#One that took a fucking DECADE to try and untangle

[ask-cloverfield]

YOU

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Voicemail

A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.

Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.

As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.

Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.

After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it. 

It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.

It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.

And he keeps it all these years.

He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack. 

If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.

And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s. 

With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.

Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.

The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun. 

Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.

Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.

Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.

Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’

‘Just a second!’ you call back.

Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best. 

It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening. 

Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.

‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’

You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’

‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’

‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.

When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’

He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’

You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’

You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him. 

Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’

He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’

Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’

Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.

‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.

Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’

‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.

The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.

Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.

Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either. 

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.

It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.

One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.

Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.

Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.

The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.

There’s no putting it off forever.

In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.

He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.

In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.

Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.

He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins. 

Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.

The battery sign appears on the screen.

Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.

1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.

It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -

He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.

He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -

Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -

And everything goes white.

When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.

He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.

You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.

It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no. 

Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.

But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.

‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’

As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.

More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️

[annoyinglandmagazine]

I think I might have just had the most Irish experience of my life. So I was at a communion for a family friend’s kid (side note that this was the smallest amount of people I’ve seen at a Communion in my life, what do you mean you don’t need 300 bread rolls to feed the army of extended family, not an exaggeration that’s an actual figure from one of my cousin’s Confirmations).

So my Mum got talking to the kid’s grandmother. She was asked where she was from in the first minute of conversation and replied with the reasonably large town. The grandmother knew two family names that were associated with this place. Lo and behold one of them was my granny’s maiden name. By the second minute of the conversation it was discovered that my mother’s grandmother and this woman’s mother had been first cousins.

This meant that, and this took a lot longer to work out and multiple people getting dragged in for mental calculations in Ireland’s favourite game of untangling the family web, my mother and the kid’s mother who had been her friend since college were in fact third cousins. Their not especially distant relation that had not been discovered through decades of friendship was revealed after about three questions.

It was in fact probably a closer relation than that because, as we ended up discussing while trying to figure it out, my granny’s family tree is weird as fuck. There’s an entire branch of it that are simultaneously my granny’s first and second cousins.

My granny had an aunt that was also her great aunt. I feel like there are too few different surnames coming up in this family tree to be altogether comfortable. I have been assured that somehow no incest was involved.

Also the kid’s grandmother’s brother dated my Mum’s aunt for a while. Thankfully not the aunt he would have been related to. This was minute ten of the conversation. My dad started talking to a guy he had never met before and it turns out they grew up on the same street in a fairly small town.

This should definitely be a game show in Ireland, how many connections can you find with a random person in ten minutes, bonus points if you can discover the fact your probably related.

These are important conversations to have in Ireland because you don’t want to end up like my friend’s uncle who was chatting a girl up and then mentioned they could get free pints down the road because his uncle owned the pub. The uncle in question being her father.

[esther-dot]

I double-checked and heard '100' as well. I'm the same as you, honestly it sounds positive to me but people are going to spin headlines. The fact he's opened up about struggling alone probably indicates he's feeling better about it - I guess speaking personally, when I was able to verbalise that I was having trouble at all with my writing, that was already the point where I was beginning to untangle it.

I'm more interested in GRRM's process from a writer's POV as opposed to waiting morosely for the endproduct, so that's the angle I like thinking about. His work is extremely ambitious, because he's got multiple working elements at once: not just multiple perspective characters, but he's trying to pull off a deconstructive commentary (I mean this in the literary criticism sense, not the sense used in fandom spaces which is 'thing bad? what do about it?') in addition to marrying the weighted moral/thematic complexity of a classic novel paired with the fantasy genre. LOTR is much more firmly in mythic territory than that imo.

I say this as someone who's not necessarily an ASOIAF superfan, but I find his work interesting just because holy fuck, George, of course it's taken you twelve years.

(about this post)

Yeah, I think looking at this from a writer’s perspective gives one a lot more sympathy for how long it’s taking him to write. I've criticized him a fair bit myself, so I don’t feel overly protective of him, but most fans seem to ignore the vast difference between typical genre fiction and what he’s doing. I’ve said before, it’s literature, with all the layers and complexity that implies. Hence it taking a decade + to bring his story together just so (in addition to all the other reasons) and ghost writers not being a workable solution for him.

I've written some original stuff and with that, and with my fics, I have a similar style with the whole, knowing certain things, even having later bits of dialogue written, but not using an outline and just, writing until I reach those moments naturally. In the interview, Cornwell said he's a true gardener, doesn't even know how his own stories will end, but Martin has created a headache for himself by having established endgames, major beats, and what he's called set pieces that he's determined to naturally find. It's a difficult way to write. I think it does allow him some great characterization, but I honestly feel sick to my stomach when I think about what he has to be going through with that method and this series.

I'm sure no one is more anxious for him to finish the book than he is. Fanfic writers feel a weight over their unfinished fics, meta writers groan over metas sitting in their drafts, but none of us had the showrunners of the most popular TV show waiting for us to wrap it up, contracts with publishers, a mouthy worldwide fandom, our legacy hanging in the balance. Martin even talked about wanting to write the best book he could, knowing he's already kept people waiting so long, which means he's putting additional pressure on himself. I personally wish he took on fewer projects (distractions! demands!), but he has the right to a payday even if it is coming from HBO after the travesty of s8. He mentioned in that interview how there were times he thought his career was over, and I'm sure he never imagined he'd be so successful or become this wealthy. He should enjoy it!

I know there was a discord for Jonsas at one point, and I hope someone does that again when TWOW is gonna come out so people have a safe place to talk. I actually might wait for some Jonsas to post about their thoughts before I read it. I like spoilers, and I've stuck around this long to support the Jonsa fandom ( +spite for all the people who harassed us), so I don't think I'd be able to dip when TWOW comes out.

[boykingdom]

Dean doesn’t have to drive far before he finds Cas. He’d had a hunch Cas might be waiting for him no matter the direction he went, but still he can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out when he sees the slump of Cas’ shoulders among the trees.

He doesn’t have to walk far, either, once he’s pulled the Impala into the grass beside the road and let the metal door shut behind him with a creak. He’s in the forest after a few paces—it’s a pretty forest, all green and overgrown, the tan of Cas’ coat standing out purely for its dullness. Cas’ back is to him and he’s looking down at something, hands in his pockets, but the rigidity with which he holds himself gives away his awareness of Dean’s presence. Cas won’t turn toward him but will angle his head so Dean can see the sharp line of his cheekbone, like he’s any sort of thing that would need ears to gauge how close Dean is.

Dean has half a mind to hesitate, to stop and take a deep breath and collect his thoughts or something, but he’s so fucking tired of not being near Cas and of schooling how much he gives away to Cas in every conversation that he walks up so their shoulders are inches apart and he doesn’t think twice about it. He looks down to take in what Cas is looking at and finds a small pond with a few muddy-gray fish scooting their bellies across the silt. Dean thinks Cas might be gearing up for a speech about the fish and creation and humanity, something nice and cinematic to bookend their journey, but instead Cas says, “Hello, Dean.”

That works, too. At least Dean knows how to respond to that one. “Heya, Cas.”

They’re silent for a second.

“Sam?” says Cas. 

“Went off to the Roadhouse. Wanted to see Bobby and Ellen and Jo,” says Dean. “But you knew that already.”

“Mm. I did.”

They both watch the fish drift. One comes close enough to the surface to form gentle ripples in the water.

Then Dean is smiling, because he can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, see the way he shifts and fidgets and is so clearly also looking at Dean out of the corner of his own eye. It occurs to Dean that Cas is nervous—that after everything they’ve been through, after the end of the world, after Cas’ big sacrifice, this angel of the Lord is nervous to speak to his best friend of twelve years. Dean can’t help but take the opportunity to tease him.

“What, did you think we’d never talk about it?”

A pause. Cas half-grumbles, “I thought I’d have a few decades to prepare something to say.”

And then Dean is laughing and laughing and bent over double with it because this whole thing is so fucking absurd and he’s so happy to be standing here next to Cas, weird and awkward Cas who pulled him out of Hell and told Dean he was in love with him just months ago. Cas who he thought he had lost forever. Dean laughs so hard he cries and then he—he cries, and cries, and he’s not laughing anymore. It happens fast and hard. Cas finally turns to him, eyes wide and hands suspended in front of him like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. Dean’s sniveling and holding his jacket sleeve under his nose so his face doesn’t get all snotty but he probably looks fucking gross anyway, the way the tears won’t stop coming. Cas says, “Dean?” all worried and concerned. Dean practically falls forward into him, wraps his arms around Cas’ waist to clutch at the back of his coat and shakes when Cas immediately holds him in return.

“I missed you so bad,” Dean sobs into Cas’ shoulder. “I missed you so bad. I thought I would never see you again. I missed you so bad.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Cas hugs him tighter, leaving no spaces between their bodies. His voice breaks a little when he says, “I missed you, too.”

They stand like that for a moment. The forest buzzes around them, twiddling with birds and squirrels and insects. Dean breathes Cas in, feels him warm and safe and real in his arms. It’s a small piece of Earth here in Heaven. Unlike any other time before, Dean lets himself lean into it, touch Cas without Death looming over their shoulders. It feels good.

Dean does calm down after a few minutes, and as much as he would love to freeze time and stay suspended in that moment, he knows he can have even more if he gives it one last push. He pulls away, Cas’ hands sliding off his coat, lingering. “Sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed despite himself.

“Don’t be,” says Cas, in a way a that shows he really means it. Dean clears his throat and looks at him. Cas looks back. The whole thing is so achingly familiar, so akin to how they were when they first met. Even when Cas was alien and unknowable and potentially a threat, Dean always had to stifle the breathless thrill of having Cas’ attention. He doesn’t stifle it now.

He hasn’t quite internalized all the things Cas said to him, but he can see Cas was telling the truth about one thing—he is clearly so happy to be standing at the edge of this pond with Dean. Nothing in his gaze is asking for something more.

And as much as Cas would argue differently, Dean isn’t as good as him. He was never content just wanting. He had long ago accepted that he could never have Cas, sure, had recognized that he would spend the rest of his life with a horrible ache in his chest, that he would white-knuckle the wheel of the Impala to keep himself from touching. But he couldn’t find peace with it. Love rotted in him like a body at the bottom of a well. He spent a long time thinking it would kill him and kill Cas too, that it was a weapon to be used against them both, that the heat of his gaze would actually burn Cas if he looked long enough. He still has to choke down those half-formed thoughts when he looks at Cas now and can see in his eyes that he loves Dean without reservation, that despite everything he doesn’t think of Dean’s love as a death sentence. That he wants him.

Dean’s mind was made up the second Bobby had mentioned Cas’ name on the porch. It took him too long to untangle that part of himself that couldn’t separate loving men from danger, but he did untangle it, in the end.

“I know I can do it,” Dean says, both to Cas and to himself, “but I think it might be hard.”

Cas’ brow flickers in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he answers, gesturing lamely at the two of them, at the space between them. He swallows, steels himself, thinks of all the words he spent the nights since Cas died murmuring into his pillow, deliriously drunk. “I don’t know— I don’t know how to be this to someone— to you. I’ve never— and you’re—”

He’s getting frustrated, is upset that after thinking so long and hard about this moment for so many years he somehow still doesn’t know how to explain to Cas how much he means to him, how much he wants him, how hard it is to beat down his self-hatred and accept that he might just deserve Cas, too. But Christ, he wants to try.

“Dean?” Cas says. Dean can see in his expression the flowering bud of hope. He is so beautiful.

“I love you too,” Dean says, because it’s the best explanation he can give. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Cas blinks; his mouth drops open. “God, Cas, you have to know that. Of course I love you too.”

“You mean...?” Cas can’t finish the question. He’s looking at Dean like a man finding faith, finding Heaven. Dean feels so overwhelmed and so happy for the two of them and surely he’s still red from crying before, but again he feels himself burning.

“I’ve been yours,” he chokes out. “You can have me. Please.”

Cas kisses Dean. It happens so fast that Dean feels it coming rather than sees it, feels Cas’ hands on his face, feels himself be tugged forward. Cas’ hands are shaking and Dean’s are too when he grips the front of Cas’ shirt and the back of his neck, eyes closed tight, learning the shape of his mouth. It’s hard and a little desperate and not at all artful, and Dean’s whole self feels a bit like an open wound but Cas is healing him, like he always has, like he has since the beginning.

Dean pulls away for air but doesn’t pull far, keeping his forehead pressed to Cas’ and his eyes shut. Cas’ thumb strokes his cheekbone. “Dean,” Cas says, and Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. The way Cas says his name doesn’t scare him anymore.

Dean opens his eyes. He smiles. “Hi,” he says.

Cas smiles back.

**

They’re sitting in the Impala, Dean’s hand on Cas’ thigh, when Cas asks, “What do you want to do now?”

Dean pauses, thinks. The answer to what do you want has been Cas for so long, but he never let himself think far enough to decide what he would do if he ever got him. He’s safe, Cas is safe, Sam is safe. Realistically, he shouldn’t want for anything.

He looks out the Impala’s windshield, smooths the hand not holding Cas over the steering wheel. He knows that he loves this car with everything he is—that for a long time it was the only home he had. He also knows that he’s tired of the road. Desire has always come too easily to Dean.

“I think I’ll build us a house,” he answers, and immediately he knows it’s the right thing to do. They can pick a spot wherever Cas wants—Dean’s not picky. It’ll be something solid, something with walls that he built with trees he cut himself. Something that reflects the home he already built for Cas, the one that lives between his ribs.

Cas’ eyes light up. “I like that plan,” he says. “I want that, too.”

Years ago, Cas had sat in Dean’s passenger seat and asked him if he would rather have peace or freedom. Dean never got the chance to answer him.

Dean leans across the seat and kisses Cas again, open-mouthed, slow. He does it for him now and for the version of himself who mourned the distance between them. It’s answer enough.

[fruitcoops]

i would love to read coops doing one of those lie detector youtube videos!!

This was such a fun fic to research! I highly recommend watching the Try Guys Lie Detector videos if you'd like some context. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Why are there so many of these?” Remus muttered, shaking his hand around. A series of multicolored wires smacked the table and Marlene rolled her eyes as she passed. “Sorry.”

“Welcome back to Lion Pride!” Sirius said as he turned to the camera with a smile. “I’m Sirius Black, and I’m here today with my husband, Remus Lupin, to get some answers.”

“We are also joined by Mark, who is an expert at reading polygraphs,” Remus added.

A middle-aged man in a blue shirt raised his hand in a slight wave. “Thanks for having me. Since you’re already hooked up, you’ll be going first. This machine measures your sweat, your heart rate, and a couple other common tells for liars. Do you lie often?”

Remus hesitated; Sirius hid a smile in his hand. “No, since I suck at lying, but I’ll do it if it makes somebody feel better. I think I’m pretty good at that.”

They stared at the polygraph for a moment before Mark nodded. “Checks out. Take it away, Sirius.”

Sirius cleared his throat and took a notecard from his stack. “Was going to college worth it?”

“Yes,” Remus answered almost immediately. “I don’t know what I would have done without getting my degree and staying close to hockey. Wouldn’t have met you, for one.”

“True,” Mark said without looking up.

“Do you like my playoff beard?”

“I do, yeah.” Mark raised his eyebrows and Remus pressed his lips together. “Okay, sometimes it’s a little much, but you’re pretty good about keeping things under control.”

“Alright,” Sirius said with playful skepticism. “Good to know. Who’s your favorite Lion?”

“Besides you? Talker.”

“Yeah, we don’t need a polygraph to know that,” Sirius laughed when Mark nodded. “Did you like my last haircut?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus said under his breath, looking away.

“I knew it.”

“It wasn’t bad—”

“He’s lying,” Mark interrupted.

Remus turned to him with betrayal written all over his expression. “Dude!”

“You are.”

“Answer the question, Loops,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. “How did you feel about my last haircut?”

He bit his lower lip. “It was a little too short and really threw me off for a couple days. But you didn’t like it, either.”

“I didn’t,” Sirius agreed, grinning. “But I vividly remember several ‘no, honey, you look great’ conversations.”

“Next question,” Remus sighed.

“Ha! This one is self-explanatory. Have you ever lied to me?”

“Yes, but only when I knew it would make you feel better.”

“True,” Mark confirmed.

“Do you think you’re a better dog owner than me?”

Remus thought for a moment. “No.”

“True.”

“Do you think I’m a better dog owner than you?” Sirius asked.

“No. I think we balance each other well, and we wouldn’t be as good apart.”

“True again.”

“Interesting.” Sirius surveyed the cards. “Do you trust me?”

“A hundred percent,” Remus answered without hesitation. Mark nodded.

“Do you think I would be a good dad?”

He rested his chin on his hand, then smiled a little. “I do, yeah. I think you know what to do and what notto do, and you’re very protective without being controlling. So, yeah. You’d be a good dad.”

Mark glanced over. “He’s telling the truth.”

Sirius leaned across the table and kissed Remus on the cheek. “Merci. Oh, this’ll be fun. Is any of our relationship just for show, especially on Lion Pride?”

Remus narrowed his eyes with a hum. “Yes and no.”

“Pick one,” Mark said.

“In a general sense? Yeah, sure. We’re not perfect all the time, but we pretend to be. The specifics stay honest, though. None of our relationship is based on building clout. We keep the core genuine.”

The polygraph beeped for a moment. “He’s telling the truth.”

“This one is super morbid. Ready?” Sirius rested his elbows on the table. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds Jules. Which one do you drop?”

“I love you, but I would absolutely drop you,” Remus said after only a brief period of thought.

“Oh, thank god,” Sirius huffed. “I would be so upset if it was the other way around.”

“Right? I love you more than anything, but it’s Jules.”

Remus turned to Mark, who shrugged. “True.”

“Do you think we live together well?” Sirius asked.

“After a full year of it?” Remus laughed. “Yeah, I do.”

“True.”

Sirius checked the list and his eyebrows rose. “You’re going to hate this one.”

“Am I?”

“What do you really think about my parents?”

Remus’ smile turned thin and Sirius spread his hands in a see? motion. He was quiet for a few seconds, then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m allowed to use those words on this channel. Um, I don’t like them.”

Mark snorted. “Very true.”

“Last one,” Sirius warned, though his eyes crinkled happily at the edges. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“That’s cute,” Remus said. “And…yeah. I think I do.”

“Wrong,” Sirius said before Mark could answer. “You have absolutely no idea.”

“Sap,” Remus scoffed. His cheeks were pink, and he pressed a quick kiss to Sirius’ temple while they swapped chairs.

“He was telling the truth,” Mark informed them as he helped Remus untangle his arm and hand, then transferred the devices to Sirius. “Though I am interested to see the flipside. Do you lie often?”

“Not anymore. I’m pretty good at it, though.”

“First one: have you ever had a crush on one of your teammates?”

“Oh, for sure,” Sirius said with a light laugh. “I never did anything about it, but I was the king of pining for a solid decade.”

“True,” Mark affirmed.

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “Who is the handsomest Lion?”

Sirius bit his lip, making a thoughtful noise. “That’s a tough one. I’m assuming a player other than you?”

“Yes.”

“In that case…I think Dumo is the classic definition of ‘handsome’ even though he is so not my type, but Kasey might be the most attractive.”

“Not Pots?” Remus teased. Sirius pulled a face and flicked him on the arm.

“He’s being honest,” Mark said.

“Do you think you’re the best player on the team?”

“…no.”

“He’s lying.”

“Shit.” Sirius sighed heavily as Remus looked at him over the edge of his notecard. “Look, it’s—it’s not an ego thing.”

“It’s the captain thing, isn’t it?” Remus sounded quite amused.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, defeated. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Mark nodded. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, another parent one,” Remus remarked. “Did my parents scare you?”

“Not really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “You’re right in the middle.”

“Huh.” He thought for a few seconds. “I think seeing you all together was a lot like meeting Dumo’s family the first time. You’re just so…normal. And you genuinely like each other. So I wasn’t scared, but it was definitely an adjustment.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, they adore you. I’m glad we didn’t chase you off, though. Does it really bother you that I leave my socks around the house?”

Sirius pressed his lips together as several people off-screen began to laugh. “I can’t answer that.”

“See, that’s all the answer I need.”

“Fine. Yes, but only because I don’t know where you get them from. You don’t actually own that many socks, and I still find them every-fucking-where.”

“True,” Mark said.

“I’ll try to keep a better eye on things,” Remus assured him, smiling. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds James. Which one do you drop?”

“Goddammit,” Sirius muttered, tilting his head back. He thought for a long, long moment. “I can’t answer that.”

The polygraph buzzed. “False.”

Sirius shook his head. “Neither of you. I wouldn’t drop either.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “True.”

“On a much lighter note,” Remus said with a cough. “Which of us is lazier?”

“Me.”

“True.”

“Really?” Remus gave him a baffled look. “You work so hard all the time.”

Sirius shrugged. “Agree to disagree?”

“Fine, but I hope you know taking time for yourself doesn’t mean you’re lazy.” He shuffled through the cards. “Oh, this’ll be very interesting. Do you think I talk too much?”

“No.”

“True.”

Remus sat back in his chair, a pleased blush coloring his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting that. Good answer, I love you. Do you think we’ll get divorced someday?”

“Oh, god, no.” Sirius’ previous self-satisfaction turned to revulsion. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“True,” Mark said again. “For someone who said he was good at lying, you’re very honest.”

“No point in lying with that thing around, is there?”

Remus shrugged. “Saves time, for sure. Have you kissed any of our friends?”

“Yeah,” he snorted.

To his credit, Mark didn’t even let a smile slip through. “True.”

“Do you enjoy getting stopped in public by fans?”

“Fans, yes. Ex-fans who take it upon themselves to explain why I shouldn’t be gay, no.” He paused, then shook his head with a smile. “I’m not good at talking to people, but I do like it when people say hello. It’s cool.”

“True.”

Remus raised his notecards. “Two left, and the first one is hella morbid.”

“Hella,” Sirius murmured, earning himself a teasing glare.

“Watch it. If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?”

The playfulness dropped away. “What?”

“If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?” Remus repeated.

Sirius looked horrified by the very thought. “I wouldn’t.”

“True,” Mark said, seemingly uncaring about the alarm on Sirius’ face.

“Even if it happened tomorrow?”

“First of all, thanks for my new nightmare. Second, no. I wouldn’t get married again.” He kissed Remus’ forehead gently. “Let’s not test that, though. Like ever.”

“Deal. Ready for the last one?”

“As long as nobody else is in danger of death.”

“I dunno, it’s a tough one.” Remus gave him a solemn look across the table. “I need you to be really honest with me on this one. Do you think you have better hair?”

Sirius blinked at him, then burst out laughing. Even Mark’s lips twitched into a suppressed smile. “Oh my god.”

“What’s so funny?” Remus asked, completely poker-faced. “This is important, honey. I’m really counting on you to be genuine with me here—”

“You can’t even—” Sirius broke off again and gestured to Remus’ face, which turned steadily pinker as he bit down a grin. “You can’t even keep a straight face.”

“My face is the only straight thing about me. You know this. Answer the question.”

“He’s trying so hard,” Sirius managed as he looked to the camera. “So hard, mon dieu.”

“Shit,” Remus muttered as he finally gave in and hid his laughter in the crook of his elbow. “We were doing so well until now! It’s the last question, just answer it!”

Sirius wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. “I do think I have better hair, but I love yours, too.”

Mark chuckled. “True.”

“It would help if you finally got a haircut that was different from the one you’ve had since you were thirteen.”

Remus closed his eyes, sighing. “Y’know, exposing my haircut choices for the entire internet to mock really wasn’t how I planned this day going.”

“Isn’t that the point of this whole video?”

“Mark, I’m not sure if we owe you an apology or not, but thank you for putting up with us.” Remus turned back to the camera with an easy smile. “Thanks for joining us today, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe to Lion Pride for more videos like this!”

[lambourngb]

Day 2: AU get me out of here - places to go when canon is complicated

It’s Day 2 for @roswellnewmexicocreate, time to celebrate those stories that I turn to when I can’t deal with canon, or when I don’t have the emotional energy to untangle all the emotions I have for what’s going on in canon. Alternative universes, the safe harbor for us. Below are a mix of rewrites of canon, remixes of canon, or out right not even set in Roswell- to fill every type distance you want from canon- from near to far.

and the howl of the desert carries me home by @christchex​/ @michaels-blackhat​ (4,334) Alex runs into the desert to escape from his father with his guitar clutched to his chest. He plans to spend one last night playing before his father destroys it. Instead, he meets a cute boy with flowers in his curly hair and a lizard on his shoulder. He exchanges a song for a smile.

why i like it: I love everything about this story. Michael is totally a disney princess, and what a lovely way to save him from foster homes, but have him run away to the desert and use his alien powers to build his own little protective world. Looping in Nora’s plant powers like that, giving Michael a little animal friend, I love it all, but the show stealer is Alex Manes, playing music to coax the mystery boy out. It’s just incredibly soft.

***

Heartbeat series by @adiwriting ​ (133,000 - in progress) During the lost decade, Alex gets Michael pregnant and Michael doesn't see or hear from him again for the next four and a half years. When Alex comes back to town, he discovers he has a daughter with Michael and they all have to figure out how to be a family.

why i like it: it has it all, installments with angst, installments with fluff, I can find whatever mood I am in by just pouring over this incredible series. I really don’t even like mpreg, but in RNM, with aliens it seems a little more probable to me and bless Britt, she goes light on the details but heavy on the kid aspect of it. I absolutely love Alex in this story, he’s richly characterized as a man who is trying hard while wandering unfamiliar territory like aliens, like being a dad, like being Michael’s boyfriend, and he doesn’t always get it right, but he’s loved regardless.

***

tonight we are young @skinsharpenedteeth (8,137) Alex and Michael ditch the Evans' New Years Eve party to find their own fun and Alex gets his New Years kiss...(the underage tag is because they're both 17 in this.)

why i like it: I’m a sucker for teen!Malex, especially stories that take place before the shed. I love this little AU where Alex is thinking about making a move, but hasn’t yet. They are both adorable nervous babies, this feels very much how a softer teen!Malex first time would go. Perfectly characterized here, you can just feel the hopeful vibes they have at 17. I like to believe nothing bad ever happens to them again.

***

you shift on a gear (it’s been a long year) by @backinmybodymp3 (28, 362) “Good morning,” Michael says. “What the hell did you do?” Alex asks, exasperated. (or: There were times, in some of the lower moments of the past however-many-days it’s been, where Michael had thought about what it might’ve been like to share this time loop with someone. He never imagined— well, he never imagined it’d be Alex.)

why i like it: I love time-loop stories! And this is just superb. The friendship dynamics of everyone involved, the Liz/Max wedding, Michael being a good brother, Michael trying so hard to keep this bullshit from dragging Alex in and then Alex being his usual reckless self when it comes to Michael, I absolutely dig this canon-divergent au. you can feel how much the author cares about everyone on the show in this story, and they really nail the Malex dynamic. This story came along just as season 3 did and it’s a true antidote to the malex drought on screen.

***

the library by @arielana (9,657)  Alex had stopped too far away to hear exactly what they were saying, but their voices did carry over to where he was standing. The guy’s drawl had a melody to it that was vaguely familiar, but much deeper than the voice it reminded Alex of. God, that and the hair really brought some memories back.  Just as Alex told himself to stop secretly staring like a creep and walk over there, he turned slightly so that Alex got a glimpse of the side of his face.  Fuck!  Fuck, fuck, fuck! Twelve years ago Alex left Roswell to join the Air Force, nursing a broken heart and promising to never return. When work brings him back to New Mexico he runs into someone he’d been sure he’d never see again.

why i like it: the first kiss in the UFO emporium was groundbreaking, but I have to admit, I love stories that explore the almost-happened, where Malex reconnect as adults without the shadow of Jesse’s attack. I love how sharp Alex is in this story, he has all these walls as an adult built from that first rejection, but then he’s so completely unprepared to reconnect with Michael again. The clownery in this story by both of them is perfect! I also totally love Forrest as a gay best friend for Alex, trying to wingman Alex, that cracked me up.

***

stellar light based life by @jocarthage (30,651) It’s not a memory if it’s something you see every day. It’s a trigger and it’s not one Alex wants to ever let go of.Alex saw Michael disappear into a blinding blue light, soft 17-year-old body pulled back into some kind of impossible vortex -- one hand, outstretched.

why i like it: another submission from 2020 RNM Big Bang, this story just wrecked me. I can’t even really put into words about how it hooked me and basically lives in my head now to the point I often mumble the first line to myself. Anyway, this AU takes a right turn at the shed attack, and goes full force scifi and tragic separation, I love it. In so many ways it reshapes Alex’s life but the core of who he is never changes, there’s so many great science geekery details about Michael’s planet and the astronaut journey that Alex takes, plus SANDERS... anyway, this is a fandom classic for me.

***

Crossed Wires by @beautifulcheat, @ladynox (15,351) Michael's been kicked off more than one Starfleet posting. So when he learned he was reassigned to the USS Roswell, he decided that he would keep his head down and behave. This decision is immediately thwarted when he meets her hot Vulcan captain.This might be the first time Michael got kicked off a posting for flirting with a captain.

why i like it: Star Trek AU? I’m pretty easy. Seeing elements of Kirk and Spock’s tragic backstory blended into genius mechanic Michael Guerin and ice prince Alex Manes was amazing. I love how it’s serving with his family that brings Michael to the Enterprise, his bond with Max and Isobel was chef’s kiss good. The blend of Michael’s powers and Alex’s biology - I loved the balance even if it came with its own misunderstandings, but hey, this time it was cultural! lol

***

I’m still here by @vague-shadows @pippsmcgee  (35,928) Treasure Planet AU in which Michael is the gifted young delinquent who found a treasure map, and Alex is a space pirate pawn in his Father's obsession with riches and legacy.

why i like it: I’ve never seen Treasure Planet, but I didn’t need to thoroughly enjoy this AU. This was the perfect mix of angst and sci-fi adventure, where the authors managed to make the shed even more horrifying. Jesse Manes is the absolute worst in this story, the levels of obsession he goes to find a treasure, and then Michael on his own collision course - the ability to write tense action is a gift, and it’s on display in this story. Cyborg!Alex took up a place in my heart and still lives there, where he only gets the nicest things.

If you like any of these recs, please leave a comment on the story or a kudo- a  ‘this was awesome’ is enough to propel an author into the stratosphere with happiness, so don’t worry about coming up with a unique, never before shared insight- sometimes a keyboard smash and emoji makes all  the difference!

[firstdegreefangirl]

“After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?” i would love this prompt for Chenford!

Love your writing!!!

Anon, you KILLED me with this one. I had no idea what I wanted to do with it, then a tiny inkling of an idea, then I wrote close to 1600 words in one sitting. Even though I try to keep prompt fills under or around 1k, it is what it is, and I like this so much that I’m not going to make myself pare it down. So thanks for the ask, and enjoy!

Oh, and spoilers for 3.09, if you haven’t at least seen the Facebook promo that got me to watch the full clip even though I still haven’t seen the whole episode. I’m working on it, I swear.

---

“Look me in the face and tell me you don’t think I have the killer instinct to do undercover work.”

It had taken longer than Tim cared to admit before he could school his features enough to meet Lucy’s eyeline and sneer at her. Even then, it had only lasted a second before he couldn’t stand to look at her any longer.  

An entire year they’ve spent together, Tim testing his rookie at every step of the way.

Not once had he imagined that she’d have the audacity to test him back. And today, of all days.  

And like this.  

He’s got to ignore it. He has to make it at least through the end of the shift without constantly thinking about how she’d laughed mere moments after saying she had feelings for him.

It’s not weird. He’d been honest when he told her that.  

And I appreciate your honesty.

It’s not weird. It’s so much worse.

Because for the rest of the shift, every time he catches sight of Lucy, Tim’s stomach starts to churn. Every time he hears her voice, his heart beats double-time in his chest. Every time the light fragrance of her perfume wafts across the shop into his nose, he wants to go buy a dozen of those stupid cardboard trees and duct tape them to every air vent.  

Because every time he so much as thinks about Lucy, he thinks about what he’d almost said to her, before she’s started laughing at him.  

And he still has to turn in her final evaluation, so he’s thinking about her a lot.

He’s thinking about the last year of their lives, all the ways she’s grown into her career, all the ways she’s grown on him.

And he’s thinking about how for just a second, the barest breath of an instant, the world had stopped turning around him this morning.

I have feelings for you.  

He hadn’t known what to say to that, how to respond without losing one or both of their jobs. And then she had suggested that he might have feelings for her too, had come way too close to the only card in his hand Tim had known he could never show.  

Had he been showing it this whole time?

But she’d started laughing, and the whole thing had been a ruse. Lucy had been fucking with him, and it had worked, and now he can’t shake the way the nausea burns in his stomach. He hardly eats his lunch, even though they both know how much he loves the food truck, blames it on a big breakfast and anxiety about the AMBER Alert.

And somehow, by nothing short of a miracle, he survives the shift. Baby Young is reunited with her parents, Lucy gets promoted to P2, and Tim handles it all without passing out, throwing up, or punching any walls.  

All in all, it’s a good day.

But it’s over before he knows it. Before he’s ready, he’s standing in the parking garage, holding a box and sporting a face full of white powder.  

She got him again, and he can’t even bring himself to be upset about it.  

“It’s been a blast, sir,” she says, laughing again. He loves the sound, even though it feels like a knife in his gut as he thinks again about earlier.

“It has,” he says, then surprises himself. “I can … buy you a drink? Now that you’re not a rookie anymore, there are some things we need to talk about.”

He tries to make it sound like he’s getting ready to give her more career advice, the kinds of firsthand accounts that aren’t relevant until she’s cleared the academy. And he’s got those too, decades of stories about truly helping people who need it and rules bent for the right reasons.  

But that’s not what he’s going to say, and he knows it. He feels it deep in his gut as he leads the way across town, sitting right next to the lingering panic from the morning as he watches Lucy’s headlights behind him.

Then they’re sitting across from each other, crammed into a tiny booth, knees knocking together under the table, no matter how many times they try to rearrange themselves. He waves a bartender over, asks for a pitcher of whatever domestic is on tap, and two glasses.  

Neither of them say anything until the drinks arrive, until they’ve each downed half a beer. But Tim knows it won’t last, so for once today, he’s not surprised when Lucy breaks the silence.

“We need to talk?” There’s hesitation in her voice, and for a moment, Tim feels a little bad. He wonders what she thinks he’s about to say, even though he knows she won’t be right.

“What you said earlier … in the shop, you know …" He’s stammering again, stumbling where he's usually brash and a little overconfident, and he hates how easy it is for Lucy to throw him off his game. She doesn’t even have to try, and she’s changing the very fundamentals of his personality. But she nods, so he soldiers on. “I don’t think you were being honest with me. Um, dishonest. Ah, at the … at first. Before you …"

Before you took away everything I’ve known the last 12 months.

“So I … wasn’t lying?” Lucy furrows her brow, trying to untangle everything Tim’s said.

“No, you were.” Tim takes a long drink, but his mouth is still dry. “When you tried to convince me that it was just a show of your undercover skills. I don’t think it was. I …" Here goes everything, Bradford. “I hope it wasn’t.”

“You — I — What?” It’s Lucy’s turn to be speechless now, and Tim can see the way her fingers tighten around her glass. “You — you hope?”

“You deserve my honesty,” Tim says simply, mirroring her words from earlier, just before she’d pulled the rug out from under him. He leans forward. “Lucy, when you said … I didn’t get a chance to respond before you switched gears. Not honestly. And the truth is … you were right. When you said I’m protective of you because I have feelings for you.”

Her eyes narrow.

“This isn’t some Revenge Tim Test, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” Tim holds his hands out on the table, palms up, a physical representation of how open he’s trying to be. “I don’t know when it started, or really even when I noticed. But you’re right, we’ve been through a lot this year, both of us. A lot of it together, but all of it as partners. And somewhere along the way, it became more than I’d bargained for.  

“In a good way,” he hurries to add. “I like it. You. I like — I like you. A lot.” Dammit, he’s stammering again. “And I think you were honest when you said you had feelings for me.” Lucy nods slowly, but makes no effort to speak, and he can’t read anything definite in the gesture. “You’re right, you’re not my rookie anymore. It might be complicated, but in my experience, the best things usually are. And I think that if there’s something here, between us … it’s worth pursuing.”  

Tim lets the rest of the air out of his lungs, drains his glass in one swallow and pours himself a refill. Lucy still hasn’t said anything, but he’s determined to let her say her piece, even if she needs a second to process everything. The longer she’s silent, the more worry builds up in his chest, but he knows he’s done the right thing. She deserves his honesty; he’d meant that when he said it.  

“Tim …" Lucy starts, then trails off. “You really thought I —” She laughs, but there’s nothing funny about it. “I really should go out for undercover work. After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t know that I love you?”  

“I know that I want you to.” It’s somehow more honest than anything else he’s said tonight, putting it all on the line. Tim sets his hand on the table again, and there are no words to express the way his chest swells when Lucy reaches forward tentatively to tuck her fingers between his. “I know that I’m crazy about you, and that maybe if we’re on the same page about that, some of this year will have been worth it.”

“Only some?” Lucy smiles, and he’s pretty sure she’s trying to flirt with him. Now that he’s letting himself look for those signals, they’re clear as day in front of him.

“Yeah, well, you really shouldn’t have had to get kidnapped for us to work this out.”  

“Fair,” She laughs, and for the first time all day, the sound doesn’t turn to molten lead in his stomach. Now he feels warm, comfortable with everything that’s hanging between them. “But however we got here, I’m just glad we made it.”

Lucy leans forward, eye flicking down to look at his mouth, and yeah, he’s picking up the signals. He squeezes her fingers, half-stands in the booth, just far enough to close the space between them and brush their lips together.

It’s a fleeting moment, the angle all wrong and Tim’s back already starting to ache from the strain. None of that matters when he sits back down, though, because he knows there are many more moments to come, just like this and even better.

“Me too, Lucy.”

[cyberdck]

Maybe we can get some platonic/familial Silverhand+V!Reader where V is his grandkid from a fling when he was alive and it just bites him back in the ass?

— johnny silverhand ft angst angst angst with a dash of family + brief character study

this probably turned out more angsty than you had in mind but mistakes were made and here we are

the moment he realizes it, it’s already seconds too late.

minutes.

hours.

going on days of verbal abuse and mental deterioration set in motion by his own cruel will and abrasive temperament.

how could have known? he hardly knew anything past the barrage of your thoughts and the turmoil of accepting his death and new fate. he’d been torn from his past and set dead straight on derailing your future.

there were just so many memories to untangle, yours and his. faces were a blur and voices even less clear.

those thoughts-reflections- he needed to know had been sealed away the first day of his new life he begun. knock back into the recesses of your mind with each impact of your head against the window of your skyline view.

fuck if he hadn’t jarred your own memories- made it that much easier to forget why his face had been so familiar upon his first appearance.

you were more than the aged fan from his decades old career. the slow trickle of your fingers against that beat up guitar had stopped long ago after he’d berated you for the infantilism his classic hits- tearing the soul from the intended tune with your amateur playing. now he wonders if you’d been playing for yourself at all or was it all feeble attempt reach out to him?

and he just took those offered hands and crushed them to your chest. even from the inside of your head, he had a mirrored view of your face. a front row seat to the transition of emotions from fragility to hardness. that’s really where he should have seen it.

in that low shadow of your brow when your face pinched in annoyance. he was looking at a reflection after all.

minors adjustments and mixed genes all trickling down from an inferno romance that had ended the night he decided to be a true samurai.

he couldn’t blame you for wanting to withhold information when he finally built up the sense to ask. the visor of anger was ripped away now, eradicating any semblance of blindness he could grapple with.

it took days of shifting, adjusting his personality and mannerisms to shed away the abrasive exterior you’d come to know.

to hate.

johnny had never wanted-

hardly imagined having-

but to have you despise him at the end of it?

it wasn’t something he could bare.

your grandmother, you admitted finally, loved to place him on a pedestal. called him a hero for sticking to his beliefs, even if the rippling effect never came in her lifetime.

would come, she still believed, certain that with time the graves he’d rocked would come to life.

if only she could see him now.

johnny figured she was dead. your grandmother. his last physical attraction.

when you finally released those memories, he found those to be the deppest. ones readily swept away without his provocation.

she’d been your rock. the placeholder for your own parents that hadn’t amounted to much as guardians. filled your childhood with promises of warmth and love. and stocked the empty spaces with lyrics and melodies from her heart.

johnny’s songs were never meant to be lullabies for children but they became household nuemonics anyway. songs sang during everyday tasks and hummed against your temple as she tended to scrapped knees and blooming bruises.

without his knowledge, johnny had already been a prominent feature in your life. the envision of him. the determined samurai who’d never stepped down for anything.

had been ripped away by the reality of a nicotine addict with a short fuse and fists to match.

you felt as much as a grandkid as he felt as a grandfather.

two puzzle pieces that seemed misplaced even as they’re forced into a wedge together.

much like the intertwining of two minds.

jonnny only knew how to slap a bandage on gaping wounds. left to watch and see if the two sides fused together or stretched further apart.

he mentioned your old guitar more, reminding you of the carved wood stashed away in the back of your closet like a forgotten memory. most of the time you brushed him off, adding that he should focus on the next job.

each new gig would be one step closer to reversing the effects of the chip malfunction and finally separating you for good.

but what happened then?

if the chip was removed he still didn’t have a body to return to. he’d still be a lost code in the space of a matrix with no source to cling to for resolution.

he’d be alone and so would you.

two lingering souls from a damaged linage with no real future.

if he was meant to go back down in a fiery inferno then he refused to bring you down with him.

refused to leave you with the lingering scorch marks.

so he tried.

kept urging you to close the gape.

he was more helpful than scornful when offering advice. the bitter taste of sarcasm was still a lingering flavor on his tongue but he bit it back.

when he flickered into view, he stood closer. only a touch away as if he could catch you when you finally buckled under the stress.

if you appreciated that changes, you did a hell of a job of not letting it show. every step closer to the ultimate goal only served to steel your focus.

no.

he’d ironed out that hardened flesh and now you were making it your own.

maybe he could have loved your grandmother. he wasn’t really sure.

something like that felt frivolous to him back then a brief euphemism in society. he would have hated to see his kid swallowed up the the jaws of capitalism.

now here you were about to break them.

he was proud.

and he wanted you to know it too.

so he kept trying.

reminding you to eat. to stay hydrated. to take a break after one too many bearings came too close for call.

to take your medicine.

‘oh, now you’re okay with me shutting you up?’

he could only shrug with a crooked smile. parenting was about ripping your own heart out as an offering right? he’d bled for night city.

he’d snuff out his own flame for you.

he learns about the foods you like and the alcohols you could do without. finds out why you’re so adverse to smoking.

the short answer that it kills so so obvious yet too close to home.

he never offers or requests the taste of nicotine again.

it took sometime but eventually the soft strumming of chords finally made themselves home again in the little apartment.

gone were the crude comments, slating out aggressive pride for constructive criticism.

‘your finger goes here. no, not that one. it will just get in the way. ‘

the songs weren’t a perfect rendition. he later learned that they weren’t meant to be. your grandmother had softened the edges little make them more bite-sized for the mind of a child. and the alterations just stuck with you all these years.

it wasn’t what he envisioned for them, not while lying awake in the back of the tour bus struggling to string together two sentences.

neither was this life; trapped in the skull of his grandchild still scrapping for a chance of survival.

but it was fitting for an old samurai. the wake of tragedy left behind fertile grounds for new beginnings.

and he had a few more things to accomplish before his chapter came to a final close.

making sure you didn’t regret ever knowing him would be his last.

[buglife]

Quirrel properly introducing Ghost as his partner to survived!Monomom? :3c

(Again no beta sorry for errors!)

“Well Quirrel, I’ll admit that this is quite lovely.”

Monomon lounged on the plush chair, decadent pillows and silken throws made it unbelievably comfortable. Colors in blues and greens decorated the snug little abode, making her think of her home in Fog Canyon. Perhaps this room was chosen for that very reason, Monomon didn’t have much love for the royal whites and opulent reds decorating most of the city. She rather liked the soothing cooler colors, it made her less antsy. She reached with a tentacle to snag another biscuit from the heavily laden tea table, the array of sandwiches and sweets already mostly eaten. Her other tentacle delicately held a cup of tea which she sipped from here and there. The room was private and out of the way, perfect to catch up a little with her son.

Her son had certainly changed, but she figured it was for the better. Before she left for the long sealing sleep, Quirrel had been depressed. He know what was to become of her and despite the palatable sadness, he still bravely soldiered on with the plan. She regrets it so much now, so much time lost due to that damnable wrym, but when she surprisingly awoke again she was glad to see that the first person she saw was him. It had been a blur of years, making up for lost time and adjusting to a much more agreeable ruler. Her little pillbug had gone from a tiny little creature, munching on trash, to a stately and powerful bug. The nail he carried at his side was forged into a pure nail, one of the few in existence. His previous kerchief had been traded out with one of silk and lovely embroidered patterns. It was the only things he accepted to show his status and it suited him nicely. This time he sat before her unburdened by scroll cases and tablet boxes, just sitting like he used to before the Infection. It was good to see him smile. It was good to see such an air of confidence and strength in him, she just wished he didn’t have to go through what he did to get it.

“I know, It’s why I picked it out.” Quirrel was leaning back in his own chair, a picture of relief she could even feel as he relaxed. After all, he is now the Royal Scholar, he is a rather busy bug these days. “It’s just, nice to have a bit of comfort and quiet away from...you know…”

“The ass kissers.” Monomon finished with a wink.

Quirrel groaned and for a moment, held his eyes in his hands as he leaned forward. “They won’t leave me alone! And they are so, so stupid! They ask me things knowing they don’t want to hear the answer I give!”

“That’s what happens when you are so close to the Sovereign.” She tutted gently as she took a sip of tea. Quirrel sighed in response.

“That could have been you, ya know. If you decided to take that position.”

“You know as well as I do, my little scholar, that it was the Sovereign who chose you for it. They basically told me that I have free reign to do as I please, as long as it somehow would benefit the kingdom. I need no titles to do the job I have always done. And you know I would certainly take the position most likely to remove nobles from my sight entirely.”

Quirrel narrowed his eyes a little as he looked at his mother. “And that is because they know that nobles will start to vanish if they had to interact with you.”

“It’s not my fault my body needs acid and nobles are notoriously clumsy.” Monomon faked indignation as she sipped more of her tea. “They also like to look in places where they shouldn’t. I did put up signs, you know. But accidents do happen.”

He couldn’t help but snort, inhaling bread crumbs and having to cough them back out. “Mother!”  She reached over a limb to pat him on the back.

“Don’t choke, love, or our Ruler will be without their Royal Scholar.” She teased gently.

“As if they’d let me die from something as indignant as choking to death on a sandwich.” He coughed up the last of the crumbs and took a deep breath.

“Are they that possessive now?” She questioned.

He sifted a little, and his antenna began to twitch. She could instantly tell he was blushing under his mask. He was trying so very hard to not cover his eyes and bury his head in his lap again.

“Quirrel.”

“Well...yes...but because well...you see….” He let out a held breath and sank lower in his chair. He was drawing his legs up, preparing to roll up just like he used to always too when terribly embarrassed.

“Quirrel.”

“The more time you spend with a bug and um...you know. Things happen and well...”

“Quirrel. Don’t roll up on me now.”

He made a pathetic squeak in response.

She was going to comment further, but there was a shifting of the door curtains and a regal horned head poked their way through. She was going to snap at whoever it was to get the fuck out and let her tease her boy some more, but then she noticed just who it was attempting to come in.

“Oh, hello, your Majesty.” She gave a polite nod. “You have caused my son no small amount of embarrassment, I’d like to know why.”

Ghost struggled with the curtains for a second, looking very undignified as they had to untangle their long pronged horns from the thick fabric. Once fully inside, they bowed to her and Quirrel. If there’s one thing she liked the best about Sovereign Ghost was that they showed respect to everyone, well, those that deserve it. They had also changed greatly since she saw them all that time ago. They were so wee, so adorable, and then they had to catch up on growing and stop being so cute. They still were, if she had to admit. They were distinct enough that they didn’t need anything like a crown or anything else, they just had their pure nail and a heavily fluffy mantled cloak. They were now about a head taller than Quirrel and she didn’t know if they would end up the huge size of their sibling, Hollow, or have finished growing. Size wasn’t everything, Princess Hornet was smaller but had NO problems beating those that challenged her into submission. It was amusing to watch.

Monomon watched as their head turned to Quirrel, tilting their head in a sign of worry.

“You’re...you’re late.” He squeaked, trying his damndest to unroll himself.

Ghost signed back in a flurry of hands. <”Sorry. I got caught up in something.”>

“So, you were supposed to be here to begin with? To what do I owe this pleasure? More gossip?” Monomon smiled, oh she just loved it when she could pick the ruler’s brain for gossip. Juicy, juicy gossip.

<”No, but later If you like. This was Quirrel’s idea.”>

“Oh really.” She leaned over to her still flustered son. “Why is that?”

“Because...because well...we…” He stuttered on his words.  “We…”

Ghost took the initiative to kneel before her, stunning both into silence. It wasn’t just the polite kneel one takes, it was full on on the floor, pressing their head into the ground In front of her.

Monomon watched in silence as they rose up from the kneel, reaching into their cloak to withdraw a bouquet of beautiful, slightly glowing flowers. The colors rippled in the light as she took the bundle.

<”Lady Monomon.”> They signed once she took the flowers from their hands. <”I ask your permission to court your son.”>

Her eyes flickered over briefly to Quirrel, he was practically swooning. She darted them back to Ghost, their ruler, a literal god of the void, fidgeting in nervousness like a teenage schoolchild as they awaited her answer. Oh this was awesome, this was great.

“So this is what this is all about.” She exclaimed, grasping the flowers to her chest in utter glee. “No wonder why you are being bothered by the nobles, my dear...you’re fucking the sovereign!”

Quirrel gasped and nearly fell off his chair. All traces and feelings of romance were now completely squashed. “MOTHER!”

Ghost just stood there, blinking.

“Your majesty, my son is his own bug. You don’t have to ask me permission to do anything with him as long as he consents to it!”

Ghost relaxed in relief.

“BUT,” She reached a tentacle outwards to poke them directly in the middle of the head.

“If you hurt him in anyway, you will die. I’m old. I don’t care if I die and drag a god down with me, but you will go down with me, I can promise.”

“MOTHER.” Quirrel twisted, trying to get to his feet as he watched her technically assault the ruler of an entire kingdom, and then threaten them.

To Quirrel’s relief, Ghost mearly nodded.

<”I accept those terms. I would rather risk death than to be apart from Quirrel. I promise he will not want for anything and if it should come to it, I would lay down my life for his.”>

Monomon clapped her tentacles together. “Wonderful! Wonderful! Now, come sit!”

Ghost eyed Quirrel, who turn shook his head. “Sorry love, but you’re trapped now. Sit, and it’ll all be over soon.”

Ghost sighed, resigned to thier fate, as they carefully sat with Quirrel. Quirrel wrapped an arm around their carapace in support, as they both looked upon the now giddy Monomon.

“Now,” She said, glee in her voice. “Tell me everything.”

[bothcreativitybois]

The Mayors Sweet Treat Chapter 6

Ao3 link Wordcount: 2428 Ship: Intruality TW: Food, scars, unhealthy family relationships (mentioned), swearing, sexual references   Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 Taglist: @crazydemigod666 @star-crossed-shipper @newtnotfound @idont-freaking-know @someoneiwasnt @crownofrats (love the new name) @the-sympathetic-villain @cute-and-angsty-princess @lonelymuffin @bloodymari-0666 @im-an-anxious-wreck @fantasticallytired @obsessive-fallen-angel 

It was a snug fit in the back seat of Remus' truck, especially since Patton was sitting between Roman and Virgil. All three of them had large containers on their laps holding decadent sweets made for the event they were headed to. “I think this is the best Remus has ever driven.” Janus joked from the front seat, the group laughed. Supplies rattled in the tray of the truck. “Oh please, I’m the best driver here!” Remus defended. Roman rolled their eyes and leant forward. “Do you not remember crashing the paddock basher so bad that the passenger door wouldn’t open and I was stuck?” Roman recalled. Remus looked back for a moment. “We were twelve.” Remus reminded them. They all laughed. Patton wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about but it seemed amusing. “And you had to pull me out with a arm full’a shrapnel.” Roman said as they poked their twin’s shoulder before they turned back to Patton. “All this just fifteen minutes after we got it.” “What’s a paddock basher?” Patton asked dumbly. It sounded like some big important farming tool, not something you’d let kids play in. “A cheap old car that barely works.” Remus explained, catching Patton’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “You can use them to learn how to drive, or to get around the farm or just fuck around in.” Roman smirked. “Emphisis on the fuck for you.” Roman joked as they fell back into their seat. Remus raised a middle finger to Roman as the group laughed again. They pulled off the tarmac and onto a dirt road, Patton had never been on a dirt road. He immediately grabbed Virgil’s arm in shock of the sudden bumps and jolts. “What is that?!” Patton shouted. Remus looked back with concern, the others laughed. “Where’d you find this guy?” Roman asked Remus with a laugh, Virgil gently removed Patton’s hand. Patton looked around and blushed with embarrassment as the others laughed. Remus caught the look and felt bad for him. “Cut him some slack.” Remus said in a stern voice as he looked back at the road, the others stopped laughing. Remus knew Patton wasn’t as tough as them, he didn’t grow up climbing fences to drench sheep and having knife fights in paddocks. Patton was scared by Remus’ tone and it seemed the rest of them were too. Virgil was practically shaking from it. Remus was being soft on him again, but he was so harsh with the others. He remembered what Janus said yesterday at the bakery.

Set up your boundaries or he’ll tear right through you.                   Patton put a hand on Virgil’s arm, this time it was less a desperate grab and more comforting. Virgil quickly looked down at Patton’s hand then at his questioning face. Patton gave a little sweet smile, Virgil was surprised. He smiled back weakly. Remus watched in the rear view mirror. “Sorry Virge.” Remus apologised. Virgil nodded slightly. “S'alright.” Virgil responded weakly as he looked vacantly out the window. “It’s not about you.” He eyed the large house they were pulling up to. Remus pulled up in front of the house and turned to face Virgil. “You can still back out.” Remus assured him. Virgil shook his head. “I’d rather now with y’all here than later.” Virgil admitted. Patton looked out the window. The house was large and looked expensive, the perfectly cut shrubs and lawn were much greener than anything else he’d seen around. Yet something about it seemed to make Virgil nervous. Remus knew what it was. Roman and Janus knew what it was. “Remus!” A lady shouted. “Around the back dear!” The lady had the same black hair and pale skin as Virgil. Their noses had the same pronounced bridge. Patton thought they were related, but the way Virgil looked at her said otherwise. That look was full of… fear, not love. Remus started the car and pulled around the house. The air in the car was tense with worry, everyone concerned for Virgil. Remus and Janus got out, Janus folded down his seat so the others could get out. Roman and Patton climbed out quickly but Virgil hesitated. Remus leaned back in. “Do you want me to drive you home?” He asked Virgil, he responded by shaking his head.

“He can watch the food while we unload.” Roman said, collecting one of the boxes from Patton. Virgil nodded. Roman leaned in and put the boxes next to Virgil with a smile. The men went around the truck and started unloading the tents and tables. Remus and Janus carried them with ease while Patton helped Roman carry some so they weren’t left out. Remus kept a close eye on the car as they unloaded. Virgil had a habit of bottling it all up until it was too late, he has always been too stubborn to admit when he was scared. Remus was first to notice when Virgil stepped out. He gave Virgil a quick smile and closed up the tray. Everyone looked at Patton. “What?” Patton asked. “What do you mean what?” Janus responded. “You’re the boss. What do we do?” Patton suddenly felt anxious. He’d never been in charge, he didn’t know what to do. He frantically looked at Remus for help, surely he’d know what to do. He was a mayor, they know leader stuff. Remus caught the look and clapped his hands. “Janus and Virgil get changed. Roman go sort out your business stuff. Me and Patton will start setting up.” Remus commanded, everyone nodded and started heading out. Patton sighed in relief. The way Remus could take control was impressive to him, a skill he’d always envied in people. He was always too scared he’d blow past commanding leader and straight to bossy and rude. Patton and Remus walked over to the tents they unloaded. “Thanks for the save back there.” Patton smiled at Remus. “S’all good babe.” Remus said with a smirk. Patton poured out the contents of one of the canopy bags. He picked up a set of instructions. “Looks simple enough. The frame is already put together, we just need to put on the awning and unfold it all.” Patton explained. He looked up to see Remus wasn’t paying attention, he was staring across at Virgil with a concerned look. “Remus?” Patton pushed Remus’ shoulder and he snapped back. “Uh yeah got it.” Remus stammered, unaware of whatever Patton just said. Patton reached up and clicked his fingers in front of Remus' face. Remus shook his head. 

"What's wrong?" Patton asked immediately. He looked back at the truck then at Remus. "It's Virgil, isn't it?" 

"Uh I guess." Remus shifted awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. "That lady from earlier is Virgil's nan. His family is… not the best for him. Or anyone really." Remus explained keeping the details veuge to respect Virgil's privacy. Patton tensed up. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise he kept thinking it was his fault. That he was being a nuisance.  "He can leave, I'm sure we can make do." Patton reasoned but Remus shook his head.  "He won't. He hides it behind schedules but he is just as much a stubborn farm boy as the rest of us." Remus chuckled. Patton looked down at the bags.  "Okay…" Patton agreed half heartedly. Remus and Patton began setting up the tents and placed some fold-out tables beneath them. Janus and Virgil joined them eventually, each wearing a white button-up and jeans with light teal suspenders and a matching bowtie. Patton looked at them proudly. “Howdaya know to tie a bowtie?” Remus teased. Roman joined them and fussed with the outfits. “They don’t.” Roman winked. They plucked the clipboard from Virgil’s hands. “Remus get changed, people will start arriving soon. Janus and Virgil start setting up the food.” Roman talked as they dodged Virgil trying to take back the clipboard. It seemed the leader gene ran through both the twins. Patton looked around as everyone began doing things. “What about me?” Patton asked. Roman dusted the shoulders of his blue check shirt and straightened his white tie. “Be your charming little self.” Roman chirped. They began to walk away but stopped. “Oh and please please keep Remus out of trouble.” Patton nodded, from what he’d learned that would be a task in itself. Patton looked around, Remus was changing shirts at the car. As he got closer he noticed Remus had a lot of marks and scars on his skin. Patton’s eyes lingered on Remus’ shoulder up until the moment he pulled a shirt over them. Remus looked over his shoulder to see Patton staring with pink cheeks, he shot a cocky grin. “Sorry- I wasn’t-” Patton stammered. Remus chuckled. “Want to see the most impressive one?” Remus turned around and pulled back the open shirt slightly. A gathering of large scars ran from his bottom rib to behind his hip. Patton inspected them closer. “I was thirteen and it was my first time breaking in a horse. I was quite a lot scrawnier then. Got bucked off into a broken wire fence and got caught on the way down.” Remus made a ripping noise and scratched above the skin. Patton was enthralled, he traced the scars all the way around Remus’ hip. “Took Roman and Ma ten minutes to untangle me.” Remus blushed as Patton trailed his hands around him. He wasn’t gonna stop him. Eventually Patton realised what he was doing and jolted back. The moment hung between them for a moment. “T-that sounds painful.” Patton stuttered as he hid his face. Remus began buttoning up his shirt. “Oh it was.” Remus joked. He took out the bowtie and began fiddling with it. Patton giggled, it was clear Remus had no clue what he was doing. Remus tried his best but couldn’t figure it out. Patton put his hand on Remus’, signalling to let him take over. Remus allowed him to do so. “What about you?” Remus asked as Patton messed with the tie. “What about me?” Patton laughed back. “Got any scars?” “A few burns on my arms but they’re barely visible. One on my waist.” Patton explained. Remus looked down and caught Patton’s eyes. Usually he’d make some cocky remark about being excited to see them, but with Patton it was different. It felt different to his usual relationships. “What?” Patton looked back down. “Everything about you is just so…” He tried to find the right word, he was never really good at that. Cute? Soft? Buttery? Sweet? It was more than that. It wasn’t just who Patton was, it was how Remus felt about him. He’d never felt this before. The way his heart was skipping and the tingles as Patton’s hands brushed against the skin of his neck. It wasn’t something he had felt, let alone put to words. Remus looked down at Patton’s hands. “You don’t know how to tie a bowtie do you?” Remus teased as he saw Patton’s sloppy work. Patton stepped back and looked down. “No I really don’t.” Patton admitted. “We should go find Roman.” 

The picnic was in full swing and Remus was questioning why they called it a ‘picnic’. No one was sitting on the ground or on picnic rugs, there were no baskets and no fun. Just rich people sitting at tables and drinking champagne. He walked around with a tray of… something sweet, offering some to everyone he passed. Roman walked around with Patton, showing him off like a prize winning ewe. Middle aged women gracefully walked around in light dresses with champagne flutes hanging from their fingers. Which is why it was striking to Remus when he spotted someone in a dark blue knitted jumper. “Shit!” Remus breathed. He quickly rushed over to Roman, but hesitated when Patton came into view. The two were next to each other, chatting to a group of ladies with modest smiles. He needed to get Roman’s attention without worrying Patton. Thankfully it wasn’t the twins’ first rodeo. “Romy, I need you for a second.” Remus asserted as he joined the group. ‘Romy’ and the counterpart ‘Rems’ were nicknames only used when something was extremely wrong, that way the twins would know immediately that they needed to ditch whatever was happening. Roman politely excused themselves, much to Patton’s dismay, and Remus pulled them a few metres away. “What’s the story?” Roman asked when they were far enough away. Remus pointed into the crowd where Logan was calmly waiting around. “Code moneybags.” Remus whispered. Roman laughed slightly. “I invited them.” Roman clarified as they fussed with their skirt and departed from their brother to greet Logan. What are you planning? Remus thought as he watched Roman walk up and greet Logan warmly. Janus appeared by Remus’ side. They looked at Roman suspiciously then back at each other. “Where’s Virge?” Janus asked. Living in a small town Remus knew all those cliché country sayings, he’d hear them non-stop when talking to the older people in town. One specific saying came to mind right now. When it rains, it pours. “You were meant to watch him!” Remus answered loudly. “Why are you shouting?” Patton asked sweetly. Both the men retracted and Remus plastered on a fake smile. Any good politician knows how to hide the shit spewing from the fan. “We’re just excited because you’re doing so fucking good!” Remus shouted and got a few dirty looks from nearby ladies. Janus quickly moved to block the view of Logan. They had run enough hustles together to know what to do. Patton beamed. “Get your fine looking ass out there and shmooze the shit outta these rich ladies.” Remus turned Patton around and shoved him towards a group of ladies before turning back to Janus. “You swear more when you’re trying to hide something.” Janus stated. Remus stammered for a second from the out of place addition. “Well he doesn’t know that yet!” Remus threatened. Hopefully he’d never know. “Now, you go look for Virgil and I’ll deal with my twin’s unexpected invite.” They both nodded. Janus headed off and Remus looked back at Patton. He was already so nervous for all this, and he was stressed with the entire situation he was in. Usually Remus would throw him towards Logan and just hope Patton ended up on top, but Patton was different to his friends. He wanted to protect him. To keep him happy no matter what.   Don’t stress, Patty Cake. I got your back.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 7- Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials

Summary: Jaskier seems full of good ideas, one that brings you and your Witcher into the halls of a prideful Queen.

Warnings: nothing but a good time, mostly

Masterlist

Grumbling in disgust at the messy monster slaying you and Geralt had just endured at the frozen lake nearby, you hastily burst through the wooden doors of the local tavern where Jaskier and the other villagers currently are. He's trying to get the gory details from some man who insisted on accompanying you both on your hunt, resulting in him fleeing the scene covered in chunks of globby Selkiemore blood from a blow you landed onto the creatures opened eye.

Right before the beast swallowed Geralt, his silver sword cleanly slicing through the creatures stomach and finally putting an end to the tiresome hunt. Just like that, done and done. You watch as the tavern goers faces grimace at the gnarly scent protruding from yourself and Geralt, your crimson eyes catching the delighted sight of your laughing bard as he finds you two easily in the crowd.

You walk up to the table that the bard is sitting at, "What's that stench?" Questions the man by Jaskier's side, you glare at him like he's the biggest dumbfuck in the whole Continent. Your body is spotted in splayed monster guts likewise to Geralt who's almost unrecognizable by how much blood and innards coats his face. What else would cause such a scent?

"Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside." Replies Geralt bluntly.

"We'll take what we're owed." You add, the man nods as he quickly reaches into his jacket to pull out the sack of coin. Jaskier taking this time to begin singing his famous Toss a coin to your Witcher ballot, the whole entirety of the tavern happily joining in as he gets out of his seat.

Not caring to join them you turn to walk away from the masses, Geralt trailing behind as you make a beeline for the wooden keg, "Fuck me I need a drink." You exclaim before filling up a mug and quickly downing it like there's no tomorrow, Geralt chuckling as he does the same. When you pull the cup from your lips does the bard make himself known.

He leans against the counter all the while rambling on about how you two owe him for making yourselves so famous now. Wordily explaining how for a single night he'll need you both to watch out for him as he and the two of you attend some princess' banquet, though you're not entirely sure what he's on about considering you're too distracted by the free beer.

Setting an empty mug upon the wooden counter you roll your eyes, done with his excessive disjointed talking, you turn to leave as Geralt follows your lead towards the stairs, Jaskier calling out something of possible interest to sway your minds.

"Food, women, and wine, Geralt!" Shouts Jaskier, stopping Geralt in his tracks as you turn around.

Jaskier looks at him hopefully as Geralt lets out a tired sigh, "I already have Y/N." Grumbles your tired Witcher as you walk over next to him, a spark of interest tugging at the inner adventurer in you.

"I haven't had a kingly meal in ages, nor have I worn a silken dress in almost a decade." You add with a humored laugh, turning your attention to Geralt, "I bet you'd love to see me in silk and jewels, now wouldn't you my love?" You purr into his ear while lightly touching his dirty arm, he looks at you with a telling half grin.

——

You watch as Jaskier paces in front of the two of you with a small cloth draped casually over the side of his shoulder while he contemplates how tonight should go for him, that is if everything goes well and no lords try and kill him. Since you took a much needed bath earlier, you get the privilege of cleaning off Geralt as your talkative bard continues his ramblings about the party tonight.  Grasping the small bucket in your hands you crouch behind Geralt, dumping a warm bucket of water onto your grumpy Witcher's gut smeared head, you hold in your giggles as he sputters and wipes his face from the sudden tiny waterfall to his head and face.

"Now now, stop your boorish grunts of protest, you should be grateful to have Y/N as your willing washer." Quips Jaskier as he walks around Geralt's tub and you who's seated behind him with your hands in his dirty hair, "It is one night of you two bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?"

You flick some stray pieces of Selkiemore guts out of Geralt's tangled mane while Jaskier walks around you once again, "Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal." He explains as he picks up some bath salts on the nearby cabinet, "The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier's triumphant performance!" You snort when he throws the salt into the bathtub, tiny crystals landing around and on Geralt as he watches the bard, unfazed and rather quite annoyed.

Taking a cloth from the side of the tube you gently rub the dirt and blood from Geralt's tense shoulders, "How many want your head on a spike?" You wonder with a small chuckle as the bard looks elsewhere trying to think for a second.

"Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes." He replies as Geralt lets out an annoyed huff, suddenly Jaskier stops and sits on the edge of the tub, "Ooh, yeah, that face! Ooh! Scary face!" He looks up at you, "Ah and Y/N, those ruby sparkling eyes of yours paired with your own dangerous royal status. No lord in his right mind will come close if either one of you is standing next to me with a puss like that." Geralt reaches for his cup, just as Jaskier grabs it out of his hand, "Ooh, on second thought...might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best."

Chuckling in amusement you rest your arms on either side of Geralt's muscular shoulders as he huffs in frustration, "I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry." He grumbles while you try to untangle his wintery mess, "We're not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men."

"Yes, yes, yes. You two never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Notes Jaskier as he walks to the front of the tub, you simply shrug your shoulders in reply, he does have a compelling point, "Ugh. Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous."

"Only if your a moody Witcher." You jest, causing Jaskier to snicker as Geralt rolls his golden eyes.

"Actually, I've always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?" Questions Jaskier thoughtfully.

Geralt looks up at him, a frustrated expression dancing across his features, "Yeah. When they slow and get killed." You watch as the bards eyebrows raise at his dismally bleak answer before his lips turn into a mischievous grin, Geralt looking much the opposite as he suddenly turns his head in an attempt at finding his missing clothes, "Jaskier where the fuck are my clothes!"

You squint at the smirking bard, wondering what's brewing in his inquisitive noggin, "I know that look. Jask what the fuck are you planning?"

He throws a casual hand upon his slender hip, "Oh don't fret about the clothing, I sent them away to get washed like Y/N's." Says Jaskier before turning to Geralt, "Anyways, you're not going tonight as a Witcher."

——

You stroll into the large bustling banquet hall, your darkly colored dress flowing as you walk. The material is comfortable and beautiful, it hugs your torso and back as it crawls up to your neck, leaving your arms bare except for the lacy fingerless gloves adorning your hands and partial forearm. The lower half of your gown free of any restraints as it swishes elegantly with each step, easier done with the two slits running up to your separate thighs. A ribbon and jeweled necklace gently hugging your neck as a creasant moon and sun hangs from the material. Your feet are covered by two comfortable black boots laced in a thin mesh that rides slightly above your knees. It appears that Jaskier may indeed shine with good taste with his clothing choices for yourself, Geralt on the other hand, less so.

Your crimson eyes scan over the other party attendees, some of them giving you double takes as you saunter through the room, your whole pose practically screaming royalty. With a small tug at the corner of your lips you walk next to Geralt's left side while Jaskier restlessly glances around the party goers on his right. You can tell how excited he is to be playing tonight, plus very nervous for the possible angry lords trying to seek him out from his past shenanigans.

"Right, so stick to me, look mean and pretend you're mute. Y/N, just don't make anyone piss themselves. Can't have anyone finding out who you two are." Whispers Jaskier right as a short bearded mage wearing green finds you three in the crowd, you recognize him instantly.

His face lights up at the sight of you and your Witcher, "Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher! And of course, Princess Y/N of Alkatraz, the fearsome dhampir!" He beams with a hearty raise of his silver mug, many banquet attendees turning to stare at you two. You can't help but internally cringe after he loudly announces who and what you are, great now half the banquet knows your business.

"Shit." Whispers Jaskier softly, you nervously smile at some ladies who have turned their done up faces towards you, in turn you make sure to keep your fangy grin hidden as you give them a small friendly half grin.

The bearded mage walks over to you both, a smile upon his face and a drink still in his hand, "I haven't seen you since the plague." He jests at Geralt before turning to you, "And the Vampire Queens only heir, it's an honor, haven't seen the likes of since..."

"Good times, Mousesack." You interrupt with a quick flash of a smile, your eyes darkening for only a second, he shakes his head as a laugh departs from his lips.

"I've missed your strikingly unprecedented temperament my dear princess, and Geralt, how I've longed for that famously sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but not the White Wolf and Lady Dhampir are here, perhaps all is not lost." Declares Mousesack as he eyes up Geralt's formal attire, his brows furrowing in thought, "Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?" You could have laughed if not for the watchful wary gazes around you.

Geralt turns to glare at a fidgety Jaskier, who looks at him like a scared puppy. You watch as Mousesack puts a hand to Geralt's broad shoulder, guiding him away to gossip about the royal attendees in line for princess Pavetta's hand. You decide to keep away from their speaking and instead vouch to wander about on your own. Your eyes scanning the crowd as you eavesdrop in on their conversation across the room.

Minding your business by a flaming warm torch, you suddenly hear what sounds to be a very pissed off older lord who's cornering your retreating bard. Without skipping a beat you look up and lock knowing eyes with Geralt who immediately excuses himself from Mousesack to intervene before Jaskier gets his parts snipped off.

With a snicker you watch as Geralt humorously calms the situation, explaining that Jaskier had his balls kicked in by an ox as a child, the lord suddenly going sympathetic and in turn giving the bard a single golden coin. You smoothly bring yourself over to your boys, your dress flowing beautifully as you walk. But as soon as you rest your lace covered hand upon Geralt's forearm does the sound of trumpets pierce through your sensitive eardrums, the familiar scent of blood flowing into your nostrils.

"All rise for Her Majesty, the Lioness, Queen Calanthe of Cintra!" Shouts a nobleman, you turn your sights upon a blood spattered golden armored woman who practically swaggers into the great banquet hall, a smirk upon her blood spattered face.

Leaning a careless arm against a short marble guard wall, Geralt doing the same to your immediate right, the both of you watch with interest as Queen Calanthe saunters past some tables where she snatches a beer in delight. Your bard gone from you once again as he swiftly walks near the Queen, he places himself near a stone pillar as more musicians follow behind him, his favorite lute in hand and a beaming smile upon his face.

Queen Calanthe continues her walking as she boasts of how close-by townships needed reminding of who really is Queen, her people cheer in pride and gratitude, then to your utter amusement she sasses for Jaskier to play a jig as she struts over to the royal table, where a very anxious looking princess Pavetta quietly sits, tears rising to her enchanted blue eyes.

Nonchalantly you reach over and with a cheeky smile take the beer from out of Geralt's firm grasp, he simply lets go as a humored grin falls onto his handsomely clean face. Then to your usual unvexed temperament, you raise an eyebrow as a rowdy lord begins snapping at another about who's actually managed to slay a manticore or not. In the heat of the moment your ears prick to the whispered gossip being spilt by a woman who's just outed yourself and Geralt as her lips brush past the Queen's ear. So much is happening all at once and those fucking lords won't shut the fuck up.

"Enough!" Shouts the Queen, the lords instantly snapping their heated attentions in her direction, just as everyone else does so and now you're dreading what she's about to say next as she eyes your direction, "We have two renowned guests here tonight." The lot of the banquet hall turning in their chairs to face you and your equally as annoyed Witcher, "Perhaps one of them can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth?" She challenges, a smirk forming onto her lips.

Pursing your lips together in irritation, you watch as the displeased lords turn back to the two of you, "Neither." Answers Geralt bluntly, you cringe inside as the first lord accuses him of calling himself a liar. Great start Geralt, really great start.

The lords face grows in aggravation as he throws a disapproving hand in your direction, "Eh, The Butchers of Blaviken, ha, he bleats utter nonsense." Laughs the lord and the other nobleman around him. You keep your mouth shut as a calm aurora keeps about you, tonight you will not cut anyone's head off, or at least you'll try.

Tension sits high on the air as you wait for Geralt's two cents on the matter, "Perhaps the lords encountered...rare subspecies of manticore." He replies, Jaskier sighing in relief, you doing the same.

The lords nod in agreement as you decide to add something to the matter, "I do not doubt it, those fuckers can be ruthless and tricky in their nature...any dead one is better off then alive." You reply, the lords all nodding in agreement once again as the Queen breaks out into an amused smile.

"Perhaps our esteemed guests would like to entertain us with how they slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" She exclaims with bravado, raising her beer into the air, oh right she hates elves with a burning passion, fucking racist.

"There was no slaying." You deadpan loud enough for the hall to hear, turning your glare to the disappointed lords to save the Queen from your displeasured gaze.

Geralt sensing your resentment comes to your rescue, "I had my arse kicked by a ragged band of elves. My lady Y/N here had to reason with Filavandrel, saving me from a sured demise lest I have had my throat cut." He replies with a nod, the Queen grins as the lords cheer on, wondering about the song considering it tells a different story.

You roll your eyes at their jests, "At least when my blade clashed with Filavandrel's silver, I didn't shit myself." You quip with satisfied smirk upon your lips as their faces fall in embarrassment and irritation, "Which is all I can hope for you, good lords. At your final breath, a shitless death." You conclude with a raise of Geralt's mug, "But I doubt it." You mutter quickly before downing the rest of it. Geralt holding in a chuckle at your side as the lords burst with laughter.

"It would have been your blade at Filavandrel's throat had you been there, Your Majesty." Speaks a man as the crowd cheers, "Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field." The Queen smiles at his boastful words, he looks like an important lord to the Queen, wonder who he is?

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night. Same goes for any lady fierce enough to wield a blade like myself. Come, Witcher and princess Y/N. Take a seat by my side while I change." She smirks with a tilt of her head as you bite the inside of your cheek in growing discontent. This is not how you had anticipated for this evening to go, but honestly when does it ever go your way?

——

Sitting at the high table, Geralt by your side and the Cintran royalty to your farther right past Geralt. You sit in silence as you watch the lords and ladies converse and feast at their tables, your ears listening as Calanthe complains about her dress, probably the only thing you could agree upon. She then speaks of how she's pleasantly grateful for yours and Geralt's company tonight as this way you both are granted permission to remove any irritants from the crowd who may disturb the peace. Your Witcher refusing her just as you do the same when the first of Pavetta's royally dull suitors comes to speak his status and point.

The first eligible contender being a smiling Lord Peregrine of Nilfgaard, he steps into the large center of the room with a smackable cheerful face, his long black hair pulled back into a low pony tail. The little man boasting of his heritage right before Queen Calanthe practically shits all over his name and kingdom. She turns down a couple more as the party continues to carry on for another good twenty minutes. Until Jaskier starts playing The Fishmonger's Daughter very loudly for the whole entirety of the hall to hear. At least the music dulls the million conversations happening amongst the bustling chatty crowd.

You lean into the plush cushion on the back of your seat as the lot of the banquet begins clapping blissfully along. Calathe sighs, "How much more of this peacocking must I endure? This...All this because male tradition demands it. If I were a man, I could simply tell the whole lot of them to fuck off, declare outright who Pavetta should marry and have done with it." She scoffs, "Or, better yet, let the poor girl decide her own fate."

Geralt turns his attention to the bored Queen, "Something tells me this isn't the first time you've navigated the vagaries of male tradition. In fact, I'd wage you thrive on it."

She gifts him a bemused grin, "Spoken as one who has navigated his own share of fools."

"Hm."

"Tell me, Witcher, why are there so few of you left?"

You side eye him as he takes a long pause to think on the depressing matter, both Calanthe and Pavetta listening in on Geralt's slow reply. He sighs, just the breath leaving his mouth enough to speak on his behalf, "It is no longer possible to create more of us, since the sacking of Kaer Morhen." He pauses again, eyes set to the marble floor below, "Tell me, Your Majesty, why do you risk your life on the battlefield when you can rest on your throne?"

"Because there is a simplicity in killing monsters, is there not? Seems we are quite the pair, Geralt of Rivia."

His golden eyes trail from Calanthe to the rest of the party goers, "Hm."

"Now you, princess Y/N, how is it that you have found yourself in the company of a Witcher and his bard? That is a story I would indeed love to hear." Says the Queen as you frown, talking to her is not what you wanted, there's a reason you made Geralt sit in between you both.

"I found them wandering the road like a lost puppy. It would have felt like a crime to leave them there all alone, so here we are." She chuckles at your reply.

"Very well. But I must ask, how is it that you came into my court with malevolent origins infused in your creation, did you not think you'd strike fear into the hearts of my honored guests?"

You turn your focus to the curious Queen who no doubt is testing you, "I am what I am, that I cannot alter nor change as there is no cure. Not that I need one...And your guests, well, if I wanted to gift them with the kiss of death. They would have never made it to your front gates."

She raises a brow, face shifting into a satisfied grin, "I could use someone like yourself in my court, it's too bad, if I had a son. Perhaps our houses could have formed an alliance, now that would secure Cintra with all of the north."

"Too bad indeed." You could have thrown up at the idea of such a ghastly concept, you throw on a fake grin instead, "He'd be a little young for me."

"Would he now?"

Geralt holds back a smile as you look at the Queen from across him, "I am almost five hundred years old after all."

She raises a brow, "I didn't realize dhampirs never aged, I was under the assumption that was just elves and powerful mages."

"It is understandable to be unacquainted with the concept, after all, my kind is incredibly rare."

She leans back in her seat, "Fascinating."

Your scarlet eyes scan the large room as you hope she refrains from asking anymore further questions. When all of a sudden you can hear the clashing of chain mail and swords behind the wooden doors right as they burst open, a lone knight breaking forth into the banquet hall. He calls for everyone to calm down as he hastily walks to the center of the stone mosaic floor, you can tell something is most definitely up with this mystery knight in shining black armor, who's quite literally made a royal welcome.

The black knight stands in the center of the cavernous hall, "Please, I need but one moment of your time." He respectfully kneels before the throne, I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald, and I have come to claim your daughter's hand in marriage." Proclaims the armored man Lord Urcheon, voice loud and true.

The room fills with delicate whispers as the Queens heartrate speeds up with growing tension, "Knight..of no reown...from a backwater hamlet, dares to enter my court without revealing his face?"

"I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell."

"Bollocks to that." Says the Queens favorite lord before briskly walking up to him and forcefully pulling off his helmet to reveal the cursed face of a man resembling that of a hedgehog. Oh yes, tonight is about to get very interesting. You share a quick look with Geralt as your scarlet irises trail all over the knights dark grey colored skin, whiskers, sharp teeth, and pointy spikes protruding out of his head in place of where a full head of hair should be.

The Queens dark eyes go wide in shock, "Witcher, kill it." Urges the Queen breathlessly as fearful tears whell up in her dark eyes.

"No." He replies as she glances over to you, your eyes still locked onto the strange looking knight.

"Y/N, whatever the price."

You shake your head in refusal, "This is no monster."

"I order you." She demands, her voice trembling.

You snap your shinning eyes over to her, "This knight has been cursed. Have you not a heart to hear him out?" You challenge.

Calanthe shares a glare with you before facing Lord Urcheon, "You're both bloody useless." She sneers, pointing at the knight, "Guards! Kill him!" In seconds you watch as Lord Hedgehog or Urcheon, fights off the approaching guardsmen, bringing them down easily as he then faces the Queen once again.

"Lioness of Cintra, I have come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise." He exclaims just as more lords and guards unsheathe their swords as they race over to attack the cursed knight. You watch in astonishment as Lord Urcheon clashes blades with numerous men, all going quite well for him until he's punched in the face, where he abruptly falls to the floor as a trail of blood seeps out from his lips and nose. The furious guard standing at the ready raises his axen spear into the air as he prepares to kill the bested knight.

In a blur of red you're at the cursed knights defense, swinging your stolen sword into the air as your blade cuts the wooden staff in two, the weaponized part conveniently landing into the hands of Lord Urcheon. You growl at the surprised guard, listening to the sound of flesh being cut as Geralt slashes down a man from behind you, who'd just as soon seen you dead. A second later the three of you freeze and glance around the room as everyone stares on in stunned silence, the tension in the room at an all time high.

"Kill them all!" Demands Queen Calanthe as she points to you, Geralt, and Lord Urcheon who's now rising up from the floor. An instant later sounds great battle cries emitting from either side of the room as all hell breaks loose.

Deciding to be a little chaotic for the hell of it, as a man swings his dagger at your head do you immediately shift into a hoard of angry black bats. You can see, hear, and smell everything all at once in a perfect mix of dangerous unison. The men below you have no chance as you storm your way through them, leaving a war path in your wake of blood and broken bones while Geralt fights valiantly through the fearsome angry guards.

Shifting back into your original form, you grab the throat of a young lord who was about to plunge his sword into your side, his eyes going wide before you sucker punch him in the nose, breaking it instantly as he then passes out due to overwhelming pain. Another swings his sword at your arm, missing by an inch as you whip around to throw him across the room and into a marble pillar, his arm breaking in two with a dreadful crack.

"Stop!" Shouts the Queen, in an instant you turn your attention over to Calanthe and Geralt who stand, facing one another defiantly.

The room goes silent as everyone remains at ease with themselves, everyone unsure as to where this is all headed. A second later Pavetta runs down the small stairs as she pulls Lord Urcheon into a tight embrace, okay that is indeed strange. They tightly hug as she scolds him for coming here and not staying away, concluding that there is something most definitely going on here between this odd Lord Urcheon and the princess of Cintra. They soon release one another, sharing one lasting heartfelt look before Urcheon breaks away to cautiously take a step towards the Queen, he then falls to one knee, bowing with respect.

"Your Majesty, the dhampir speaks the truth." He slowly rises, "I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from certain death. By tradition, I chose the Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find...would be mine."

Calanthe sneers, "Oh, the stupid bastard. Better you had let him die!"

"You knew he'd come," Says Geralt, "and you pushed me to kill him."

Eyes of the Queen, Pavetta, Lord Urcheon, Geralt and yourself glance between one another at this revelation for her urgency earlier. Her dark gaze falls onto her daughter, "You...carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!"

"Tis' no swindle." Says her favorite lord, "Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself."

"Don't lecture me, Eist."

"It's an honest gamble. As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup Or...a child of surprise." Nods Eist as Pavetta and Urcheon hold hands, "He could not have known. Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta."

"When I heard King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way, I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise. I knew, I knew no woman would ever accept me like this. So I waited. I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse breaks. I never intended to meet her." He explains to the Queen honestly, dark eyes now focused on Pavetta, "Just from afar."

Pavetta smiles up at Urcheon, "Until destiny intervened and our hearts collided."

"And at dawn, I awoke with her in my arms and me..like this." He says soflty.

Sir Eist steps closer to the deeply conflicted Queen, "Who are we to challenge destiny? Life was saved, debt must be paid, or the whole order of the world falls apart."

Mouseack steps into the spread about circle of the six of you, "Honor destiny's wish, or unleash its wrath upon us." Queen Calanthe looks rather dismal as she glances between all of you standing before her.

"There is no us! I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child! Is there no man amongst you who does not cower before destiny?" Tests the Queen as she turns to Geralt, "You, Witcher...who has known monsters of every fang and claw, are you afraid too?" She smirks.

"No. I've seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the 50 other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny....helps people believe there's an order to this horseshit. There isn't." He concludes with a half smirk, "But a promise made must be honored. As true for a commoner as it is for a queen." Calanthe's eyes whell up with fearful tears as she turns to Pavetta who's eyes fall from her mother to the man by her side.

She looks into the knights dark eyes while resting a comforting hand upon his prickly cheek, "I love Duny, mother." She looks at Calanthe, "I will marry him." Enchanted gaze set back to her cursed lover as she smiles brightly, "I will finally be free."

Everyone looks to the Queen expectantly in this sweet rare moment, she slowly hands over her sword with sad eyes as a single hopeless tear falls onto the floor. She shifts her attention back to Duny as she reluctantly reaches her hand out for him to take her blessing, although you're nervous something more sinister may arise at this interaction.

Your inner thoughts remaining correct as Calanthe pulls away from Duny, a fake smile upon her tearful face as she reveals a sharp hidden dagger from her right hand, time stills as she thrusts it towards his throat in one calculated motion. Your ears suddenly pounding in pain as Pavetta let's out a blood curdling scream that magically launches everyone back in a violent burst of wind, you included. You're quickly airborne, but before you hit the hard back wall you suspend yourself in mid-air, floating above the ground as gusts of wind blows your hair and dress every which way.

Lowering yourself closer to Geralt you watch in bewildered surprise as Pavetta and Duny raise into the air, a cyclone of wind surrounding them as she chants something incomprehensible in elfish.

"The fuck do we do now?" You scream over the loud noise, Geralt purses his lips together before pulling out a tiny glass bottle and downing the potion as he forces his way into the circle where he's able to stop Pavetta. The swirling cyclone of chaos and the two lovers falling to the ground in an instant, the room finally going calm once again.

Still casually levitating next to Geralt, you watch a cautious Calanthe slowly walk over to Pavetta and Duny, he leaves her side as the Queen and princess have a moment together while everyone else in this giant hall gather themselves from off of the ground.

You set your feet to the marble floor, gaze trailing around the destroyed area and all the disheveled guests until you land your sights onto the back of Geralt. A concerned hand lays against his forearm that draws his attention to the left, "Are you alright?"

He gifts you a small grin, "I am fine Y/N."

"You hit the marble pillar pretty hard."

He takes your hand to place a gentle kiss against your knuckles, "Don't worry for me, I am uninjured." You can't help the concerned expression crossing your features, you open your mouth to speak when Calanthe pulls everyones focus yet again.

"Destiny has spoken..and I have listened. The Law of Surprise will be honored." Breaths the Queen, heaviness in her words, "Pavetta will marry Lord Urcheon." She concludes, the room whispering amongst themselves.

"React poorly and you won't just face the Lioness, you will be facing the sea hounds of Skellige. Because Queen Calanthe has agreed to my proposal of marriage." Exclaims lord Eist, the three of them holding hands as they stand side by side.

"There will be two vows tonight! I assume that's agreeable." She shouts, everyone silently giving their nods of agreement, "Delightful." She whispers.

——

Standing around in a large circle, you watch as Calanthe blesses and marries Pavetta and Duny, they kiss and a moment later Duny begins convulsing like he's about to vomit. He falls to the floor with a pained grunt before he suddenly looks up once again, this time appearing rather more human like, the curse seemingly broken.

Him and Pavetta immediately embrace each other once again as she looks at him in confusion, "The twelfth bell has not yet rung." She whispers in astonishment, puzzlement clear on Calanthe's face.

"What has happened?" She wonders.

Mousesack steps forward, "I think your blessing of this marriage has fulfilled destiny...The curse has been lifted." He concludes with a grateful smile at the positive turn of events.

"Whew! I think this has the makings of my greatest ballad yet." Beams Jaskier as a high lady of the court touches his arm, her hands all around him.

You let out an amused snort, "If you're alive in the morning." You mutter before turning to leave, not caring enough to stay for any more action.

Geralt gains the bards attention before existing with you, "Don't...grope for trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn." He advises, taking a couple steps as he trails behind you.

"No, wait! Wait!" Announces Duny as he stands up to look at you and Geralt, "You've both saved my life. I must repay it." He says with a hopeful smile as you walk over closer to Geralt's side.

"You've proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same." Shrugs Geralt, "I want nothing."

You nod, "As do I."

"No, please. Please Geralt of Rivia, my Lady Y/N, do not feel like you're doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt." He says with pleading eyes, perhaps he makes a compelling point.

Letting out an irritated huff of air you shrug, "A single prized weapon will suffice as payment, Lord Urcheon...nothing more is needed." His face breaks out into a satisfied smile as he turns his expectant attention back to your Witcher.

Geralt sighs, "Fine. I...um...claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise." The Queens dark eyes go wide as yours do the same, what the fuck is he doing? "Give me that which you already have but do not know." He ends with before turning his back to the newlyweds and the Queen.

"No! What have you done, Witcher?" Snaps Calanthe as he turns a calm face towards her.

"Fear not, Your Majesty, if I am seen in your kingdom again, it'll be to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu.." Pavetta lets out her dinner onto the floor as she abruptly cuts him off, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what that means.

"Fuck." He mutters as everyone stares at him knowingly, you then nod to the royal family, swiftly turning to make a quick exit, Geralt following your lead as the two of you hastily walk out the wooden doors and into the messy hallway. Mousesack close behind, "Clearly the girl has access to immense primal power." He concludes, causing yourself and Geralt to stop and face him.

"Obviously, and she has no fucking clue how to control it." You deadpan as Mousesack gives a tiny grin.

"I will stay. Guide her." He assures, meaning every word.

Geralt nods, "You're a good man, Mousesack."

The old mage grins, "You both should stay too." He quickly advises, his efforts falling flat, you've already made up your mind.

"This has been enough partying for the two of us. We're getting out of here. Alone." Answers Geralt, the mage wanders closer, a telling look upon his bearded face.

"You're bound to this now, Geralt. Whether you like it or not." Shaking your head you touch Geralt's arm, your crimson eyes finding the old mage's.

"This isn't our problem, we're not here to stay or help anyone....you know us better than that." You add, irritation clear in your voice.

"Yes, I do, but you can't outrun destiny just because you're terrified of it. It's coming either way. Not believing won't change that." Argues Mousesack, he's beginning to grow on your nerves by the second, though he means well you'd rather get your hand smashed by a boulder then stick around for this unborn child of surprise.

Shaking your head, you scoff, "Bullshit. This was just a girl using her magic to stop her mother from killing her lover. Nothing more for us to be concerned about. This is the Continent, weird shit happens all the time." You muse with a shrug.

Mousesack hums, "So you say my dear princess, but the bond that will come into being between Geralt and this child...when it is born, will be extraordinary. If you dismiss it, leave without claiming this...child surprise, you will surly unleash true calamity upon us all." You let go of Geralt's arm as he walks closer to the mage.

"We'll take that chance. Mind yourself. True words are rare birds in courts like this. Watch for daggers in your back. Or, more likely, poison." Warns Geralt as he puts a friendly hand on Mousesack's shoulder, "Be careful, old friend." Sincerity clear in his gravely voice.

Mousesack looks down in disappointment before giving Geralt a downcast farewell, your Witcher handing him a curt nod before turning and walking towards the doors past you. Standing your ground you purse your lips together as you frown at the old mage.

"Y/N, you're both making a mistake....this will not end well for you dear princess, and you of all people should understand that." Urges Mousesack knowingly, further pressing on your buttons at his admittedly truthful words.

Scoffing you frown, "Do not lecture me on the ways of destiny and all that fun magical shit...I know it's cost Mousesack, destiny has never done anything for me in all my four hundred and eighty some years on this fucking Continent." You growl, glaring at the wall before finding his troubled gaze once again.

He gives you a small smile, "I believe destiny has intervened more then you'd know, in ways that you do not understand yet...even for as old as you are." You simply roll your eyes at him.

"God all you mages and wizards are all the same, believing in the first signs of anything enchanting and going with it." You argue, stepping in closer to the breaded man, "I've dealt with your people in the past and have suffered for it..."

"I know of your troubles and trials that have given you a bad taste with them, us, but listen, sometimes you must forget the past and move on for a better future." He softly urges.

Shaking your head you find his pleading eyes again, "May you be the only sensible one then...truth be told you're one of the only mages I could ever stand, but that's not important anymore...I do hope you live long and die on your own accord, but one would be a wise fool to think that my old friend, watch for tricksters in the shadows lest you face a grim end. So long Mousesack, friend from.." You pause, not sure what else to say.

He reaches out to clasp your hands with his, "I know Y/N, although I'm wary we may never see one another again."

Letting out a small laugh you smile, "Maybe you're fucking destiny will say otherwise, farewell, and uh....watch out for your kingdom." He lets go of your hands, with a tiny nod do you turn your back on the greying mage, swiftly exiting through the doors where you find Geralt on the other side waiting patiently for you.

The two of you walk in time with one another, "If we're lucky we'll never see this fucking kingdom again. From fun banquet to child of surprise, Geralt you're really on a roll...gods the both of us. Jaskier's right, we do get involved in everything."

He glances at you, "We should really stop doing that."

"We could live as recluses in the woods and hunt bears for sport, or become pirates", Geralt chuckles at your words, a smile coming to your once frowning face, "Or not, you're not really the pirate type..."

"We could live in Alkatraz, your homeland? I'd give money to see your mothers face the second you brought me home."

You nudge his arm playfully, "My mother? The actual Vampire Queen, meeting a Witcher of all people. You'd maybe make it across the stone bridge leading into the castle before she'd be sending death hounds after you. And my love, they are not cute and cuddly by any means, annoying slobbery bastards more like." He pushes open another door as you walk through after him, "We'll find somewhere, or not...if I'm being honest, I quite enjoy traveling with you. Keeps my life interesting, never know what's going to happen next, and best of all. I have you all to myself."

"Except when Jaskier decides to join us. Some nights I contemplate strangling him in his sleep." You laugh at Geralt's blunt comment, "I've thought about doing that too, although I'd miss fucking around with him too much, he's just so easy to scare. I'll probably end up being the cause of his first grey hair." You muse with a smile, Geralt leading the way out the door and into the cool night air.

You turn to him as you keep pace, "And don't you dare make a jest about you and your white hair."

Geralt smiles down at you, "I wasn't."

"You were thinking it."

He hums, "I'm actually thinking something else, and I would like to tell you when we get back to the tavern." His tone is lower this time, the implications obvious as you gasp and smack his arm.

"Geralt!" He chuckles at how he's already got you flustered, the cheeky little shit, "Well, perhaps I may take you up on that offer. It does sound rather intriguing, then you could finally get me out of these silks and jewels...I bet you'd love that." He raises a brow as you practically purr into his ear.

Though this night may not have ended pleasantly at the banquet, you'd be damned if it didn't end pleasurably on your own terms.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[honey-dewey]

Lightning in a Bottle

Pairing: Trans Fem! Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/GN! Reader

Word Count: 2,484 

Warnings: swearing, homophobia/transphobia, needles, hurt/comfort.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell​

It is week three of pride month! This is the third set of prompts that came from @flightlessangelwings and @autumnleaves1991-blog​ Pride writing prompts! I’ve never written Trans Jack before, and while I would typically headcanon him as trans masc, I thought this would be fun instead. 

Prompts: Glitter and/or “I’ll always be by your side”

You sighed, settled at Jack’s vanity as you organized her makeup. She was a menace when it came to organization, and more often than not, you were the one lining her lipsticks up in front of the mirror and putting the eyeliner pens back in their cup. After two years, you’d think she’d get the hang of this, but you’d be wrong. Even when she was away, like she was now, she couldn’t bother to put anything where it went before she left. You put her brushes back in their proper place in a drawer, absently checking your phone for the time or a text. Jack was due home any minute now, and even though she hadn’t been away for long, her absence had affected you. 

The front door creaked open, and you perked up, turning in the vanity chair so you could pay attention to the sounds coming from downstairs. 

“Hey babe!” Jack’s voice filtered up the stairs, and you smiled, hearing her take her boots off downstairs. “I’m home!” 

Standing, you abandoned the mini project you’d been working on in favor of walking to the top of the stairs to watch Jack shimmy out of her coat and hang her hat up on top of the coat rack. She was a picture of beauty, her back to you as she loosened the top buttons of her shirt and rolled her sleeves up. Turning, she caught sight of you, her face pulling into a wide smile. “There’s my baby!” She said, running up the stairs until she was on the landing. “Come kiss me. I missed you.” 

You ran down the steps, crashing into Jack and wrapping her in a hug. She’d been gone for two days, out on a mission for work. It was only two days, but you’d been grouchier than usual for those two days, and all you wanted was Jack cuddles. “I missed you too baby.” 

Jack scooped you up, carrying you to the bedroom and plopping you down on the bed. As you laughed, Jack pulled her skirt and petticoat off, leaving her in shorts and her button up. You smiled, gesturing her close. Jack didn’t argue, crawling across the bed so she could rest her head on your chest. It took a minute to find the best spot that wouldn’t send any of your limbs to sleep, but when you did find it, you knew Jack wouldn’t be getting up for anything. 

“Did you have fun?” You asked, gently tugging Jack’s hair ties out and undoing her two braids. “Where’d they send you? Wasn’t it Montana again?” 

“It was,” Jack said, eyes closed as you combed through her curls with your fingers. “Still as beautiful as ever. I’m gonna take you for our honeymoon.” 

You chuckled, blinking slowly. “If we ever get married,” you finished. 

“We will,” Jack promised, reaching up and trapping one of your hands in hers. “We absolutely will.” 

Almost an hour passed while you and Jack cuddled, both of you nearly falling asleep until you remembered something. “Ah fuck,” you grumbled, untangling your limbs from Jack’s. “I have to run to the grocery store. I forgot to do it yesterday. I was so hectic with this work thing, and then you called to tell me you were coming home, and it completely slipped my mind.” As you rambled, you pulled on a neater shirt, looking around for your shoes. 

“Can I come?” Jack asked, rolling over and sitting up. 

“When am I ever going to say no to that?” You pointed out, picking up Jack’s skirt and tossing it at her. “But you should probably cover your ass.” 

Jack laughed, leaving her skirt on the bed in favor of scooping up a pair of shorts. She loosely tucked her shirt into her pants, piling her hair up into a claw clip and watching as you finally found your shoes. “Big trip or small trip?” She asked, tossing you a pair of socks. 

“Medium trip,” you said. “I don’t need a ton, mostly just stuff for dinner and the odd thing or two. So we can go to Sam’s.” 

Sam’s market was a tiny mom and pop grocery store that hadn’t changed in decades, but you adored it. It was a ten minute drive, and you and Jack were there in no time. 

“Fucking love this place,” Jack said happily, reaching out to pet Claire, one of the resident cows. “Reminds me of my dad’s ranch.” 

You nodded, grabbing a basket and entering the store. Jack followed, immediately detouring to the pharmacy. You stayed nearby, half listening as Jack picked up her estrogen and made her way back to you. 

“I hate those things,” Jack said, putting her prescription bag in your basket beside a bag of dried apple slices. “They’re super gross.” 

You smiled. “You don’t have to eat them,” you said, linking your arm with Jack’s. “But I like them.” 

The trip around the store was quick, and in no time, you were up at the counter. Sam, the owner, grinned when you two came up. “Haven’t seen you two in a while,” he said. “How’s work?” 

“Good,” Jack said. “Just got back from a business trip, actually. It’s why I’m late on my prescription.” 

“Ah,” Sam said, pulling the bag out of the basket. “Jen was wondering why you hadn’t picked it up yet. It’s all still working out for you?” 

Jack nodded, opening her mouth to say something before a loud snort came from behind her. She turned, and so did you. Behind you was a young man with his arms crossed, looking between the two of you with a grin. “Did I interrupt?” He said in a thick southern drawl. “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Jack said, drawing herself up to her full height and raising an eyebrow. “Do you have something to say?” 

The man shook his head. “Not to you, you freak.” 

Jack blinked, stepping back a tiny bit. She’d been passing consistently ever since her hair got long and she started to hit what she called second puberty, and it was rare anyone was able to tell right off the bat that she wasn’t a biological woman. You stepped in front of her, shielding her from the man. “You leave my girlfriend alone.” 

“That ain’t a girl,” the man jeered. “That’s a man in a skirt.” 

Your jaw clenched, and you were two seconds from punching the man square in the jaw when Sam stepped in. 

“Here are your purchases,” he said, handing you a bag. “And you,” he turned to the man. “Need to leave if you’re going to be harassing my loyal customers like that.” 

Jack gripped your hand as you quietly pulled her towards the truck. She was dead silent as you put your bag in the backseat and slumped over the steering wheel. “You okay?” You asked softly, not wanting to startle Jack. 

She shook her head, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “I just wanna go home,” she said thickly, voice wavering. 

It took all of your willpower not to pull over when Jack’s crying didn’t stop, and when you were finally home, you immediately closed the distance between you and Jack, holding her tight against you. She collapsed into your arms, burying her face in your shoulder and sobbing. You rubbed her back, silently curing the man in the store. 

“Jack?” You said, still holding Jack close. “You know I love you, right? No matter what.” 

“But-“ 

“No.” You pulled away, putting your hands on Jack’s shoulders and making her look at you. “No! I love you, no ifs, ands, or buts. I will always be by your side Jack. I don’t care who you are or what you look like. I love you for you.” 

Jack bowed her head, face hidden by her hair. “You’re sure?” She asked, voice so small you almost didn’t hear her. 

“I’m sure,” you said. “C’mon, let’s go inside. It’s more comfortable than the bench seat of your old ass truck.” 

Jack stood, following you into the house. She trudged up the stairs, still holding your hand as she went. When you dropped the grocery bag by the bedroom door and tugged Jack inside, she didn’t protest, only looked at you, slightly confused. 

“I was going to wait until your birthday, because I know Statesman insists on that huge birthday gala for you,” you said, sitting Jack in her vanity. “But I think you should have this now.”

Jack watched you enter your closet, growing more confused by the second. “What is it?” 

“Close your eyes,” you said, grabbing a hangar. “It’s a surprise!” 

When you peeked out of the closet, Jack had her hands over her eyes, waiting patiently. You hung the hangar on the back of the closet door, smoothing out the garment and moving to stand behind Jack. You took her wrists gently in your hands, smiling. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Jack said, leaning back against your chest. 

You pulled Jack’s hands off her eyes. She gasped almost immediately, seeing the intricate and gorgeous dress hanging in front of her. 

“Happy early birthday,” you said. “I had Ginger help me with things like measurements, but it’s 100% custom made. I figured since you didn’t have a dress for your birthday party, I could get you one. What do you think?” 

Jack was speechless, turning around to hug you. “I love it,” she said, voice tight with emotion. “It’s perfect.” 

You smiled, kissing Jack’s cheek. “Every woman should have a fancy evening dress that makes her feel like royalty. Wanna try it on?” 

Jack was incredibly eager to put the dress on. You ushered her into the bathroom, carrying the dress and handing it to her as she ducked behind a privacy divider. 

“Oh my god!” You heard her say after you heard the zipper pulling shut. “It fits perfectly!” 

“Do you want shoes?” You asked, still not peeking around the divider. 

Jack was quiet for a minute. “Yeah. Those white ones.” 

You knew exactly what she was talking about and grabbed the aforementioned white shoes. Handing them to Jack, you waited while she finished getting dressed, barely managing to contain your patience. When you finally heard her heels on the tile, you looked up, fully breathless as Jack stepped out from behind the divider. 

She was gorgeous. The dress hugged her in all the right places, conforming to the curve of her waist and the slope of her hips as if it were a second skin. The heart shaped neckline and thin straps showed off what you and Ginger had both agreed was a very professional amount of skin, but still enough to make Jack feel sexy. The top of the dress was beaded with shimmering beads, each one catching the light and making Jack seem positively radiant. Even with minimal makeup and her hair haphazardly tossed up, she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

“Oh Jack,” you said, standing in front of her. “I don’t- I can’t. You look. I don’t even have the words to say how beautiful you are.” 

Jack smiled, swishing the dress. “I love it,” she said softly. “Thank you. I feel like a princess.” 

“You look like a queen,” you breathed, putting your hands on Jack’s sides. “God above you look stunning.” 

You two stood there for a while, just holding each other, until Jack pulled away to take the dress off. You watched her go, silently gathering her pyjamas, knowing she’d want them. When you were done, you headed out of the bedroom, intent on putting away the groceries that had been left out in your eagerness to show Jack her dress. 

Jack came trailing down the stairs after ten minutes, wearing her Hello Kitty pyjama pants and an old Statesman distillery shirt that was a size too big. You kissed her and handed her a bag of apples as she entered the kitchen. “Put these away please?”

“Sure thing,” Jack said, moving around you to put the apples in the fruit bowl. “Can you grab my medicine?” 

You reached around Jack and grabbed her estrogen bottle and a syringe. She hopped up on the counter, tugging up one of her pant legs to give you easier access to her thigh. After having been shot multiple times, often fatally, needles were something Jack didn’t even blink at. Giving Jack her estrogen had been something you’d had to work up to in the first year, but now you could do it with ease. 

“Ready?” You asked, holding up the syringe. “Three, two,” you pushed the syringe into Jack’s leg. “One!” 

Jack made a face at you as you disposed of the syringe and pressed a Disney princess bandaid to the tiny puncture wound. “Your bedside manor is horrible. Could’ve at least waited until you said one to stick me.” 

You laughed. “You say that every time!” You said, taking Jack’s hands and helping her off the counter. “Bake Off or Friends?” 

“Can we watch Friends?” Jack asked eagerly, following you to the couch and grabbing the TV remote. “I’m in the mood to laugh.” 

“We can watch Friends,” you said, snuggling up next to Jack. “I’ll never say no to Friends.” 

While Jack cued up the show, you fell against her shoulder, already feeling sleepy. In a few hours, you’d have to get up and make dinner, and Jack probably had a report to write on her mission, but for now, it was completely calm in the house.

At some point during the second episode you watched, you must’ve fallen asleep, because one minute, you were sleepily watching Friends, and the next, you were opening your eyes to Jack holding two bowls of her famous cowboy mac-and-cheese. You sat upright, accepting the bowl with a small pout. “I was gonna make dinner.” 

“But you didn’t,” Jack pointed out, sitting beside you and taking a bite. “I swear, this gets better and better the more I make it.” 

“Don’t tell Tequila,” you said. “He would kill a man for this bowl of food.” 

Jack laughed. “He would,” she agreed. “Did you have a good day today?” 

“My girlfriend came home,” you said sweetly. “Of course I had a good day. What about you?” 

“Hm,” Jack hummed, pretending to think. “Well, I got to see my beautiful partner again, so that was good. But then a raging asshole yelled at me, and that was bad. But the dress made up for it, so all in all, a good day.” 

You smiled, leaning against Jack and gesturing to the TV. “I’m glad you had a good day. More Friends to finish it off?” 

“You know me so well,” Jack said happily, taking the remote again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you said, turning your attention mostly to the TV. “No matter what.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: 手下留情

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian

Additional Tags: Introspection, Grief/Mourning, Gossip, Anger, Getting Together, Conversations, Chief Cultivator Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén in Seclusion, Cultivation Sect Politics

Summary: Wei Wuxian had been back in the Cloud Recesses a week when he first heard the gossip. He was only somewhat surprised—if any rule was going to be broken, that one would be first anywhere. The cultivation world loved gossip, and even if the Lan sect was founded by a monk, his descendants weren’t all ascetics by any definition despite their airs.

Notes: The title is an idiom that often means “do not judge me too harshly.” Initially I imagined this fic would be Lan Xichen-centric from Wei Wuxian’s perspective, but it went in a different direction. I’m not unhappy with it. 

AO3 link

-----------

Wei Wuxian had been back in the Cloud Recesses a week when he first heard the gossip. 

He was only somewhat surprised—if any rule was going to be broken, that one would be first anywhere. The cultivation world loved gossip, and even if the Lan sect was founded by a monk, his descendants weren’t all ascetics by any definition despite their airs. 

The surprise was in the content: that Zewu-Jun’s seclusion was bitterly scorned by the Lan elders and Lan Qiren in particular, that his mourning was seen as distasteful.

In particular, that it had been compared to Lan Zhan’s mourning of him, something still seen as distasteful. 

He wanted to rail at all of them for their audacity but knew it would change nothing. 

It had taken him most of the afternoon, several hours amongst the bunnies, to calm down. 

He still wasn’t calm when Lan Zhan found him, and his zhiji could see right through his smile, his gaze immediately questioning the reason for his upset. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan. I just didn’t know they disdained your right to grieve,” he finally said, letting the smile fall away when it was clearly ineffective. 

Tension immediately made Lan Zhan’s stance almost taut, like a bow. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to say, but that had never stopped him before. Rambling allowed him to make his point more often than not. 

“Would they decry Lan An for returning to the temple?” he mused. “If it happened today, would they quote that rule, ‘Do not grieve in excess,’ like it has any meaning at all? He became a monk the rest of his life, after all.”

He watched as Lan Zhan carefully folded himself to sit nearby amongst the bunnies, but barely paused. 

“Honestly, who decides what ‘excess’ is? Who gets the right to arbitrarily decide someone else’s grieving is enough? Someone whose only claim to fame is living longer? It’s mind-boggling, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan made no reply, except to manifest his guqin and begin playing ‘Clarity’—the real one, not the twisted one Wei Wuxian had seen in Chifeng-Zun’s memories during ‘Empathy’—as though it could help settle his turmoil. 

He kind of hated that it worked. 

Wei Wuxian let the music fill the air, taking the place of his words for a few minutes, letting it settle him because he knew it would please Lan Zhan. 

“They say you grieved over a decade for a heretic, for someone unworthy of mourning, a scourge whose death was a relief, wearing only white all that time, and that Zewu-Jun does the same.”

It was nothing he hadn’t heard before about himself. That it was used to disparage Lan Zhan he could not abide. That the same description was applied to Jin Guangyao, a villain of the cultivation world’s own creation, their biases and hideous pride twisted into a creature whose instincts at self-preservation had been learned through trauma…

The cultivation world believed the death of Meng Yao (as they had oft started to refer to him publicly, as though the corruption of the Jin hadn’t honed him) had excised the evil from themselves, when the truth was that he had just been the visible tumor—one they’d grown themselves. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know if Lan Xichen was mourning Jin Guangyao, Nie Mingjue all over again, or both. Or maybe he could see the infection spread across the cultivation world and grieved for that. 

He’d long had time to come to terms with it, himself. It wasn’t that he saw himself in Meng Yao or Xue Yang, not that he understood their actions. But he understood how they had been created. He’d had his whole death to come to terms with it, even if he didn’t remember it, and a year besides. 

His plan initially upon his return had been to resolve the curse and then leave it all behind. 

But ultimately he couldn’t leave Lan Zhan. 

A discordant note interrupted his zhiji’s playing, rippling through the air with a shiver. It resonated in the air, followed by silence. 

“It is true,” Lan Zhan said into that silence. “What they say.”

Wei Wuxian had left many things unsaid between them, a knot of tension between them that neither of them had time to unravel before he’d set off with Little Apple, parting atop a foothill. 

Lan Zhan had agreed to be Chief Cultivator, and the Yiling Patriarch’s presence would detract from the job he had to do. If anyone stood a chance of saving the cultivation world from itself, it was him. 

And Wei Wuxian… He wasn’t quite sure the cultivation world could be saved, or that it really deserved to be. So he had set off to be among the common people, to see the light among them that cultivators were supposed to protect and nurture. 

He hadn’t had the energy to try to untangle the knot. Not then. 

“All those years?” he asked. 

He wasn’t able to keep his voice from breaking at the idea of Lan Zhan waking up every day to that magnitude of grief. If it had been Lan Zhan who had died, he isn’t sure he could have survived it. 

After all, he hadn’t survived his grief over Jiang Yanli’s death. 

“I had A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan said, his voice soft. “And if I worked to make the world better, make it brighter…”

Wei Wuxian could hear the sentiment unspoken. That maybe he would come back. And it makes his initial thoughts upon his resurrection all the more painful to remember, that he wished to leave his zhiji in his grief, even unknowing. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Between us—”

“I know. But still.”

Lan Zhan turned to him, and Wei Wuxian felt pierced by his gaze.

“I have never blamed you.”

“I know,” he said again. 

He felt a bit like they were on a precipice, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to go over. Maybe it was inevitable, but right now…

“You had the right to grieve. Your brother has the right to grieve. Fuck them for criticizing either of you for it.”

Lan Zhan inclined his head in agreement. For a while they sat quietly, the bunnies hopping around them contentedly. 

“You know, you’re acting sect leader. The last acting sect leader added like a thousand rules because he was pissed at one person,” Wei Wuxian said casually. “One defining excess wouldn’t be out of line, would it?”

A huff of quiet laughter told him his point had been made. 

The gentle sound of the guqin rose again, this time the song Wei Wuxian still didn’t know the title to, an invitation to ask. 

He took it, and the knot unraveled with a single word. 

The Cloud Recesses would wake to two new rules engraved in the wall, one flawlessly carved to replace the one about not speaking to Wei Wuxian.

Do not be petty. 

Do not criticize the emotions of others.

It would not stop the gossip, but despite the rage of the elders in general and Lan Qiren in particular, no fault could be found with these particular additions, aside from an insistence that the rules were themselves somehow petty. 

Honestly, the blindness of old men…

They were less happy with Lan Zhan’s announcement that he was courting the Yiling Patriarch, either, which took the focus off the new rules and Zewu-Jun rather nicely. 

Despite Lan Xichen’s self-imposed seclusion, Wei Wuxian made it a point to sit outside his door daily thereafter and tell him about one of the people he had met on his journey, each one having helped restore his faith that there was good in the world. 

He tried not to be excessively pleased with himself when Zewu-Jun eventually opened the door. 

[augment-techs]

I DON'T KNOW HOW THE WRITING PROMPT MEME WORKS REALLY

but it's WAYYYY too CUTE to not do. Sooooo how about I toss ya some numbers! ^^

Hand holding: 12 and 10! 33,

Hugs: 2, 18, 27

Hope it isn't too much!!! ^^

Kim was emotionally fluctuating between feeling sorry for Tommy, and trying not to go into shock whenever she walked into a room and found her older, alternate universe, badass-self kissing an older, Coinless General Bulk. Watching them seemed more perfect than she might have dared hope for whatever fate was allotted to the Ranger Slayer. When they'd first dropped into their Command Center and explanations had been given, Alpha had allowed Bulk to lead his Kimberly to the medical bay, and Kim had followed after them in case they got lost. Bulk was incredibly good with the damaged woman that could probably beat him into the ground at any moment. Kimberly hadn't even huffed when he'd offered her a piggy-back ride and then insisted on bandaging up her hand that'd been cut open when she'd gone after Tommy and he'd had to defend himself with Saba. He'd sterilized the wound, wrapped it tight but not without sympathy and hadn't bothered untangling their fingers or letting go when they'd wandered back into the room Zordon occupied so they could all talk and argue and occupy themselves with searching the data banks for ways out and locating their other friends for hours. The kissing was on the extreme end of their affections, though. In the days that followed, Kim didn't see them lock lips as often, as they usually found themselves training or cooking or reading with just one hand, as the other one was invariably found more often holding onto the other; like two magnets that would always find themselves connected if given enough time.  It was, admittedly, adorable as anything she could have imagined, but still a surprise she couldn't help but balk at. Tommy underwent the same amount of shock with the random displays of affection that he often stumbled into with Kim, but he had more pressing issues: when he left to walk into a room with one of the Coinless universe alters, he always had to keep his movements to a minimum, hands far away from his pockets, and eyes to the ground. With the older Trini, Zack, and Bulk, it wasn't so bad; with the Omega Rangers out in space and their history with this smaller Tommy helping them before Drakkon shattered the Morphin Grid, they were more willing to acknowledge that the evil despot and the teen weren't the same. With those Coinless who had never been Rangers--Rocky and Aisha in leather and combat armor with battle scars, had looked very shocked when they'd met their younger selves in Ranger gear, Adam being given the oddest looks from the elders--it was much harder, because they hadn't even spoken to Tommy. And they'd all been dumped through a hole in space and time that the Eltarians and Zedd had caused when Zelya had gotten away from the moon, so everyone was still reeling--especially with them being separated into three groups around Angel Grove. Perhaps they'd make up their minds when the stragglers from Drakkon's universe arrived at the Command Center... * * "He's very strong, and very sure, but he's no Drakkon." "No offense, Skull, but how--" "Could I know that?" The spy--spy, spy, actual double agent who had to relay messages and blend into the background and not die a horrible painful death at the slightest misstep, how the fucking hell--smiled with benevolent pragmatism. Rocky nodded, mouth tightening into a line as Aisha stood her own ground in their questioning. They would have loved not to have come to such an awkward position with having to use Skull to calm down their worries, put them to bed, and smother them to death, but they couldn't find solace and reassurance in Zack and Trini's words and it didn't seem fair to keep putting the kids in defense positions just because they could calm the fuck down. Skull flicked his hand open and made a motion for Tommy to come closer to him, which he did with only a slight hesitation. He wasn't wearing his suit, but Skull had been the only person so far from the other dimension who hadn't looked at him and gone fully rigid, so he had a good sporting chance of not being injured here. When he was only a

step or two from walking directly into Skull, the man offered up his open palm, harmless and dangerous at the same time, and Tommy blinked, unsure and afraid, before deciding it was better to get everything that was going to happen one way or another out of the way. He lifted up his own hand and laid it flat in Skull's. There was dirt under his pointer finger and he only had a single twitch of a moment to be embarrassed before the much bigger fingers circled his wrist and wound around his knuckles, brought his hand upwards, as if he was little more than an infant fresh from a tub, or a sun warmed kitten.  Tommy felt a coil behind his belly bunch up all of his nerves at once when Skull's fingers slotted between his own in a possessive kind of way that sparked familiar-unfamiliar thoughts--those all fading away when the man kept their palms together and brought his head down, breathing out like a gust of a train through a mountain pass, and inhaling at Tommy's wrist. Nose tip to his skin raising all the goosebumps Tommy thought he even had. He's pretty sure his ponytail sparked at the end when he jerked a little back. Which swiftly brought him to absolute internal humiliation that showed across his face like a goddamn Muppet. Just because he'd seen that Skull let the Coinless drink his blood right from his finger and they all ate it in bread and stuff after he'd let a tube from his arm pour into the batter of whatever he made them, didn't necessarily mean the man would bite him. ...He hoped. Then, as if that hadn't been the weirdest thing, Skull lifted his head to grin at him, but didn't let go of his hand as the man addressed Rocky, Aisha, and all the other adults--and Tommy was too confused to ask him to let go, so... there was that, "He doesn't smell like he's rotting from the inside; like he needs to be wearing five layers of Axe Body Spray. And he isn't getting all put-upon and squirrely with me holding onto him. And, if you'll humor me a moment?" He was looking at Tommy directly at the last bit, but didn't let the teen answer before he found himself being wrapped in arms that had way more muscle than Skull had any right to have in any universe holy hell--and Tommy was suddenly in a bear hug, feet off the ground and spun around twice as much as he had ever been even at five years old; three times around and around, before he was planted on the couch like a sack of flour right next to Kim (his Kim, who looked utterly stunned and far too amused). The giggle that left his mouth when he smiled at her smiling at him should not have come into existence, and if he hadn't been red before, he was practically blazing as he brought his hands up to cover his mouth.  Skull's hand patted him on the head as he ducked his head as much as possible at the sounds of snickering and the other adults choking on their own reactions. He definitely felt like a kitten. "See? Totally harmless to us. Now let them take us to the Juice Bar and feed us; I'm hungry and Ernie's alive here to make me that banana-marshmallow smoothie I haven't had in over a decade." * "I...played the right politics." It would have been so fucking nice if Billy would stop asking Skull questions about the past and present the Coinless had to live through. He didn't mean to make the adults with faces he knew and worried over angry or tired, but Adam was getting very, very annoyed with how he always seemed to find the core root of things that made Skull look... All the emotion left Skull's face at that word, every single time. Politics, like a euphemism for something else entirely.  (And it was.) Adam remembered, because he was there when Zack and Trini, Aisha and Bulk, Rocky and the others weren't; inside the fortress Drakkon ran and imbibed in terrorizing whenever he got especially bored. The monster loved to play games with his sentries, with his prisoners, but rarely with his staff, because it took time and effort to train up new ones. But the sentries were his favorite, because they had to prove their loyalty each and every day. Some in

little ways, some in big ways. And Drakkon remembered Skull. Zack and Trini hoped he wouldn't, and Skull, when he was giving help and clues and time that he could to them, made it seem as if he never even crossed Drakkon's mind from being a punk that wore a spiked collar back in high school to becoming one of the higher-functioning members of the red sentries. Oh, being a spy made him so good at pretending nothing was wrong, how to be cool under pressure, how to avoid danger on all sides with one way out or none at all; how to think ahead, think like his opponent, pull facts and plans out of instinct and thin air (because what other choice was there, after all). That was why he was the best; probably why, too, he was revived from death by the universe and multiverse reshaping itself with the Grid's renewal. Politics translated so well to Games in Drakkon's palace. (It was amazing how often the horrible bastard made the sentries fight or fuck each other in his presence; the threat of his being displeased getting them through most of the time, and out the door when he was finished with himself to go vomit or find a shower or smoke so many cigarettes. As far as Adam knew, Skull was one of the very rare few who were made to fight or pleasure Drakkon himself. Skull and Adam and one yellow sentry that died before Kim returned to their world. If Kim was ever made to do as they were, she didn't tell or didn't remember, and Adam was thankful for that. And thankful for Skull. When he fought other sentries, he injured with care to avoid it being permanent or knocked out the other in a show of force that Drakkon appreciated that didn't lead to brain damage but made a good show. When he was made to fuck the others, he carried necessary aids to protect them from hating themselves or leaving much of a trace behind--condoms made from animal skin by Finster-5 he bribed out of the little freak; lubricant so there wouldn't be blood or bruising; an aptitude for pleasing other people as thoroughly and as quickly as he could while being on top and leading them through it with hands calloused but still soft. When he had to use his mouth on Drakkon or submit to the tyrant--often in front of others and while being degraded with his real name being used like words from a djinn or an immortal snake--he did so efficiently and made it seem as though he wasn't being forced at all.  Adam hated Drakkon more than anyone those times he had to be there and watched Skull pull his armor back on and resume his place in line among the other sentries like nothing had happened. He hadn't known him before the world came crashing down, but before he'd traded his loyalty for the hope that his family might survive--what a stupid hope that had been--he'd heard that the man had cried over Billy Cranston's gave for a week after his death and been good.) But this small, wide-eyed Billy Crantson, alive and well and looking at Skull with so much awe and respect that Adam could spot it from a mile away if he was goddamn blind, didn't need to hear that. Did not need the thought in his head like a rotting wound festering with so many white little maggots. So Adam continued sipping his coffee (pumpkin spice; which was so fucking good after years of straight, bitter instant black) and remained in his usual place beside Skull in the daytime, watching him go through the motions in this time out of joint from their own. Gladder still to be in the Juice Bar, watching the teens enjoy themselves, play at their video games, ramble on about tests they had to take in school; watch the Coinless eat their food and drink their smoothies, enjoy watching their young reflections practice gymnastics or martial arts. When Billy excused himself to talk to the Stone Canyon Trio about some notes they'd asked for from Ms. Appleby's class, eyes still sparkling with information given and listening to Skull like he would have listened to him even if he knew everything out of his mouth could have been a lie; nobody saw Adam wrap an arm around Skull's waist and squeeze

him from the side. It was just as well.

[jaskierswolf]

H/C: Geralt knows how to do Ciris hair so well because he spent years holding Lambert still next to the fire taking the knots out of his hair and brushing through it until the soft ringlets were perfect. He absolutely grumps the whole way. When Lambert's out training/working he doesn't brush it and Geralt spends all winter at Kaer Morhen making his hair soft/shiny and pretty each year again hahaha

So.... I don’t ship them, but I had feelings about this apparently. So have some hair grooming (feat. purring Lambert because reasons).

_____________________

The witchers were ruthless monster killers. They were almost as bad as the monsters they hunted. That’s what people said and that’s what people believed. Outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, perhaps they were correct, but inside the great witchers’ keep was a different story all together.

Inside the keep they were safe. Inside the keep they were home, and they worked hard to preserve their home and their safety. Vesemir was a hard taskmaster during the cold winter days but once the sun had set behind the snowy mountains, the wolves could relax.

“Fuck off.” Lambert snapped as Geralt rolled his eyes and forced the redhead to sit at his feet in front of the fireplace.

Geralt no longer bothered to argue with Lambert. They had been doing this for years now, and still Lambert protested every time. He would grunt and grumble for hours afterwards but Geralt had caught him looking in the mirror, admiring his reflection. He would also probably stab Geralt if he were to tell anyone else of that little fact.

Until a couple of decades ago Geralt would have agreed with Lambert. His own long hair had been matted and tattered more often than not before a certain bard had shown up. Jaskier had insisted on brushing Geralt’s hair almost every evening on the days that they travelled together. He said it helped to calm his mind, but really Geralt was sure that Jaskier couldn’t bear to travel with Geralt when he looked like he’d never seen a bath in his life.

Geralt had also protested, like Lambert, at first. The casual intimacy of the act had been… difficult, but he soon learned to relax under Jaskier’s nimble fingers. He was able to find peace whilst Jaskier combed the knots and dirt from his hair. It felt good. The warm touch of a friend without the expectation of anything more. So after a few years he’d introduced hair grooming to the wolves of Kaer Morhen.

Eskel had been confused but had soon come around to the idea. Lambert had been a different story but Geralt had persisted. Apart from him, Lambert had the longest and messiest hair. It took the most time to untangle and Lambert pretended to hate every second, but Geralt knew it was just an act. If the redhead was tired enough then Geralt’s attention to his long ginger curls would be enough to make the witcher purr under his fingers.

“Sit.” He said firmly.

“We are not doing this!” Lambert groaned and tried to pull away from the chair, but Geralt gripped Lambert’s shoulders between his thighs to keep him in place. “I don’t need you to brush my hair, White Wolf!”

“You never do it yourself. You’re a mess.” Geralt rolled his eyes as he began to work, starting at the ends and pulling apart the worst knots with his fingers. After that was done then he would move onto the brush.

“I’m a witcher. No one gives a shit.” Lambert growled.

Geralt smirked. They’d washed Lambert’s hair the night before so it was still soft under his fingers. It smelt faintly of the chamomile oil that Geralt had swiped from Jaskier’s bags before he’d left for Oxenfurt at the start of winter. Luckily, Lambert’s work for the day hadn’t dirtied his hair too much, so it was just a matter of getting the knots out.

If Jaskier were here then the fiery witcher would probably have ended up with a braid along the side of his hair. He should be grateful for that.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you bother.”

“Hmm.” Geralt answered, reaching for the brush in his lap. Again, he started at the ends, gradually brushing higher as the knots fell out. Lambert’s shoulders sagged as he finally started to relax. At this point, Jaskier would normally start singing. Geralt still hadn’t built up the confidence to try that and he was pretty sure that his voice would have the opposite effect to Jaskier’s voice. He stayed silent instead.

“It doesn’t even look good.” Lambert muttered weakly. His breathing had now also relaxed and was getting deeper by the second. Geralt chuckled under his breath. He combed out the last few knots before carefully setting the brush aside. He licked his lips, debating whether to push his luck. Lambert was more relaxed than he had been all winter and Geralt was certain that he could draw out a few purrs from the redhead.

“Doesn’t feel good either.” Lambert half sighed.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the redhead even though he couldn’t see it. He took a deep breath and started to thread his fingers through Lambert’s hair, right by the roots, massaging the scalp just like Jaskier did when they travelled together. He knew this felt good. He knew Lambert was lying.

“Geralt, the fuck…” The protests died on Lambert’s lips, morphing into a contented hum. “Fine. Whatever.”

Geralt relaxed and continued to pull through the long strands of hair, gaining more confidence in his movements with every second that passed. It didn’t take long until he was rewarded by a low purr as Lambert finally leaned back against his touch.  

“It’s winter.” Geralt murmured in a soft voice. “We can relax, Lambert.”

Lambert didn’t answer this time, purring softly under Geralt’s fingers until he fell asleep by the fire.