

“Yes!” she urges, the pitch of her voice rising an octave.  “Yes!”

With her encouragement, Mon-El releases the leash to which he’s been clinging so severely, and proceeds to fuck her with vigor.  Filling her so completely, so seamlessly, he pounds into her ruthlessly, each time his pelvis slapping against the heated skin of her backside. It’s so glorious a lump rises in her throat.  So much of her life has been about faking responses to outside stimuli; acting injured after a fall or after bumping into an inconveniently open desk drawer.  But in this moment she can feel everything; every pump of his shaft, the slap and sting of his skin against hers, and the possessive, bruising grip of his hands on her hips.

Glancing down, Mon-El observes his cock pump in and out of her, now glistening with the evidence of her desire.  She’s so beautifully perfect, he knows he’s done nothing worthy of having her but now that he’s done so, he’s determined to never give her up.  A possessive fire burns hot within his chest; an internal rage at thought of anyone or anything taking her from him.  He will not have it.  She is all that he wants of this place.  She is his home, his choice, his mate, and he’s struck suddenly with the need to hear her say it.  And it’s of the utmost, binding importance that she say it while he’s inside of her, buried so deep she is his abyss.

Mon-El reaches for her long, beguiling locks—so impossible to resist—and grabs a healthy chunk of it at the scalp, pulling until her neck and back bow in his direction.  The grip on her hair provides him new leverage to fuck her harder.  He changes his rhythm, retreating slowly than slamming back in as he pulls back on her hair.  Gods!  He would climb inside of her and stay there if such a thing were possible.

He leans forward, his chest and belly looming over her back, one hand on the desk while the other grips her hair.  He can hear a low hum of satisfaction emitting from her, as if her body is running at peak efficiency, but the sound flows from her parted lips.  He knows if he could see the fullness of her face there would be a contented smile upon it.  She reaches for his hand on the desk and takes it in hers, their fingers interlacing as he continues to move in and out of her, his pace slow, his thrusts rough and fierce.  “God,” she sighs gratefully.

“Who do you belong to, sunshine?” he grunts into her ear, tightening his hold on her hair.

“You, Mon-El,” she responds, her tone confident and tinged with pride.  “I’m yours,” she continues.  “Just as you are mine.”  He is hers, this beautiful brave man, with the courage to face a new world without crumbling beneath the weight of its pressures, or the confusion born of its differences.  “Mine,” she growls possessively, sending a thrill streaking straight to his chest.  He plunges even harder into her heat, claiming her more with each dive into his precious abyss, knowing that someday he will be swallowed whole and he won’t mind in the slightest.  “Mine,” she growls once more.

“Your what?” he demands.  

“Mine. Oh, God!  Don’t stop!”

“Tell me,” he grunts, the feeling of impending release gathering in his lower spine and curving around his buttocks to root in his balls.  “I’m your what?”  He bites down on her shoulder, his teeth unable to draw blood but still capable of leaving his mark upon her, however briefly before it heals.  His sweat drips from his forehead to land on her back, his beads mixing with hers to form larger ones.  “I’m your what?”

“My mate,” she submits easily, proudly.  Neither had spoken that word—that commitment—before now, despite proclaiming a belonging with one another, the word ‘mate’ implies a much deeper and unbreakable bond.

“Yes,” he exults.  She is his—his home, his heart, his everything.  “My mate.”  A part of him, inside, breathes a sigh of relief at the sound of the word.  Nothing would take her from him, nothing except death, and he will do all in his power to prevent that, including sacrifice his own life should it become necessary.  As is his right.

Mon-El releases her hair and her hand, and stands up, leaving her bent over before him. Kara flattens her body atop the cool surface of the desk, changing his angle of entry slightly.  He pounds into her over and over, each push and withdrawal heating a fire inside like creating an ember with the repeated strike of two pieces of flint.  She will go up in smoke, burned all the way down to ash eventually, it’s only a matter of time.

“You like that?” he asks, his tongue snaking out to taste the beads of sweat on his upper lip.  “You like it when I fuck you hard?  When I show you how much I want you?”

“Yes,” she groans, her voice quivering as her entire body shakes around it.  “Yes, I like it when you fuck me like this, Mon-El.” Mon-El rewards her honesty by smacking her ass and then grabbing a fistful of her taut flesh and squeezing it, claiming it as his.  “Yes, baby,” Kara mewls, her voice sinking into the pleasure his cock and his hands provide her.  “Please.”

Her inner muscles grip and flutter around him, so close he can feel the pulse of her racing heart, and it tempts him to end this exquisite torture and take his pleasure. She so close he can sense it in the way her clutch molds around him, in the way blood rushes to the capillaries in the skin of her back, and in the way her breathing changes, alternating from a rapid pant to the silence of holding her breath as she awaits detonation.

She wants to come, her body clawing at it as her climax drifts within reach before ebbing cruelly away.  Her lower abdominals coil like a spring, her thighs quiver uncontrollably and inner muscles clasp at him as though he is her salvation.  But still she won’t come.  Not until he gives her permission.  She doesn’t know why her body is so beholden to him, to his voice, his commands, but it is.  And she knows that with him, when he finally lets her come, it will more powerful and intense than any orgasm born of her own will could ever be.

“Touch your clit,” he instructs.

‘Thank, Rao,’ she thinks, as she rises up on her left elbow and snakes her right hand down between her body and the desk to seek her wet folds.  Before finding her clit though, she scissors her fingers and reaches further back until she can feel his impossibly hard steel plunging into her.  She catches his cock between her fingers, squeezing them together so that he can feel her.  As he pummels her, her fingers become trapped between his pubic bone and the plush velvet of her plundered seam.

Mon-El, taken by surprise by her guileless and curious experiment, hisses at the combined feel of her fingers brushing against his erection as he ruts forcefully into her. Drawing back a hand from her hip, he brings it down hard on her butt cheek.  The globe of flesh ripples in response to the attack, while Kara whimpers, biting down on her bottom lip as her cheeks flush a delightful shade of pink.

“Do you want to find out what happens to bad girls?” he queries.  He stops thrusting, the tip of his cock withdrawing until hover just at her opening, out of reach of her fingers.

Kara considers it for a moment, and wonders what delicious things might happen to a bad girl.  Or not happen.  He might not give a bad girl the spankings she desires, the ones that make her feel every inch of the nerve endings beneath her impenetrable skin. He might refuse to ferociously lay claim to her body as if it were the richest treasure in the universe.  He might ignore her needs and leave her wanting, refuse to grant her orgasms.  Being a bad girl sounds like the last thing she could ever want.

“No,” she insists, her voice begging for forgiveness.  Kara withdraws her fingers and dips them into the scorching heat at the top of her seam.  “I want to be your good girl.”

“I know you do,” he replies softly, sliding back into her waiting clutch.  She tightens around him like a vise and it feels so exquisite he must gather his control to keep from taking his pleasure, before he can begin moving.  “I want you to be happy more than anything.  You know that, right?” he asks when he gains control again.

Mon-El resumes his thrusts, fast and hard, Kara’s body absorbing the blows as her every muscle tenses at the surreal pleasure of it.  “I know,” she gasps.  “I know.”

“Touch your clit,” he reminds her.  She had forgotten his earlier request and reached between her legs again to resume the drive to her own completion.  “Are you happy?  Do I make you happy?” he asks.

Kara wonders at his questions, at the insecurity buried within them, and a part of her breaks inside.  Doesn’t he know how much he means to her?  How much she fears losing him?  How just the mere thought of him sends her mind into daydreams of a long future together, side by side?  Her mind drifts to the child that could possibly be growing inside of her at this moment, and for the first time a smile forms on her lips.  

“Come for me, sunshine,” he says.  And finally, as if a magic word had been spoken, she’s splintering apart, her inner walls clamping mercilessly down on him.  It’s like fire speeding through her veins, every muscle in her body tenses, even her toes curl inside of the stylish heels she still wears.  Sensing what’s to come, Mon-El grabs her elbows and yanks her swiftly backwards until her back slams into chest.  He places a cupped hand over her mouth, allowing her to scream out the unbearable pleasure that feels as though it’s ripping her apart and pulling her together at the same time.  His hand vibrates with the strength of it as he barely hangs on to his own release.

When the scream begins to die and her body goes limp, he pulls out of her still rippling clutch and spins her around.  As she falls to the desk on her back, he lifts her legs, placing her ankles over his shoulders, and impales her on his cock again.  Grasping her thighs for leverage, his thrusts are more powerful than ever, the desk scraping its way across the carpeted floor.  Kara clutches the edges of the surface to hold herself steady as he pounds her, his cock finding every nerve ending in her sheath. His steel-gray eyes hold hers in a grip just as strong as the one his hands have on her thighs.

Her ankles, as boneless as the rest of her, bounce so hard above his shoulders that her black high heels threaten to dislodge from her feet.  Her breasts, bouncing with each rutting penetration, give him an extraordinary show he would kill to make sure no one else ever sees. The veins in his arms and shoulders bulge beneath his skin, the tendons in his neck stretch with the effort of fucking her.  He’s her mate, and the thought it makes her insides feel like they’re melting.   She feels it again, the build within that promise to rocket her to the stars, and Kara arches her back in preparation for it, turning her head slightly so that she can maintain eye contact with him. His eyes make her feel things she’s certain no person in the history of the universe has ever felt.

One hand slides off of her thigh and disappears and a moment later the tip of his finger flicks her clit.  “Come,” he says.

“Fuck!” she grinds out through clenched teeth as she detonates once more.  This orgasm is not quite as intense as the previous, and she manages to keep her screams inside, thanks to a tightly closed lips.  He rides her through her release, at the same time extending her pleasure while preparing to take his own.

When her second climax fades, Mon-El pulls out of her still clasping heat and lowers her legs from his shoulder until they dangle, enervated, from the edge of the desk. Needing to mark her once more as his, he whips off the condom covering his cock and stands over her, pumping his erection until his spine and buttocks seize uncontrollably.  With a feral growl from deep within his chest, the one she daydreams of hearing in moments when she’s alone, a stream of milky white fluid jets from his cock and lands on her belly.  Three more times he pumps and growls and spills his seed on the porcelain skin of her stomach.

Kara thinks she should be disgusted by this, but is once again surprised to discover that previous impressions, formed by a virtuous mind, of certain sexual practices have proved to be incorrect. She loves the games they play, feels safe enough with him to take risks and knows that he will accept and relish, without judgement, the discoveries of her sexuality that are yet to unfold. Rao must have known she was made this way, and chose him for her because he could fulfill her ever-evolving needs.

Needing a moment to recover, Mon-El collapses on top of her, his mess sealing their bodies together as he roughly takes her mouth, one hand reaching to fist in her hair. He wastes no time tangling his tongue with hers, his other hand gliding up her sweaty side to cup her breast and flick the nipple with his thumb.  He could so easily have her again, if given but a few moments more to rest.

When his mouth falls away from hers, both their breathing heavy with gratification, she decides to continue the game for a moment more, not quite ready to relinquish it.  “Was I a good girl for you?” she asks, her voice taking on an innocent, naïve tone. Not enough to be cloying, but just enough to have his cock stirring.

Mon-El chuckles.  Gods of Val-or!  Just as he’d told Ral, his Kryptonian goddess is a fast learner who will, if he’s lucky, soon outstrip her tutor.  She’s learning the game and is more than willing to play, her body and her desires surprising him at every turn.  “Of course, sunshine,” he answers, dropping a kiss on the tip of her chin. 

“I’m glad. I don’t want to be anything but your good girl, Mon-El,” her voice almost betraying a pout.  He continues kissing her, light airy kisses, sometimes the tip of his tongue involved.  He makes his way across her jawline before placing a few kisses down her neck.  Sliding his body down a bit, his lips seek her collar bone and then her chest, kissing each of her breasts in turn.  He pays homage to her body, worships her like a deity, his mouth paying the tithe of his stewardship.

“You will always be my everything,” he whispers into her damp skin.  “I will have the heart of any who tries to bring you harm; the head of any that betray you, and the tongue of any that shame you. Including my own, should you wish it.

Reaching her belly, he begins to give her a tongue bath, cleaning the mess he made of her. He takes his time, as though baptizing her with every part of himself he has to offer.  It’s not the first time he’s had the taste of someone’s seed on his tongue, but there’s a powerful aphrodisiac quality to his own salty flavor when mixed with Kara’s.

“I’m yours,” she whispers, reminding him that he’s lost a world but gained a universe. She lifts her head and looks down the valley of her breasts until slate gray eyes meet cornflower blue.  “Yours.”

When he’s through bathing her, he places a long, lingering kiss on her belly just below the navel, and Kara wonders if he knows or somehow suspects that she might be carrying his child.  They hadn’t spoken about it afterward, after the interlude in the DEO gym just a week before where they’d forgotten to use protection.  She had forgotten to remind him.

After a long discussion with her adoptive mother about birth control options as well as the possible looming question mark of Mon-El’s mental health, Kara decided not to remind him that they had forgotten to use a condom.  She didn’t feel that the added pressure placed upon him by such knowledge would possibly help, since what was done is done.  It is a bridge she will cross when only when she must and until then she will keep squarely on the shore.

But the strange thing is…since that night in the gym, he’s never once forgotten to wear a condom.  In fact, he’s taken to the practice more reliably than apparently many men native to this planet have.  So, she can only wonder as he kisses his way from below her belly button to the apex of her folds, if he remembered that night and has drawn some conclusions all on his own.

Even so, she will keep her silence for now, since her reasons for that decision still stand.  

Mon-El retreats from her with a groan and reaches down to pull up his pants, he tucks himself inside, but doesn’t close the zipper.  

Kara rises to her elbows and then sits up.  “Come here,” she says, crooking a finger at him.  When he comes close, she bends down and begins licking his belly clean just as he did for her.  His hands sift through her hair as he tries not to focus on what the feel of her mouth on his does to the resting cock inside his pants.

“Kara, you don’t have to,” he tells her, a sliver of a moan in his voice.  “I can just clean it off with my tee shirt.”

She takes a break from her task long enough to inform him, “I keep paper towels in the bottom drawer of my desk for spill emergencies.  I want to do this for you, just as you did it for me.”

Mon-El protests no more, accepting the intimacy from her as freely given as his own. When she finishes she slides off the edge of the desk, legs still wobbly, and places her still heated flesh against his, Mon-El’s arms wrapping around her to steady her.  Kara places her hands on his shoulders and reaches up for a kiss.  Their lips mesh perfectly, as if they’re two halves of the same celestial body struck apart from one another before the beginning of time.  For long moments they kiss, breaking briefly to breathe each other’s air.  Eventually, as though momentarily sated, she ends the kiss, tucking her head into the curve of his neck as one of his hands holds her hip, the other stroking up and down her spine.

She remembers something he said—asked—earlier and thinks now would be the best time to answer.  “Yes, Mon-El,” she says, her words like a promise.

“Yes…what?”

“Yes,” she says, licking her lips.  “You make me very happy.”  Her hand strokes his collar bone and chest, working its way down his side, paying homage to him as he did her.  If she could, she would wish them both away to a deserted planet on the other side of the galaxy where they could wear no clothing and do nothing all day but make love to each other.

Mon-El bestows a kiss to her forehead and she melts into him just a little bit more. “You have no idea what it means to hear you say that,” he confesses.  He’s so close to telling her everything; opening his heart and revealing to her the fullness of its contents.  He opens his mouth to add more to his confession, but quickly slams it shut as he chickens out.  Instead he pulls her more tightly against his body, and strokes her back.

“I can’t believe I’m standing naked in my office with you, after just having had sex…at work,” she says, suddenly shocked, yet titillated, by everything they just did.

“Don’t be silly, you aren’t naked,” he soothes.  “You’re still wearing your shoes.”

After a beat, she laughs glancing down at her shoes, and his laughter joins hers a second later.  It’s unbridled and joyful and beautiful, and there is nothing she wouldn’t do at his command to cause that sound again.  She presses herself more firmly against her laughing mate and slides her arms around his lower back, placing kisses on his collarbone as her hands explore the muscular expanse of his back.  A feeling of oneness grows within her, as though rooting itself in her chest and spreading outward to her extremities.  ‘Is this what love feels like?’ she wonders.  

As they wander, one of her hands brushes up against something bulky in his back pocket. Wrapping her fingers around it, she tugs until it comes free, bringing it around to his front so that she can examine the object.

“Oh, hey,” he straightens.  “That’s not“—his hands reach to take it from her, but as expected she’s faster than he is by a narrow margin.

“What is this?” she asks.  It’s a book; that much is obvious.  Stepping away from him, she examines its ratty cover and spine more closely, sensing Mon-El slump in defeat as she walks away from him.    “’Quick Guide to Cocktails and Other Libations,’” she reads. “Well…I know you have a fondness for alcohol, but surely you can find something more interesting to read. Something with a plot, maybe?”

There is no way he is going to weasel his way out of this situation.  He is too bad at prevarication and she is too intuitive to believe any story he concocts anyway.

Unless it’s the truth.

  TBC

[illustratedavocado]

Saving seeds

We’ve had a cold snap in London, and as the leaves are falling from the trees and flowers turn into seed heads a girl’s heart turns to collecting seeds. There is nothing more delightful than getting free stuff from your garden. Some I leave to sow themselves or for the birds to eat, but many I bring indoors to save for myself so I can plant in specific places or at specific times.

Choose plants that are disease-free, that grew well and produced a lot. You don’t want to continue propagating a runty bean or a flower that never really got that big. Some plants freely cross-pollinate and create variations, like nasturtiums, so you may not know that the seeds you save will come true unless you pollinate by hand and bag the flower heads (to prevent insects getting in to mess it all up) or make sure you plant quite far from other varieties, and some, like runner beans, will be just fine and reliable the next year.

Keeping vegetables picked and flowers deadheaded usually extends the number of fruit/flowers you get from each, so do that right up until the end, and then let the last ones mature.

Generally speaking, the time to harvest the seeds is when the seed head is dry/brown-looking, or just before the plant would naturally give up its seeds. Poppies create little salt-shaker capsules that pop open, so I take those after they open up at the top. Let bean pods go dry, but not crispy (or they might pop open). Wildflowers like corncockle and cornflowers can be taken when they’re brown. Nasturtium seeds tend to fall down green, then dry out and turn brown, so I just pick those up off the ground after they fall.

Let them dry out somewhere not too hot, not too cold, with air flow (don’t seal them up in a plastic bag) so that they don’t mould. They’re usually easier to get out when the rest of the plant is brown and crispy so there’s more cracking open and less finicky peeling. That also ensures they’re as ripe as possible. Pick out any non-seed bits, and often if you put them in a shallow dish you can gently blow to dislodge and send flying the smaller pieces of pod to leave just the seeds behind. Be careful with the very small/light seeds that they don’t blow away too! None of this will hurt the germination though so I don’t usually bother to completely tidy everything up unless I’m passing them on to someone else. I often leave some of the seed pod/plant in the container with any seeds once I’ve isolated them so that I can remember what they were visually, but remember to label them; it’s shocking how quickly you forget what they are.

Tomato seeds need an extra step to help germination—they’re covered in a coating that prevents germination unless it rots down, so if you pick ripe tomatoes for seed, open them up, add a little water, and let them sit in a dish until they grow mould on top and your partner complains about the gross science experiments in the kitchen. Scrape the mould off, rinse the seeds, dry on something they won’t stick to (not paper towel!), and then save in a container for next year.

I would say don’t be put off by things that take two or more years to grow, either. The time passes before you know it and it’s quite rewarding to have a plant that you got for very cheap or free because you grew it from seed. I started asparagus seeds last year, and kicked myself for not growing hollyhocks. (I’ve rectified that this year so hold your breath for next year’s blooms.)

I’d recommend the book Saving Seeds, which has advice for saving all sorts of seeds, with nice illustrations. Last year I had a bouquet of allium seed heads, like what’s on the cover, all winter long before I pulled the seeds out to plant.

[theboh3mianraspb3rry]

March for me is the true beginning of the growing year. Everywhere you look everything is beginning to come to life, the daffodils start dancing, tulips begin to emerge from the earth, ponds are alive with horny frogs basking in the new warm sun and the trees steal the show with their blossom. The Spring Equinox is the traditional time to begin sowing and growing. In years past this was when farmers would begin their growing year usually by sowing their potatoes. In Pagan traditions the Spring equinox is a time of new beginnings, new growth and rebirth.

March for me is my get ahead month! I lead a very busy life, college, work, mum, wife, netball and blogger that I rarely have enough hours in the day. So when I do have some time spare I usually spend it filling any indoor space I can find with seedlings. I’m not kidding by the end of March the windowsills, porch, outdoor mini greenhouse and polytunnel are all jam packed full.

So I thought we would start there, I started with another sowing of broad beans a variety called Imperial Long Pod from Thompson Morgan, these have only just poked there heads through, I had almost given up hope!

Peas were next on the agenda, in my family peas NEVER make it home so this year I intend to sow a shed load. So far we have these varieties sown: Shiraz, Little Marvel and Kelvedon Wonder, I will sow more successions of these in April along with another couple of varieties too.

The next sowings were Leeks – Musselburgh and Spring onions – White Lisbon which have all mad an appearance – Don’t you just love how alliums wear there little black hats for weeks! When I sowed these I also sowed some more cabbage because I love the stuff and any extra that I can’t home I usually send to my mother in law or ask a couple of my netball buddies who also have allotments if they need any.

I sowed a couple of brassicas the first one of my favourite vegetables the humble Brussel Sprout Rubine which are lovely purple sprouts and have been said to have a milder taste than the green ones. I also sowed a variety of cabbage called Greyhound from Groseeds, it is a heart shaped cabbage and has silvery seeds, it’s definitely a greyhound by nature with a speedy start which needed potting on a couple of weeks after sowing!

I like to use as much spare space as I possibly can, my currant bushes are still quite young only planting them last year so I thought I would inter sow between them with some parsnips, I’m not entirely sure this will be successful, but I did have a huge success doing this with my newly planted raspberry canes and onion sets on my first year so it’s worth a shot!

Next it was on with the flowers!

I had a full morning of sowing all my hardy annuals, which was warm enough to do in the garden. I get so excited sowing seeds. Call me a crack pot but I sing and talk to my plants, that includes seeds and earth too. I believe they have energies and I want to fill them with the most positive kind of energy so they charge up through the earth happy ready to show off all their glory!

Here is the list of flowers and foliage for the cutting patch:

Ammi – Visnaga & Majus

Cornflower – The Bride & Tall Mixed

Scabious – Tall Double Mixed

Emilia – Irish Poet

Panicum – Frosted Explosions

Amaranthus – Autumn Pallette

Cosmos – Picotee, Bright Lights & Versailles Tetra Deep Rose

Coreopsis x hybrid ‘Incredible’ Tall Mix

Euphorbia Oblongata

Craspedia

Lagurus ovatus – Bunny’s Tail Grass

Briza Maxima -Quaking Grass

Nigella – Love in a Mist

Statice – Special Mixed

  Now on to the Dahlias!

If you follow me on twitter then you will have probably noticed I’m ga ga for dahlias. I just love the variety you can get from them there are so many. They are prolific bloomers too which really gives you the bang for your buck! They make exceptional cut flowers bringing the wow factor to any arrangement and they bloom until the first frosts, which then you have to lift them and bring the tubers indoors until next spring. Some areas are mild enough to leave them in the ground with a good mulch but I’m not prepared to take that risk! I planted up all my dahlias in a raised bed in the polytunnel to start them off. The intention is for cuttings, I should get a couple of extra plants off each tuber. The fact I’m growing 17 dahlias and will have propagated them means I’m going to be in abundance of dahlias and I can’t wait, bring on #dahliawars. I source my dahlias from Sarah Raven for the new and special varieties and then I also purchase some tubers from good old Wilkos too. I have listed below the varieties I’m growing and which ones are from where.

Sarah Raven Dahlias

‘Hilcrest Royal’

‘Happy Halloween’

‘Bright Eyes’

‘Café Au Lait’

‘Labyrinth’

‘Burlesca’

‘Purple Flame’

‘Henriette’

‘Mel’s Orange Marmalade’   –  ‘Jescot Julie’ (Unfortunately when I unpacked my Mel’s Orange it was rotten and sold out so I picked Jescot Julie in it’s replacement which Sarah Raven was happy to provide)

Wilkos Dahlias

‘Le Baron’

‘Blue Bird’

‘Nuit D’ete’

‘Mystery Day’

‘Snowflake’

Multipack x3 Cactus Dahlia (pink, purple, white)

Right lets see how everything else is growing shall we?

My Purple Sprouting Broccoli has finally made an appearance, which I am super chuffed about, I love to stir fry my PSB which I will share my recipe with you in another blog post. However I have noticed that someone has been harvesting my PSB too, I did wonder why it was taking so long. It isn’t the wildlife either as my plants are well netted and there are cut marks on all of my plants where spears have been taken. How rude! I don’t mind sharing but theft is uncalled for especially given how long this takes to grow too, sods!

Do you remember my over wintered Corn Salad in last month’s ‘What’s Growing On’? Well it has romped away since then and I cut this almost every week, it’s loving it’s life under my Lavender & Leeks cloche, I will definitely grow this to over winter again it’s been brilliant!

In the kitchen garden it’s time to say goodbye to the kale. Just these two plants have served me well over winter, but they have now gone to seed, which the hens will be more than pleased about when I pull them up today and give them the leftovers. If you keep hens it’s much better to mix up there diets rather than keep them just on layers pellets. By feeding them greens and letting them forage for grubs and insects it promotes better eggs and if you intend to make a meal of your birds it provides the meat more omega 3, which you can spot on a chicken thigh usually as the greyish fatty meat, the most delicious part if you ask me. I don’t keep my chickens as meat I love them too much as pets!

The Swiss Chard is still going strong in the kitchen garden and has been cut a thousand times over winter but just keeps spitting out new leaves. However soon I will be pulling this up too and making way for new crops. The kitchen Garden is going to be primarily used for salad leaves, lettuce, rocket, spinach etc. This way with it being just out of the back door I can keep an eye out for those pesky slugs and snails who also want my delicious salads.

So there you have it, this is ‘What’s Growing On’ in March, now were are going into April this is when the real fun starts. Life everywhere is just going to go BANG right before our very eyes, it’s fantastic! I would love to hear about what you’ve got growing so far, have you started yet or are you waiting a little longer until the earth warms up some more?

Thanks for stopping by and don’t forget to Subscribe!

  Brightest Blessings,

Bo x

What’s Growing On – March 2017 March for me is the true beginning of the growing year. Everywhere you look everything is beginning to come to life, the daffodils start dancing, tulips begin to emerge from the earth, ponds are alive with horny frogs basking in the new warm sun and the trees steal the show with their blossom.