#Yeah we might be back on my sad posting streak

[lament1ng-luxcubus]

God this is too much, I really can’t function like a normal person right now urghhh.. I need my heart to be ripped out my body so I can’t feel anymore

[ghostpebble]

SONIC MOVIE 3 SPOILERS AND RANT BELOW :)

SOBBING. SOBBING. SOBBING. WATCHED IT YESTERDAY AND I WAS CRYING THE WHOLE MOVIE BECAUSE THEY USED IT. THEY USED LIVE AND LEARN. AND NOT JUST ONCE. A MOTIF. THEY GAVE SHADOW A LIVE AND LEARN MOTIF. I AM EXTREMELY INDESCRIBABLY HAPPY. LET'S FUCKING GO

PLUS: EGGMAN'S MOTIF!!! IT WAS HERE!! THEY USED IT!! AND IT WAS ORCHESTRAL. BEAUTIFUL.

SONIC'S ESCAPE FROM THE CITY PLAYED, TOO, BUT NOT AS CONSISTENTLY. BUT ALSO, WHOEVER WROTE IN HAVING SONIC SAY "FOLLOW ME" UH HUH. I SAW YOU. YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE AND I LOVED IT

I WANT THE DONUT LORD SWEATER. THAT NEEDS TO BE MERCH. I DONT CARE HOW MUCH IT IS. IF SOMEONE MAKES IT DM ME I WANT ONE THANK YOU

SPEAKING OF DONUT LORD. I KNEW THEY WOULDN'T KILL HIM OUTRIGHT BUT OH MY GOD WAS I CONFLICTED. BECAUSE ON ONE HAND, OH MY GOD. SHADOW JUST BROKE LIKE ALL OF TOM'S RIBS. NO PLEASE NO. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND... OH MY GOD. YES. THIS WILL BE PERFECT FOR SONIC AND SHADOW'S PARALLEL.

AGAIN, SPEAKING OF: PARALLELS, SPECIFICALLY THE TIME HOPS IN SHADOW'S MEMORIES OF MARIA. BRUTAL. CRIED THE WHOLE TIME. THAT RECORD PLAYER ONE REALLY GOT ME. GOD DAMN. PLUS, THE PARALLELS FROM TOM'S HEART TALK THE ENTIRE MOVIE AND ESPECIALLY THE MOON SCENE. CRYING. I KNEW IT THE WHOLE TIME BUT STILL. CRYING.

ALSO, OPEN YOUR HEART. SPEAK WITH YOUR HEART. WE'RE WINNING

DAMN: WHY DID EGGMAN GET TO SAY DAMN BUT NOT SHADOW

AND ALSO, NO FAKER! THERE WAS THE CONVO ABOUT WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE ME, BUT NO FAKER :(( MAYBE NEXT TIME

I MIGHT BE REMEMBERING WRONG, IT MIGHTVE BEEN FROM THE KNUCKLES SERIES I WATCHED BEFORE, BUT OH MY GOD. THE WACHOWSKI KIDS' BEDS. KNUCKLES AND SONIC IN THEIR CARS ARE CUTE, BUT OH MY GOD TAILS AND HIS AIRPLANE.

OSSIE!! MORE OSSIE!! LOVE OSSIE. THANK YOU

CHAO GARDEN! AGENT STONE BEING A BADASS CONSISTENTLY. I LOVED AGENT STONE THIS WHOLE MOVIE. HE REALLY GOT A LOT OF DEVELOPMENT. LOVE HIM. ALSO A LITTLE SAD SONIC DIDN'T END UP WEARING A SPEED OR DARK CHAO MASK TO LOOK LIKE HIMSELF OR SHADOW, MISSED POTENTIAL :( STILL FUNNY

WALTERS' DEATH WAS UNEXPECTED TO ME NGL, JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SO ABRUPT. LIKE... OKAY. I GUESS. COOL. MAN'S DEAD.

THE MARIA BEING PULLED BY SHADOW ON SKATES. EVERYTHING MARIA. EVEN WITHOUT THE ILLNESS, THAT WAS THE PERFECT MARIA AND SHADOW DUO. YES

TBH, I LIKED THE GERALD AND IVO DUO. IT WAS SILLY. THEY WERE THE COMEDY IN AN OTHERWISE VERY HEAVY MOVIE STILL SOMEWHAT AIMED AT KIDS. SOME THINGS HAD ME LAUGHING BECAUSE IT WAS SO WRONG, LIKE THE SPANKING AND HOW GERALD JUST GOT ZAPPED LIKE A FLY IN AN ELECTRIC SWATTER. ALSO, EASY TO EXPLAIN GERALD'S AGE, HE KEPT LICKING SHADOW'S QUILL, WHICH IS LIKELY WHAT KEPT HIM ALIVE SO LONG. SO YEAH. I DIDNT THINK IT WAS BAD, MAYBE A LITTLE WEIRD, BUT THATS THE ROBOTNIK FAMILY'S THING

SHADOW'S "BOO." ENOUGH SAID

DID SHADOW REALLY HAVE TO SLAM SONIC'S FACE INTO THE GLASS LIKE THAT LMAO

ALSO SHADOW KICKED TAILS!!! THE STREAK CONTINUES

IT IS NOT LOST ON ME THAT SONIC'S POV BEGINS AT HIS B-EARTH-DAY PARTY. FUN REFERENCE TO GENERATIONS

LIVE AND LEARN. STILL HAPPY. JUST WANTED TO SAY IT AGAIN. THE WHOLE DOUBLE SUPER SCENE AND THEIR OWN FIGHT AND THE FIGHT AGAINST THE BOTS. EVERYTHING. PERFECTION. SOBBED. THE SUN RISE AND LOVE STILL EXISTING EVEN AFTER THE SOURCE IS GONE LIKE THE LIGHT. STILL SOBBING

THE WAY THEY HAD ROBOTNIK LEFT ON THE STATION LEAVES ME TO BELIEVE THEY LEFT IT OPEN ENDED ON IF HE LIVED SO THAT JIM CARREY HAD THE OPTION TO COME BACK, AND THATS FINE BY ME :)

PISSED ON THE MOON AND THE BROADCAST?? AND IT WAS A BROADCAST FOR STONE SPECIFICALLY??? WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

SHADOW'S INHIBITORS. YES. HIM FALLING TO EARTH, ALTHOUGH DIFFERENT FROM THE GAME. YES. YES. YES.

1ST POST CREDIT OF METAL SONIC AND THE MISS AMY ROSE. HELL YEAH. IM SO HYPED. METAL LOOKS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AND AMY IS SO CUTE. WONDERING HOW THAT'LL LEAD INTO THE NEXT MOVIE THOUGH?? WHO KNOWS

2ND POST CREDIT WITH PARALLELS?? WITH SHADOW LANDING ON EARTH IN A FIELD ALL ALONE FOR A SECOND TIME, THIS TIME MAYBE AMNESIAC AND HAVING TO ADJUST TO EARTH AGAIN?? OH MY GOD?? I WAS SO HAPPY THEY DIDN'T END UP JUST KILLING HIM OFF, ALTHOUGH IT WOULDVE BEEN REALLY GOOD. IF HE HAD DIED THOUGH, HE PROBABLY WOULDVE GOTTEN A LAST WORD IN TO MARIA ANYWAY, BUT STILL GLAD HE'S IN IT TO WIN IT

PLUS SHADOW SPIN OFF SERIES!! AND NEXT MOVIE IN 2027. THANK YOU KEANU FOR MAKING OUR FIRST MOVIE DREAMS COME TRUE, THANK YOU SONIC MOVIE TEAM, THANK YOU ALL CAST

THIS WAS MY TED TALK THANK YOU FOR READING

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

september 1, 2021 6:15 p.m. basil's restaurant

ten minutes ago

[ktmurphy86] i might be a few minutes late, but i'm almost there.

grant scrolls through the metric ton of messages piling up in his notifications until he reaches the very end, and with a lump in his throat, opens it to respond. or like it. or send a thumbs up like a cool cucumber.

baby steps, he tells himself. one task at a time. the responses to all the messages from family, friends, and former co-workers inquiring about his exam results will come later.

just meet your sister first and–

“you seem different.”

he nearly jumps out of his skin as kelly’s high-pitched voice supersedes his thoughts.

“hopefully in a good way,” grant replies, looking up as he slides his phone off the table and into his back pocket.

it’s been nearly a decade since their last encounter, and he’d still recognize her from a mile away.

kelly’s hair is dyed platinum blonde like always, but now it’s twice as long, and her natural brunette locks–peeking through at the root–are streaked through with shocks of silver. her ice blue eyes are just as piercing, only underlined with tiny wrinkles. she’s still thin, too, but rather rail thin; her sweater dress seems to wear her more than she wears it.

“yes, in a good way.” kelly pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down with her arms wrapped across her waist. the candle between them casts a strange yellow glow over her wiry features. “you look better, much healthier.”

“uh, thank you. you look great as well.”

she half-smiles. “it’s just hair dye and botox. i look old. i didn’t inherit the ageless ó súilleabháin genes, so i'm going grey very early like all the callahans. by the way, you weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“oh, no, no, not at all. i have my car, but i didn’t want to deal with traffic, so i took the subway, but then that also kind of took a while. i pretty much just got here.”

“okay, good.” kelly pauses for a moment, her lips pursed. “well. i thought about what i'd say to you the whole ride over here, and now it’s all gone.”

for a moment, they exchange no other words. they drown in the silence, staring into each other’s eyes and into the past.

she’s surprisingly warm, all things considered. the last time they’d been in the same room–

grant is distracted again from his thoughts, watching as a strange sadness falls across her face. she reaches up at the collar of her dress and tug at it like it’s choking her, and her eyes then drift away to stare at an indistinct point on the table between them.

“it’s weird to see you again,” she admits suddenly, her gaze still fixated far away from him, “i didn’t think you’d message me back a few months ago.”

“to be honest, i didn’t mean to. i replied by accident one night and then just decided to follow through with talking to you. and now i'm here. yeah. um, anyway, why’d you reach out to me?”

“i was on facebook a couple months ago, and one of those ‘look at what you posted this day years ago’ things came up. it was a picture aunt bridget tagged us all in. it was the whole family at one of your high school hockey games, i think your freshman year state championship game.” kelly shrugs. “i didn’t even know any of those pictures were still there. that was a real surprise, given i unfriended and blocked everyone i'm related to on there when i left home after high school.”

grant nods. “a picture of me probably very sweaty and gross with helmet hair made you want to reach out to me?”

“not quite. my kids were with me at the time. we were in an airport coming back from vacation, so they were bored and nosy. ‘is that you? who are all these people?’ i was then immediately caught in my lie; i'd been telling them their whole lives i had no family left, and their only extended family was their dad’s parents.”

“yikes. i'm sure that was awkward.”

“it was,” kelly says plainly, “my oldest kids weren’t happy with the news. they’ve been, um, a little jealous of their friends for having lots of cousins and big family events for the holidays, and it didn’t go over well when they figured out they do have a big family. besides, they rightfully did see it as a betrayal of their trust. if mom lied once, what else might mom be lying about? the tooth fairy? santa claus? the easter bunny? yes, those, too. sorry. also, if you didn’t already guess based on my new last name, i married jack, and…”

“i figured you married him. you’d already been together a really long time even when i last saw you. we all grew up together, and you guys were middle school and high school sweethearts and all.”

“he’s a good guy. as i was about to say, though, jack is very partial to you. he always liked you. he thought you were a sweet kid, and he won’t let me forget what happened between us. so, after the facebook incident, he encouraged me to contact you, if only for the kids’ sake. after living in a huge family, i don’t think it’s all that fantastic, but he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder being an only child, and he doesn’t want the kids to have no one besides his parents in their lives. don’t get me wrong; i will never ever get involved in callahan or ó súilleabháin bullshit again, but i will consider reconnecting with you and letting you meet the kids.”

grant bites into his lip as that nagging anxious lump returns to his throat. “well, why me? why bother getting involved with any of us again after everything? even if it is for your kids, what's your motivation?"

kelly outright ignores his question. “tell me what you’ve been up to for the last, what, eight years? nine years? i don’t remember how long it’s been. you're at least talking to our dad, i hear.”

"how do you know that?"

"my in-laws may not know anything else about you these days, but they've seen you with him around our hometown."

[rakkuntoast]

Your talks about Missa's mischaracterization are exactly why I made a post specifically asking for Missa mains to give me their analyses for me to reference in Awake Me From My Nightmare.

I even went as far as to slap some parts of the post in Google Translate encouraging Spanish qsmp fans to reply to me and I'd just have someone translate their analysis for me. Which I did (thank u Kami ily). And I was so fucking happy when more of my responses came from Spanish speaking fans than English. Peak QSMP moment <3

But anyway yeah. Missa's characterization has been lowkey my biggest concern writing the fic tbh. I wanna do him justice. He definitely isn't written as a pathetic woobified uwu cinnamon roll, that's for sure.

I've been staring very hard at the paragraphs people gave me on his character and I THINK I've been doing a decent job at balancing the "gets overwhelmed by things" wet cat side Crows see AND the "um actually he could kick your ass and can be a bitchy little shit" reality?? Mans is getting lots of moments where he's like "fuck this" and gets ready to Literally Fight God. There's still lots of tears, but like, if YOUR husband was in front of you covered in his own blood and lookin like he's rapidly wasting away in real time, you'd be an emotional wreck too. So I'm decently confident in his characterization, but I still have that "AAAAA I HOPE I'M DOING THIS RIGHT" worry. 100% gonna be clinging to comments from readers about if I did him justice. So far I've characterized everyone (Phil, Fit, Etoiles) super well according to readers. 😭🙏🏻 Hoping I keep up the streak with Missa in Chapter 3.

The discussion you've been having is exactly why I'm doing my best to do him actual justice. And I might actually read back through your posts and translate the Spanish bits just to get even more insight. I don't see enough people talking about qMissa like this.

And on a semi-related note, GOD I wish there were more YouTube clip compilations of Missa moments. Like idec if they're not just qsmp, I want more of them in general!! Idk if I just wasn't searching well enough or what but when I went looking a while back, there were MAYBE 2 videos at all, let alone Eng subtitled so I could understand them. And rooting through Tumblr for clips is a pain. 💀

Tldr thanks for talking abt this Rakk, this is exactly why I've been busting my ass trying to not write Missa reduced to one trait or the other. Tbh I've been seeking out proper analysis/understanding of qMissa even before I was writing him in a fic. Bc I KNOW what we Crows see is a fraction of his character.

ISAAAA you're doing God's work honestly, the "fights God through tears" is peak qmissa characterization akfknsjx

I do think we need more translated Missa content, sadly like the best thing you can get is qsmp clips translated or someone on twt decided to translate this one bit from his videos (like him having a crush on a pineapple)

it's sad that it doesn't get talked about how clever the guy is and while the fix is pretty easy (just getting more missasaurios to talk about him) it's just a case of bothering to translate stuff cuz that shit takes time and effort

as well as missa's miscaracterization not being talked about as much cuz a lot of the ppl who talk abt him are English crows who think he's a sopping wet cat<- i am BEGGING for people to unlearn this word it's making me insane

[zundamind]

wow, would you look at that! it's been a full ass year since you fucked me over! september 29th.... yeahh..... XD our fuck-you-versary! hi clifford!

in case you dont remember, the name piko might jog your mind. yeah thats me!! hellwo!! honestly you shouldve known better than to stick with your old username but hey props on you for changing it last minute! almost didnt find you for a second lolll!!

i wanted to drop in and say HEY! HELLO! HI! and give you some status updates :3

update one: i'm getting better!! no thanks to you, of course. and actually i should say we're getting better. yep! thats what happens when you suffer so bad your brain cant take suffering solo! XD

update two: while my mental health has been at an all time low ever since you fucking dropped me like a fucking ROCK, ive been getting over things lately! my clean streaks are now longer than a week! i no longer want to kms! im even making friends again!

update three: while both of the above statements are true, you still live in my mind rent free. i remember when i first stumbled across your blog a few months ago, i had a full on spiral! not anymore, though. i am STEEL, BABY! also you spinning in the mental microwave rent free is why i'm sending you this heartfelt ask!

man.... even when i try, i still find you somehow and its never intentional. like imagine scrolling the tptm tag only to be straight up jumpscared by your ex best friend's username! how embarrassing!

also i'm sorry but i have to say the reason(s) you left are sooo fucking stupid..... what, cus i was weird? come on. everyones a little weird. even a little deviantart weird. oh and because of some stupid opinions that shouldntve even mattered if you were actually a friend? get real, trey. what if i left your ass because you had a fuckin biting kink? that wouldve been funny actually. like making a sad callout post on twitter thats just "my friend left me because i wasnt vanilla enough!" XDDD

oh, and if you ever see your "stalker" again, assuming you're not thinking its me and that its actually your previous qpr or whatever the fuck, say hi! i find it funny as FUCK, since, you know, you were considering cyberstalking me at one point. and tell chaos i said hi too. i'd also mention mayu, but do you two even keep in touch anymore? probably not, considering the weird things she's done.

anyways thats the end of my relay. if you dont want these kinds of asks again, i suggest either turning asks off or just straight up deleting your tumblr and/or making another one that is NOT connected to any username youve used in the past, because in that case i'll just find your ass again lmaooo. remember! every year on this day will be the day i remind you that you are NOT allowed to stay sane X3

sincerely, your most hated, piko. (i hardly use my old blog anymore, so have fun finding my current blog! and do what you want with this ask, make a callout post, scream into the ethers, reply to it, idc.)

this should stay private but idc

i know what i did was wrong piko! i was 12-13.

dont take this as me excusing myself. i had horrible emotional regulation back then, ive healed from everything back there. you dont deserve to be called out because ur like. 14-15.

do not bring mayu or chaos into this,weve all healed and forgot abt you.

i overreacted bc of very worthless things because i was basically obsessed witj you, you were my fp, if you didnt know.

completely forgot you even existed, i havent been checking your profiles at all in months. you shouldnt either, please forget about me. you'll drive yourself crazy.,

if you think im going to "cancel" you, no im not. for your sake, please dont interact with me anymore. i apologize for how i acted over stupid things, but we were both young and idiotic. im also a system, i dont even remember half of the things you did bc of that.

move on. ive moved on, weve all moved on.

dont bother yourself with me, you dont need to.

[trudemaethien]

Hey, for the wip-game, I'm really interested in "real boys don't cry" and "foxdogfox", can you share something about them, please? :))))

Soooo, I keep trying to answer this and instead getting lost in my docs, editing this and that. Which is not a bad thing! But I was trying to answer quickly, oops 😂

You… have picked two porny things! The first one is from the noncon au and uh.

Fox says with a smirk, “It means, Rex, you can have sex, as long as you take it up the ass, like a real boy.”

“I am a real boy, kriff you,” Rex snaps. “Defects don’t make me fake.”

i’m sure nothing bad or disturbing or dysphoric will happen in this fic at all. 😅

…

OTOH foxdogfox is formerly a chapter of the dogmafic, which I have been poking at, but this particular chapter I am thinking of posting as a standalone. It features both Sgt Fox and Commander Fox, and of course, Dogma.

Dogma slaps his inner thigh with a sharp sound of flesh meeting. He’d suspected the show of submission was a ruse. “Mouth off again, and you can definitely forget all about getting fucked, Fox. Tell my Fox where it is, and watch your tone with me.”

Fox looks strangely triumphant. “Your Fox, hmmm?” he asks, eyes flicking behind Dogma. Dogma follows his gaze, to see Fox, his Fox, —he’d been calling them that to differentiate in his mind, and now he’s said it out loud— his Fox staring at him with a surprised but pleased expression.

Dogma stutters, “My— not, possessive, uh… Five-oh-First-Fox is just too many syllables, sooo—” he might not have noticed unless he was staring right at them at the exact right moment, but he is, so he does see the shadow of sadness cross their eyes. Stiltedly casual, Dogma tacks on, rushing and stumbling over his words, “—unless, if they did want, um, to be my— we hadn’t discussed anything like that, but we could. Not right at this moment, but yes. Probably.”

Beneath him, the asshole Fox snickers. “Gar copikla,” he says, not as nicely as Echo had the first time Dogma had heard the phrase.

Dogma still has him by the balls. “We aren’t tubies, cut it out with that ‘cute’ shit,” he snaps, distracted.

…

“Kriff,” Fox breathes. His cock jerks against Dogma’s knee as his teeth sink in. “Please rough me up.”

“So you like a little pain?” Dogma muses, sitting back. “Guess I’ll have to punish your bad behavior some other way, then.”

“Ha, I’m no wide-eyed, tube-wet cadet, boy; good luck trying to break me,” Fox sneers. “I’m not some kind of fragile delicate trinket.”

Corporal Fox returns from the fresher, lube in their hand, in time to hear the last exchange. “Maybe we should treat you like a fragile delicate trinket, sounds like you’d hate it,” they threaten laughingly.

But Dogma sees the conflicted look of mingled apprehension and desire flash across Commander Fox’s face. “Yeah, babe, that's perfect,” he states, grinning with just an edge of malice. Fox shudders in his hold. This is definitely going the way he wants.

Fox quickly strips off the rest of their clothes and climbs back onto the bed. “Babe,” they tease Dogma, amused, and kiss him sweetly. They turn and comb gentle fingers through the Silver Fox’s grey-streaked curls, and lean down to kiss him too, upside down.

Fox yearns into the kiss for a second before he reverts to contrary and resistant. He turns his face away from Fox, pursing his lips and closing his eyes in denial. Dogma is quick to take their place, pressing his mouth softly to each of Fox’s eyelids and stroking fingers up the length of his throat.

You get excerpts because these are really close to done …. hopefully that close is measured in time and not anything else 😅😅😅

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Wait when you say it that way that’s too real LMAOO fr only a small handful of people to choose from in the first several eps but TWO DAYS…GUYS…….

SHSHS I hadn’t fully thought of it that way but stop that’s fr making me sad yukis pokemon being super strong and tough looking because he was training for battling…Lowk makes me want to think of his dynamics with his pokemon too I bet they’re all really protective of him because of it all too

Otoya doing the office stare is too funny imagine mini cuts to office interviews too LMAOO at some point he and Karasu keep doing it and readers like “what, did aegislash get you guys too”

SO REAL no because pikachu but big and gigantamax has gotta be the goofiest shit I’ve ever seen like HUHH also z moves….idk they just didn’t hit the same for me like the aura almost felt a little tacky BRING THE MEGAS BACK I fr would’ve wanted to see a lot more pokemon get megas ugh

HAHAH wait you should give him the mega Altaria im crying itd be funny if he occasionally like hides himself in the fluff and says some stupid ninja art phrase LMAO I’m loving the vibes though otoya entering battle with his giant fluffy cloud in tow

Omg I almost forgot about depressed Barou scene but yeah it’s just different on aiku ig??? I remember seeing that Barou scene and briefly being like ayo idk why it looks sm worse on Aiku LMAOOOO wait actually imagine if depressed Barou is actually what Barou’s dad kinda looks like

FR!! They definitely used to post a little more often I think they mentioned getting swamped by school the memes are always so funny though LOL TOO AGREEABLE wait like they’re working too well with the fic premise or is it something else sorry im being slow today LMAO but omg semi conversion?? Yes that easily rules out Karasu LMAO and Barou id assume…and Reo…? Starting to wonder if this is an explicitly opp fic I’ll wait for the grand reveal though LOLL

Humane euthanasia is sending me the otoya Tullia beef goes crazyyy but also OOO okok I kinda had a feeling it was a scenario specific thing LOL

As long as you’re having fun the fic will fs cook it’s the law of nature trust!!! LMAOOO a classic Mira piece 2k words in and we don’t even have the love interest yet that’s when you know it’s good fr and SAMEEEEEEE it’s actually so insane we’re finally here I’m soooo excited

PLEASEEE ITS THAT DUDE??? I’m crying the interactions you run into are like ACTUALLY insane I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that it’s the same dude??? Pause the Latina assumption is actually crazy in the way that they try to accuse/make fun of you not speaking Spanish?? I bet you had them gagged by saying “yeah well maybe because I’m not Latina” you just had a stacked night LMAOOO

- Karasu anon

SDKLFHSD yeah the choices were fr limited so i had to break my anti ginger streak but trust nagi appeared to save the day 😩 so no more kunigami stanning from me ever since then (i was lowkey thinking when i rewatched in dub that i might convert to kunigami again but ngl i didn’t really see the appeal for him the third time around i was just waiting for nagi and the karasu cameos HAHAH) but OMG i can’t believe it’s literally tomorrow??? actually insane i’m so hype (i’ve been seeing previews and stuff for it and it looks like it’ll be fun!! if anything the edits will be good)

no because since 99% of the time we’re joking about pursuit crack or talking about barou-related angst i feel like i forget that pretty much everyone else also has a really sad backstory SDKLJFHKSD like poor yukimiya (and in a similar vein chigiri) his entire career was actually destroyed because of something out of his control 😓 honestly out of everyone only tullia doesn’t really have a sad backstory…like otoya seems funny and silly but then you remember that he’s only even on a journey because his family is so reviled by society that that’s the only method he has to clear their name 😯 and of course the karasu/yayoi angst + pressure that he’s under, nagi’s LITERAL HOUSE AND PARENTS BURNING DOWN??? bro is straight up homeless which sounds quite goofy and silly but then you think about it more and it’s like hold on that’s heartbreaking lowkey…i think out of everyone yuki’s pokémon are def the most protective of him but in a way of respect?? like hiori’s pokémon treat him the way one would treat a child meanwhile to yuki’s team he is their idol and they’re super quick to defend him (hence when karasu and otoya are shit talking him his pokémon do not mess around and absolutely slam some sense into them)

HELP the way aegislash is just the narrator atp like he is the fourth wall 😭 can you imagine office style interviews just mixed into the drama of pursuit…like we have this intense gym battle going on and then it cuts to otoya being like “yeah i think tullia’s clothes are really fucking ugly and i wish she would change because it’s burning my eyes more than y/n’s houndoom’s inferno” or in the middle of one of reader’s near-death experiences it cuts to karasu explaining smth like “i always have a eulogy ready for y/n because i’m never sure when i’ll have to give it — the only thing i’ll have to change is the cause of death but otherwise it’s good!!”

from what i’ve heard they’re going to bring megas back for the next games (legends z-a) ngl i’m not planning to play but it IS set in kalos which is really cool i hope the game storyline and lore is fun!! and if they do bring megas back that they come up with cool and innovative designs and give them to pokémon that actually deserve or need them (i would kill for a mega flygon i think that would be fire)

i always forget technically otoya has a dragon too 😭 it’s just the prettiest fluffiest dragon imaginable so nothing like garchomp and hydreigon SDKJHFDK ykw would be funny is if hydreigon LOVES otoya’s altaria (they’re in the same egg group so it is possible) and just follows it around everywhere because it’s so obsessed meanwhile altaria wants nothing to do with it…mega altaria is actually really pretty though i think it would be even funnier if he only focuses on getting altaria to mega evolve because he doesn’t know that he has any other pokémon capable of it but then one day aiku offhandedly mentions that ampharos can mega evolve too and he’s like WHAT because this is a whole new world of opportunities (and bullying karasu) that have opened up for him

i think part of why it looks better on barou is because barou is giving that whole depressed dilf vibe that it just kinda works with?? like it fits the aesthetic of the moment whereas on aiku it’s just incongruous because he’s meant to be young and an active soccer player as well as super flirty and outgoing so the stubble isn’t serving the same purpose and just takes away from his character a bit

honestly getting swamped is too real i can’t blame them KFLHSLKJD i’ve not had my full fall disappearance yet (i doubt i will this year ngl) but i def do slow down in the fall so that’s super understandable…trust once december roll as around i will be so productive again most likely LMAOAOA but yeah the character is just fitting the premise of the fic super well!! it’s like hard to describe to other people but when i’m writing there’s some characters that are easy to adapt to any plot or situation (i think i’ve mentioned this before but karasu is one) and others that are a lot more rigid and don’t fit into a lot of different scenarios (such as nagi) and i really like when characters are more versatile because it means i can have more fun with writing them and playing around with what i want them to do for me at any given moment!! sadly this character (you’re right it’s not karasu or barou hehe) is proving himself to be quite amicable to whatever au i place him in which means i SHOULD like him unfortunately for the stans i don’t think it’s enough for me to convert but i do see why so many people write for him now

the otoya tullia beef is my favorite thing ever because unlike most beef i write (karasu vs yukimiya for example) it is very much so two sided SLKDJHFSD like they both mess with each other constantly but ngl i feel like they’re also the first to be on each other’s side too if that makes sense?? one of those “nobody’s allowed to fuck with them but me” relationships where they are each other’s BIGGEST opps but if a random tries to get involved they’re suddenly an iconic duo that won’t take shit from anyone 😭

AHAH I HOPE SO it’s taking me a bit to write but hopefully it won’t be tooooo much longer so i can fully focus on season 2 coming out!! LMAO yeah like usual it’s ending up longer than anticipated and i wasn’t even anticipating anything so that’s how yk this is just a me problem 😩 i can’t wait to watch the new ep though hehe trust i will be seated and ready for it with a bowl of popcorn come tomorrow TRUST i can’t wait to see karasu on the big screen (by which i mean my ipad ofc) as well as nagi ofc!! and the others too but those two specifically for obvious reasons

you know what the insane thing is it’s actually not the same dude LSKDJFHSK there were three guys that night contributing to the lore: coke guy who screamed at us and kicked us out of the party, spicy white guy who asked for my instagram and wanted to take me to dinner but never actually asked me out the next day like i told him to (i was just trying to reject him by saying i was too drunk to answer ngl so he told me he’d dm me the next day and then never did), and the linkedin guy LMAOAOAOA so yeah truly an insane night and all of these events happened within the span of three or so hours i think so like you said…crazy interactions all around…but yeah people are either shocked or embarrassed when i correct their assumptions about my ethnicity HAHAH i never really thought i looked like anything but indian so i used to be really confused when people didn’t realize i was??? but considering how literally nobody realizes i am i guess it’s not that obvious…one time an acquaintance of mine was telling me about some event she was going to and i was like “oh that sounds fun what is it for” and she was like “oh it’s just some indian thing” i was like ??? i AM indian bro that’s why i want to know what the event is 😭 and then when i showed up she was shocked i was there and understood what was going on so atp i’ve just given up 😩

[twoheartshookingup]

Beep | hv

Warnings: sad!Voight. Oops. Blame Rí. Also there’s not much smut but it fits this blog.

“Hank, please. Just there, please!” The words were pushed out in between gasps and moans, staring up at your boyfriend as he fucked into you. You wrapped your legs around his hips, trying to hold him to you as you ground down, desperation for your orgasm in every movement. His hand rubbed your clit, pinching and flicking to make you moan needily.

“Let me see you. C’mon, let me see your eyes when you cum on my cock.” He was holding back and you knew it, pulling him to you for a kiss and holding on as your orgasm flooded through you. Hank continued his movements until one final one thrust pulled him over the edge, his head collapsing into your neck and pushing kisses to your sweaty skin. He went to stand but you held onto him, feeling his smile against your bare chest. He gave you a quick kiss before standing and pulling you to him.

“I love you.” The words were new between you, the relationship that had started out as running into him after checking on Kim in the hospital and asking if he wanted a drink turning more serious than either of you had imagined. Dating your best friends boss wasn’t what you’d intended, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“I love you too, Hank. So much.” He kissed you with a grin, returning with a cloth to clean you, pushing kisses to the fingertip bruises he’d left on your hips. It was romantic and sweet, a smile on both your faces as you went asleep curled in each other’s arms.

As standard he was awake before you, but you’d put your work bag in the car before going over to his place the previous night. Getting dressed in the clean shirt you’d left for these situations you followed the scent of bacon sizzling to the kitchen, fresh coffee in a CPD mug as Hank passed a breakfast sandwich to you.

“You know I get breakfast when I start my shift, right? I think Ritter was talking about breakfast burritos.” You took a bite, groaning at the taste.

“And I wanted to make breakfast for us, so what?” You stuck out your tongue and he kissed your nose, a smile on his face as you both ate. These were the moments you loved, when you got to be just who you were, not the Sergeant and the paramedic. But all too soon the alarm on your watch telling you to start heading to work went off.

“Stay safe,” Hank murmured, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“I always do. Try not to get shot?” It was mostly a joke but he nodded seriously, giving you one last kiss before you left.

The shift itself didn’t have too many calls until mid afternoon, when your rig was called out to assist the cops. Nerves went up your spine at the thought of what you might find, but you pushed them down to focus on driving. Nobody knew that you and Hank were together, so even if he was involved you couldn’t say anything. But he’d be fine. When he finished work the following day the two of you would laugh about your fears.

Until you pulled the ambulance up and could see Kim’s work car, Adam’s jeep and Hank’s SUV that he’d had you ride him in the week before pulled to the side. But you steeled your face and helped Violet pull the gurney up, arriving at the command post. As soon as Hank saw you his face fell, but it was Kim’s tear streaked face and clear fear that scared you more.

“What’s going on?” Violet took control and you moved beside your best friend, squeezing her hand.

“Knock and talks, Ruzek knocked on the door and was pulled inside. We heard a gunshot, he claims he’s ok. They need a medic but only want CFD.” Hank spoke and you both nodded, Kim swallowing when the word “gunshot” was said.

“I’ll go in, I’m PIC. Can you handle out here?”

“Yeah, that—“

“Actually, Mikami, it’s safer for your partner.” You both stared at Jay, and you could feel Hank’s eyes on his second in command. “This isn’t an indictment of your abilities, but we were investigating a hate crime against a Japanese-American man. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.” All eyes turned to you, and you glanced at Hank and could see the barely concealed fear in his eyes.

“That means I go in. I’ll make sure he’s ok, Kim. I promise.” She smiled weakly and nodded, wiping her eye and standing straight. Violet gave you a look.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can do it.”

“Let me get you a vest.” You follower Hank around the side of the mobile command unit, and once the two of you were as alone as possible he caged you against it.

“Are you sure? It’s dangerous. Can you—“

“Are you about to ask me if I can do my job?” It was a raised eyebrow and Hank shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

“Never, I know you can. I’m just gonna worry about you every minute you’re in there. They’re dangerous, Sweetheart.”

“I’ll be fine. Adam and I will be out in no time.”

He strapped the bulletproof vest tightly, pushing a kiss to your neck before looking you up and down.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Got it.”

You took the jump bag and went up to the house, arms outstretched.

“I’m a paramedic with the Chicago Fire Department. Can I come in?” You called, the door opening and letting you walk inside.

The pit in Hank’s stomach got deeper as he watched you walk inside and the door firmly shut behind you. Two of the people he cared most about were being held by a killer and he didn’t know what to do.

“They’re coming out.” He turned and looked at Kim, the way her face was fixed and sure. “Adam won’t leave Mak, and she’s happier than I’ve seen her in years. I think she’s dating again. Good for her.” It was a look that made him realise Burgess knew all, giving her a nod as eyes fixed to the door. It was quiet apart from the murmuring of people around him.

Until two gunshots rang out.

“GET IN THERE NOW!” He yelled, joining in the group. He joined the group entering, terrified for what he’d see. Ruzek was leaning over your body, pushing against your shoulder as blood began to pool under you.

“He shot her. I got the gun and got him, but it’s bad. It’s really bad.”

Hank felt like his world was collapsing. He watched as Mikami raced in, bandaging and doing her job. The bra he’d pulled off you the night before was unceremoniously cut open as electrodes were placed on your chest and the defibrillator tried to track a pulse.

“I have nothing. Halstead, drive the rig, get us to Med!” He watched as you were put on the gurney and run to the ambulance, the only noise he could hear the long, low beep of a heartbeat flatlining until the ambulance drove away.

[tommybaholland]

when their s/o suddenly quits/loses their job

featuring: team captains (aka daichi, kuroo, bokuto, oikawa, wakatoshi, and kita)

dedicated to any post-grads who might be struggling with finding their place in the world right now. you are valuable, especially to the haikyuu boys. enjoy <3

daichi

he’s just as shocked as you are when you tell him 

no matter how you felt about your job, he knew it was important to you and you always tried your best

he’s confident that you’ll find something else easily 

literally the most dependable and supportive boyfriend

“wait, are you serious?”

you shifted in your place while looking down at your feet and nodded. the realization hit hard in that moment as you felt the tears spill over your eyes.

“aww, sweetheart. come here,” he consoled, moving closer to take wrap you up in his arms. “let’s go sit down.”

he takes your bag for you and sets it down before leading you over to sit on the couch. he quietly hushes you while rocking you gently back and forth in his arms. one hand remains on your back while the other comes up to pet your head, smoothing down your hair. 

“i’m so sorry this happened to you, babe. i know you loved working there.”

“maybe i wasn’t doing a good job,” you sniffled before sobbing harder. 

his arms tighten their hold around you. “i don’t think that’s true. you are so wonderful and hardworking, it was probably a really hard decision for them to make. but i’m sure they didn’t do it to you on purpose, sweetness.”

“okay,” you agree, pulling away from him to give a weak smile as you wiped your tears with your sleeve.

“would you like a tissue?” he asks, reaching behind him. “here you go, sweetie. there you go.” 

“i think you’ll find something else in no time,” he encourages while continuing to rub your back. 

you’re not so convinced, still shocked that this even happened to you. “you think so?”

“don’t you think so?” he asked.

you shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

“babe, i absolutely one hundred percent think you will. even if it takes a little while, that’s okay! i know you’ll pull through and get something great or even better than your old job,” he assures. 

you manage to nod and wipe your eyes, mumbling a quiet thank you as you wrap your arms around him. he smiles as you nuzzle into his shoulder.

“we should get you up and doing something to take your mind off of it. are you hungry? i think some food might help clear that pretty head of yours,” he offers, nudging your head gently with his nose. 

kuroo

you had quit your job after finally deciding that it wasn’t good for your mental well-being 

but that was several months ago and you hadn’t been able to find another place that would hire you 

the more time that went on, the more you felt you had little support from others except for kuroo 

he could see that the pressure was weighing hard on you and you were getting more discouraged 

you remained in your seat on the couch as your boyfriend was tugging at your arm, determined to follow through with his plans. 

“please, baby. let me take you out somewhere.”

“i don’t know, tetsu. i’m not sure that i can afford to go out right now,” you reply solemnly. you didn’t mean to be such a downer but it was the truth in your mind. 

“um, what makes you think that you’re paying? i mean, what else do you have me for?” he jokes.

“noooo. that’s even worse,” you object, hiding your face in a pillow. “i don’t want all your hard earned-money to be spent on me, a freeloader.”

he scoffs. “you’re not a freeloader, babe. i want to take you out and treat you to a nice dinner and some good wine. we could go to that bakery that you like too,” he offers, wrapping an arm around your slumped form, rubbing up and down your arm.

then he hears your sniffles. “hey, sweetie. are you crying? oh, no. come here.”

he pulls you closer and you turn to cry into his chest. “i don’t think i deserve it.”

“hey, hey. it’s okay,” he soothes, hugging you tightly. “listen, i know you’ve been having a hard time adjusting with being in-between jobs. you might even regret quitting your old one. but i want you to know that i think you did what was best for you and i’m proud of you for that. and i think you’re doing your best now with what you have. it might not feel like it but you are doing something to help yourself and i think that’s something you should be proud of. so i think you deserve to go out for a fun night with your handsome, charming boyfriend and get your mind off of jobs and everything. so will you please come with me, hmm?”

you sniffle a few more times before looking up at him. “we can go to the bakery?”

“yes, kitten. we can go to the bakery,” he laughs. “if that’s all you want to do, we can just do that. i just want you to relax and see you smile again.”

you nod, giving him a small grin. 

“i’ll take that. thank you, beautiful,” he muses as he wipes a stray tear from your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. “now, come on. go get ready, babe.” 

bokuto

has a rather overreaction when you tell him that you were let go from your job

meanwhile, you’re unfazed by it and understand their decision 

you try to remain positive about it and he’s happy to see that

insists on helping you look for new jobs and even offers you a spot on the volleyball team

he never took bad news very well, especially when you’re acting so nonchalant about it.

“babe, did you just say that they let you go?”

“yeah?”

“WHAT?! why? how? they can’t do that! so you’re not sad at all?”

you shrug. “i mean, it sucks for sure. but they had to get rid of someone and i was the last person they hired so i understand why they would choose me.” 

“but you’re, like, amazing,” he observes, his hands coming up to squeeze your shoulders. “didn’t they take that into account?”

“thank you, kou,” you grin, patting his cheek lightly. “and yeah. i’d say i was pretty good at my job but honestly, i don’t know that i could see myself working there long-term. and besides, now i can go to all of your games.”

his smile grows ten times bigger as stars shoot through his eyes. “oh, you’re right, babe!” 

he squeezes you into a hug. “i can’t wait to see my pretty baby there while i’m playing.”

“i’ll have to get another job eventually, you know,” you remind him gently. 

“right. right. don’t worry, babe! i’ll help you and-- oh! you know what you should do? you should be on the team!”

you smile, amused by his suggestion. “babe, i don’t know that they’d let me play.”

“you don’t have to play! you could be a manager or something, i don’t know. i’ll make up a position if i have to!”

you laugh and hug him tightly. “you’re silly, babe. i love you.”

“i love you more, my dearest s/o,” he replies before kissing your head. 

you saw nothing but puppy dog looks for the next few weeks when he would try to convince you to come work for the team. you’d had to explain to him that it sounds great but that you should have something of your own to work for. it’s never an easy conversation to have and he’ll pout for a little while but he knows you want him to succeed on his own and he wants that for you as well. 

oikawa

comes home to see you crying

he doesn’t like to see you upset but he loves comforting and coddling you

you try apologizing for crying over something that you could easily replace

he doesn’t mind one bit that you’re crying but they should know that they messed up

you wipe away your tears quickly as you hear the door open and close followed by his voice ringing out through the apartment. 

“helloooo, i’m home!”

you attempted to breathe slower so you could talk to him without hysterically crying. it was hard to keep the tears in as you saw him enter the room, coming closer to where you were seated.

“you’re home early. how’s my sweet s/o doing, hm?” he greets, kissing the top of your head. he notices the redness in your eyes and the tension in your posture. 

“is something wrong, babe?”

you immediately started crying again, hiding your face in his chest as you gripped the back of his shirt. 

“aww, baby. what are these tears for, hm?” 

you tell him about what happened at work that day. 

“those jerks. i’m so sorry, honey. i hope they regret losing someone great,” he responds, brushing hair away from your tear-streaked face.

“i’m sorry for crying about this. it’s so stupid,” you chuckle, wiping away the last of your tears.

“no. don’t apologize,” he objects. “you weren’t expecting it so it’s okay to feel emotional about it, babe. now we just have to think about how we can make it better.”

he suggests that you go have a hot bath while he starts dinner and you nod in agreement. 

“now, let me have one last hug.” he hugs you extra tight. “hmm yeah. i’m going to get all of the sad out of you.” 

your back suddenly makes a popping noise and he feels you relax a little more in his arms. “did you hear that? i felt it. i bet you feel a little bit better now, huh?” 

wakatoshi

you had just quit your job and didn’t explicitly talk with him about doing it

you were nervous to tell him for some reason despite that he’s never judged you for the past decisions you’ve made

however, he’s not very expressive so the stoic look on his face when you told him got you a little worked up 

he’s anything but disappointed in you 

you felt good leaving your, now old, workplace early after you finally decided to quit. you felt good about it until you were driving home and realized that he would be the first person you were going to tell about it. your nerves started to creep up on you, making the hair on your arms stand on their end. 

you decided to do this randomly and didn’t talk to anyone about your thoughts of quitting. you wanted it to be something that you felt you were making the right decision on and would have no regrets about it. so it didn’t make sense why you were feeling nervous to tell him. 

you opened and closed the door without making your presence. you knew he would hear it. 

“y/n? is that you?”

“yeah. it’s me, ushi,” you confirmed monotonously.

“did you forget something?” he asked, popping his head out from the kitchen area. 

you put your stuff down, shaking your head.

“no. i, um, i just quit,” you revealed, unable to meet his eyes.

“oh,” he replied simply. his habitual stoic expression remained which was putting you on edge. 

“oh?” you repeated. “is that all you have to say?”

“i mean, i didn’t know you were going to do that.”

you lowered your head, suddenly ashamed of your decision. “yeah. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i didn’t tell anyone that i was thinking about it if that makes it any better.”

you then felt his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “it’s okay.”

you wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up to him. “do you think i made a bad choice?”

he rubbed your shoulders gently, trying to relieve the tension. “i think it’s rather spontaneous but i know you meant well.”

you grin up at him, grateful for his undying candor. “thank you, ushi. i love you.” 

“of course, sweetheart,” he replies, hugging you tighter. he then suggests that you try to relax for the rest of the day and try to enjoy your newfound freedom.

kita

after you quit your job out of the blue, you managed to find a small part-time job that was flexible and let you work from home

you didn’t make a lot of money as much as your old job but it was the most ideal for you

however, you were getting burnt out from it and even though you were trying your best to find a full-time job, nothing seemed to change

you seemed very unfocused and distracted to him

“dear,” he calls in an attempt to get your attention. he then puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking lightly. “hey. lovely.”

you jolt slightly and turn to look at him. “oh. yes, shin?” 

he frowned at your forced smile. “are you alright?”

“yeah. why?”

“you just seem very distracted lately. this isn’t the first time i’ve caught you staring at nothing.”

your expression dropped into a frown, nodding at his statement. you didn’t really know how to explain what you were feeling. 

“i don’t know, i guess i’m just..tired,” you began. “i’m frustrated with everything and i’m stuck in this cycle that feels like it’ll never end. i want to do something but every day feels like i’m doing nothing and i hate that.”

he nodded in understanding, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. “i think you’re just restless, sweetie. but you know, it’s okay to not do anything for a while.”

you rubbed your hands over your eyes and forehead. “i know but it’s hard. i just feel kinda useless, i guess.”

“you don’t believe that, though, do you?” 

“i don’t know. maybe,” you reply solemnly.

“well, i’d like to remind you that you’re not. just because you’re not working right now doesn’t mean that you’re productive. you do so much, precious, even when you’re not working. i’m worried that you’ll burn out completely and there won’t be anything left for yourself. let me help you take time to relax so you’re ready for whatever comes along. please, babe.”

he ends his response with a few kisses on your cheek. you’re reminded that you feel so lucky to have such a caring partner. you turn to meet his eyes and nod, smiling softly. 

“good. thank you, cutie.”

he pulls you closer in for a sweet kiss, one that makes you feel loved all over. 

keep pushing on, haikyuu night! request some comfort with your favs..

for more writing and nsfw versions, join me on Patreon!

[mytwilightimagines13]

Memories from the past (Caius Volturi)

Word count: Trigger warning: mention of depression

Okaay, so I have decided to try and make one poly story. It seems they are quite popular and since my bisexual ass loves blondes, I figured I will ship our main character with Caius and Athenodora. Also I haven’t seen this ship just yet and I want to explore it hehe. Also, I got the idea from the facebook post below, so thanks for that person for giving me an idea! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Word count: 1083 Trigger warning: mention of depression, suicide

Here lies Isabella Marie Swan September 13th 1987 – September 16th 2027 "Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." (Romeo and Juliet, Act IV, Scene V, Line 33)

I stood as I looked at the gravestone. My mother’s gravestone. I knew what I was supposed to feel. I had to feel grief, I had to mourn. Yet I didn’t. I was relieved, happy. She was finally free, she could finally rest. “Are you ready to go, kiddo?” my grandfather asked, his voice still shaking with pain. I nodded my head, finally removing my stare from the gravestone and towards the brown orbs that belonged to my grandfather. The brown was surrounded by red as his eyes were puffy from crying. “Yes, let’s go. Shall we go to the diner?” I asked, hoping some food would lift our spirits. Grandpa simply nodded his head as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to his side. His hand was wrinkled yet laid firmly on them, almost afraid I would vanish as well.

“You know you aren’t allowed to drink, Xandria.” Grandpa said as I took a sip of my white wine. I chuckled. “I turn 21 next month gramps. Besides, I am allowed to drink in Scotland” I said as I took another sip. Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Yet you are in the United states right now. But I guess I can let this one drink slide for today.” He said as he took a sip of his beer. His hair was almost completely white, with some gray streaks woven through it. His face had been wrinkled and a kind yet stern look resided on it. And finally, a moustache in the same colour as his hair accompanied his features. I chuckled sadly at his remark. “Thank you, grandpa. And thank you for letting me stay here.” I said as I played around with my glass. “Anytime panda.” He said, using the nickname he gave me when I was a little chub. Grandma had once dressed me up in a complete panda jumpsuit as a toddler (yes, including with a hat that had little ears on it) and since then the nickname had stuck. The memory of it made me smile as I still had the little jumpsuit back at home.

Grandpa drove us back to his house, the ride back to it was quiet, as had our time at the diner has been. Neither of us felt like talking, not knowing what to discuss without returning to the topic that was my mother. My now dead mother. Once inside I helped grandpa get comfortable on the couch with another beer in his hand watching the football match that evening, yet his eyes where hallow. He merely stared at the screen. I kissed his cheek and made my way upstairs, towards mum’s old room. I jumped on the bed, plunging my face in the pillow as the tears finally came. Truth be told, she never really was much of a mother to me, sure she tried to be there for me but she had a crippling depression that she never could break out from. I had never seen her smile, well truly smile for that. There were only ghosts of what might once had been a genuine smile around her lips, but it never reached her eyes. I sad up and sniffed as I wiped my eyes. I had to remember that she was in a beter place now, and that she was happy. I sighed as I got up to make my way towards the bathroom, only to trip over a loose floor board. I yelped softly as I caught myself on the door handle, my other hand smacking against the wall beside it hard. “Everything okay up there, Panda bear?” Grandpa yelled from downstairs. “Yeah I am fine gramps, just lost my balance. No worries!” I yelled back as I turned around and examined the loose floorboard, only to discover it had a hidden compartment underneath. I knelt down to examine the compartment closer and found a small box hidden in it. I gently grabbed it and sat down on the bed. The box itself was a velvet blue with a simple clasp to keep the lit closed. I flicked the claps and carefully raised the lit, only to find multiple photographs of my mother and a necklace with some sort of crest on it. The crest was made of a lion, with a hand above it and three clovers in a banner underneath the lion. It was beautiful. I felt the tears burning yet again as I grabbed the pictures and started to look through them. It was my mother in her senior year of High School. She had pictures with all of her friends, they were in the parking lot, in classes or they were hanging out. But the last picture intrigued me the most. It was my mother on her 18th birthday, and she was standing next to a boy who seemed to be her age, only there was something odd about him. My eyes traced over his pale white features: the hard square of his jaw, the softer curve of his full lips—twisted in a smile, the straight line of his nose, the top of his forehead—partially obscured by the tangle of rain-darkened bronze hair. He seemed almost unnatural. But the thing that shocked me the most was my mother’s smile. It was genuine. Real. It even reached her eyes. I close my eyes and try to control the tears that are threatening to fall once again. I imagined she might have smiled this way the moment before she jumped off that cliff. I imagine she might have thought about this man. Maybe he was once her true love, before she met my father. Maybe he passed away, and is that the reason why no longer could smile after both he and my father passed away. I could not imagine what it would be like to lose someone you love twice. Even if it might have been years apart. I finally opened my eyes and allowed for one last tear to slip away. I had to believe she was happy now. That she was with my father and her first love again. That she is smiling now like she did in the picture I was holding close to my chest. I just had to believe that.

[tma-ficrec]

Five All Time Mod Recs

To start off this blog, we decided to submit ourselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known and show y’all our TMA top fic recs!

These are fics of very different premises and categories that stayed with us and soothed our souls. Feel free to ask for more recs (or more specific stuff) because we’re definitely not done. Enjoy!

Mod Ami:

Statement Ends  by @martivist 4k words. Jonmartin. Angst. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. S5 AU.

"Final statement of Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement given… I think it’s June? We haven’t done very well counting time since the days stopped. Summer 2019, call it that. Statement begins.

We’ve found a way to send them back where they came from. All of them."

Forty-some years after the apocalypse abruptly ends, the final acts of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood come to light.

Mod note: This fic... goddamit this fic. I read it halfway through s5 and I genuinely think this is one of the best endings the show could have had. It hit all the points Jonny made and then some. This fic is pain, yes, but the best kind.

Ninety Feet To Home by @judesstfrancis 33k words. Jonmartin. No Powers AU. Baseball Players AU. Fluff. Pining.

Jon isn’t really Martin Blackwood’s biggest fan. And he knows it’s a him problem, because it’s not like Blackwood is a terrible person or like he loses on purposes just to ruin Jon’s life, but he can’t help it. In his defense, if you were on a hot streak and the same person kept coming in and ruining it for you every single time, you'd harbor a bit of resentment towards them, too.

Mod note: I’m so obsessed with this AU that I broke my vow of not making fanart for TMA and made fanart of it. Yeah. Sue me. It’s the perfect levels of pining, ridiculousness and it brought me (an argentinian whose only baseball reference is the HSM musical number) tremendous joy. As the us-statians would say: home fucking run. ALSO, MARTIN BLACKWOOD IS LATINOOOOO.

Maybe not the stuff of legend by imperfectcircle. 14k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. S5 AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending.

Martin forgets slowly at first, and then all at once. One moment he's grasping at memories, desperate without knowing why to retain even a single image of an angry, scarred stranger saying incomprehensible things about eyes, and the next, nothing. He can't even remember what had him so anxious just now. A car alarm, probably, or a dog barking in the distance. He's always startled easily.

Mod note: I still quote it to myself from time to time. ‘’Martin, you ate the megalodon’’ makes me giggle and also terribly sad. This is an excellent way of exploring entities lore, as well as grief and hope. 

the garden of forking paths by @bibliocratic. 49k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending. Use of Spiral Doors.

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

Mod note: I’m argentinian and the major element in this story is a Borgues book. OF COURSE IT’S HERE. This fic is an absolute ride and so so so beautiful - multiple universes and Jon and Martin doing the same thing over and over and over again, with hope of finding each other.

Family, Found  by Dribbledscribbles. Gen fic. 9k words. S4 Divergent. Canon Divergence. 

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

Mod note: Do you want to hit the Eye? Do you want all the Entities’s plans to be twarted by the power of found family? Do you want everyone who blamed Jon for everything in S4 to sit down and apologise? This is your fic.

Mod Ebby:

the apple of the eye by  gocrazygostupid. 2.8k words. Fluff. Lore speculation.

TELL ME, ARCHIVIST

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SONG?

i'm not sure. i don't really get the chance to listen to music

if i told you, what would you do with it?

Mod note: I am absolutely weak towards any fic that gives the Entities some form of sentience, no matter what canon said. Especially when these interactions are so surprisingly soft. 

I WOULD PLAY IT

I WOULD LISTEN

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea by  imperfectcircle and raven (singlecrow). 19k words. S4 Divergent. Canon divergence, in the space between 159-160

Jon remembers a statement he read years ago given by a Jesuit priest, who said that the shortest prayer he knew was, just, fuck it, as in fuck it; it's in God's hands. He takes Daisy's hand and trails on after her.

or; hope is a thing with feathers.

Mod note: Everytime I read this fic, I end up at least a little teary eyed. It’s not exactly happy, more bittersweet, considering, but I still love it.

Come Love This World (Come Hate It, Too) by cedarbranch. 3.3k words. Character Study, fluff and angst, spans s1-5. Canon Compliant. 

Jon never liked poetry, until Martin.

Mod note: Yes I am picking fics that personally came for my heart one way or another, not much else to say, besides that “it feels like loving you” haunts me still to this day, in a good way.

i love you, i'm glad i exist by kissyourlocalmoth. 1.7k words. Scottish safehouse period. Fluff.  Established relationship.

Martin was thinking of a poem. It’s name sat on the tip of his tongue, aching to get out. It was a lovely one, too: something about how life felt easy now, at peace; how the small things felt like everything, a poem about… the importance of the little moments. These last few days had been like that, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself recently, and even Jon teased him about it sometimes, though he was hardly less giddy. He thought of the immense joy the little things brought him now, the mugs of tea they made for each other, how he would lay in their bed late at night staring at the ceiling, his love nestled against his chest, overflowing with so much contentment and fondness he did not know what to make of himself.

Mod note: Short and sweet, it was the first time I read that particular poem, and now it’s forever intertwined in my head with little scenes of jon and martin in the scottish safehouse before 160 happens.

exit wound by autoclaves. 3.1k words. Post-canon AU. Ending speculation.

Suppose there is a house on a hilltop. Suppose there is a story. There is always a story, and every universe is always expanding.

Mod note: I would’ve liked to tag this more, but it would probably spoil the twist it has. Reading back on it, the narration reminds me of the statement from 196, which I find fitting and a funny coincidence, considering. 

[bipercabeth]

percabeth | hurt/comfort | 3k | commissioned by @mericatblackwood 

a post-TLO fic in which we finally Let Percy Cry

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with anger—her own or others’. She can take her problems to the sword fighting arena or bury her nose in blueprints for weeks, but she’ll still come away with a tight jaw. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands when they aren’t clenched into fists. 

So when the tendons in Percy’s hands strain around his silverware at dinner, when his eyes are downcast and he’s closed off in that I’m-angry-but-trying-desperately-not-to-look-it way, Annabeth can only fumble over a painfully casual attempt at conversation and watch as he retreats to his cabin. He doesn’t even make an appearance at the campfire. The flames have been low in the weeks following the Battle of Manhattan, but they’re rising tonight. 

The problem isn’t reading Percy; it never has been. Annabeth knows what’s hurting him and why. It’s the fixing part she struggles with.

continue on AO3 

or 

He’s been angry for the better part of a year, often because of the ambiguous impending doom of his sixteenth birthday, but not exclusively so. Annabeth caused more than her fair share of his anger, she knows. Rachel had been there to provide an escape in her place, but Annabeth supposes part of being Percy’s girlfriend means that it’s her who gets to provide solace now. Not that she didn’t before, but. There’s a deeper commitment now. He was always her person—as she was his—but it’s out in the open. She’s the first line of defense—she wants to be the first line of defense from danger, be it physical or emotional. 

So Annabeth dons her Yankees cap and sneaks to Cabin 3, replaying the conversation where Percy shrugged and said he’s fine when she tried to call him out. He isn’t fine. She knows that much. 

That doesn’t mean she expects to find him curled in on himself, bedsheets tangled around his middle. It shouldn’t be possible to look small in a twin bed, but he looks so small—not at all like the hero the other campers celebrate over the campfire. It’s a stark reminder that he’s only sixteen. 

He lifts his head when the door opens, his eyes wide. Annabeth remembers that she’s invisible and knocks her cap off her head. She’ll pick it up later. Right now Percy’s breath stutters at the sight of her, his eyes shining like open wounds. 

Annabeth can do dry anger: the cold, unfeeling rage that motivates, propels, inspires. But wet anger—the paralyzing, painful kind you cannot power through—leaves her scrambling for purchase. Annabeth is a runner. She doesn’t sit in anything. 

The sheets rustle as Percy closes his eyes and takes refuge in his bed like a dog hiding his wounded paw. Despite his efforts, he cannot disguise his limp.

“Please don’t hide from us,” Annabeth pleads. 

“I’m not hiding from you,” he says mildly, not lifting his head from the pillow. “I can’t hide from you.” 

“But you came here.” 

“I knew you would come.” Percy shrugs, casually stating as fact something Annabeth didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago. 

In this moment, Annabeth envies Percy’s connection with Grover. She would kill to have a way to funnel her emotions into Percy’s brain in a way he could understand. All the love and concern she can’t articulate could exist in the world without the struggle of finding the right words. 

Still, Percy specified her. Grover is out there at the campfire, probably sensing Percy’s pain like a twinge at the base of his neck, but Annabeth is the one Percy can’t hide from. 

The thought propels her to the edge of his bed, sitting in the curve of mattress his torso folds around. His knees press into her right thigh as he shifts to close the space between them. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that he left this space for her to occupy. 

On her other side is his face, youthful and soft in the moonlight streaming through the window. Blue light for a blue boy, swimming in blue sheets that should shelter him instead of giving him something to fist his hands in. His arms cage his chest as if his heart is trying to escape it. 

Annabeth reaches for his hand, drawing it to rest between hers. If his heart is a burden, it’s not one he has to bear alone. They held the weight of the sky once. They can handle this. 

For all their shared burdens, the one that weighs on Percy now is uniquely his. Annabeth is a hero, but not the hero. Shouldering “child of Athena’s final stand” for a few weeks is not the same as “hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap” looming overhead for four years. Percy’s very existence has been dissected and politicized since the moment he was claimed, whereas Annabeth could’ve chosen a quieter, quest-free life if that’s what she wanted. She chose to pick it up. Percy’s choice was to stand under a weight that would otherwise crush him. 

It occurs to Annabeth that everyone who has shouldered this burden before him is dead. The heroes whose birth was prophesied, whose death was prophesied, died fighting their battles centuries ago. There are no words for that. 

Words are Percy’s strong suit, anyway. He has always known what to say to calm his friends down. Annabeth can’t recall the last time she saw someone do the same for him. 

She squeezes his hand and focuses on being here, where it matters. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, knowing he doesn’t. Or rather, knowing he doesn’t want her to have to talk about it. 

As expected, Percy burrows deeper into the bed. Half his face is squished in his pillow; the sole eye Annabeth can see fixes on the empty space in front of him. He gives her a noncommittal shrug she doesn’t buy. But at least he won’t lie outright. 

Silence follows. It nips at Annabeth’s ankles, nagging her to move, to do something, but she decides to sit with the discomfort. The confession he’s suppressing is a palpable thing: Annabeth watches it stutter in his lungs and claw its way up his windpipe. Percy will tell her when he’s ready, and she’ll be here when he is.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he says, still not meeting Annabeth’s eye. That’s okay, though. He’s getting the words out. That’s what matters, right?

“What kind of dreams?” 

Percy grimaces. “Not the useful kind. Nightmares, mostly. About the war.” He doesn’t breathe between the sentences, just grits his teeth. 

“It’s over, Percy. The war is over. We can rest now,” she tries. 

“They can’t.”

Dread settles over Annabeth, but she asks anyway. “Who can’t?” 

“Beckendorf,” he chokes, his hand tightening in hers. “Silena, Castor, Lee, Michael—I killed him, Annabeth. I told the others where to go, and they died because of me, but I killed Michael.” 

Annabeth opens her mouth to interrupt, but the names keep coming. Percy steamrolls through the tears, leaving her to watch his anger limp along until it collapses into the worn bed of sadness.

“Ethan shouldn’t have been on Olympus. I should’ve hit him harder, then he might have stayed down. And Zoe—I knew she was going to die. We found out who her dad was, and I knew and I couldn’t do anything. And Bianca wasn’t supposed to stop the automation. It was supposed to be me. She could’ve come home to Nico, and maybe then—” 

“Percy…” 

He shrinks with each word, looking every inch the child Annabeth found on Half-Blood Hill: bruised, tired, and crying for his mother. “My mom died because of me. I didn’t even save her—I saved the world, because that’s what I had to do. Hades let her go, but she still died.” 

Annabeth gapes at him uselessly. To love Percy is to know intimately the amount of guilt and unearned blame he assigns himself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. 

“You saved your mom,” she reminds him. “You saved her and the world. You shouldn’t have had to do either, but you did.” 

“But I didn’t save the others.” 

“No one could’ve.” 

“I should’ve. When you fight the way I can, the people who die around you die because you can’t get to them fast enough. If I had just been faster, I...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why do I get to survive when they don’t?” 

A lifetime of war games and war alike, and that question is the worst thing Annabeth has ever heard. Percy is just laying there, still not meeting her eye, and she doesn’t know how to help him. 

Terrified of how he’ll answer that question, Annabeth leans down to kiss him before he can. She tries to pour everything into it despite not having too much experience. Kissing Percy so far has been fun, sweet, and definitely trial and error. Nothing this desperate, this needy. She inhales him like she can steal the painful words from his lungs before he says them. 

Annabeth tastes tears and pulls back, terrified that she’s done something wrong. Instead, Percy’s hand catches the back of her neck, keeping her close enough for their foreheads to touch. It’s there, inches away from his trembling lips, that Annabeth finds the words.

“You saved me,” she pants. “From the Furies on the bus, at the Lotus hotel, when Polyphemus knocked me out—” her fingers travel to his grey streak— “when we held up the sky, at Mount St. Helens, on Olympus… Too many times to count. From the first day we met, you gave me hope.” She strokes his cheek and wipes away the tears, feeling her own eyes well up. “Every day. You save me every day.” 

Percy clings to her hand on his cheek and releases a deep breath, fully exhaling for the first time all night. “You save me just as often.”

“So let me do it now, yeah?” 

Percy looks at her, green eyes wet and wide, and nods carefully. Annabeth sighs her relief against his forehead before pressing her lips there with an aching softness. There is more to say, but she takes a moment to just hold him. The Fates deemed her his anchor to mortality, so anchor him she will. 

“You survived because you were saddled with the weight of the world at twelve years old and the gods owe you a fucking break.” She looks at the ceiling, almost daring thunder to rumble. The sky stays silent. “More campers are alive than dead after a war with impossible odds, Percy. You saved so many, but you can’t save everyone. None of them would want you to blame yourself for this. We have to honor their sacrifice—and, in some cases, their choice.” 

That breaks him. The last of his anger gives way to painful sobs, the ugly kind that squeeze your lungs like a spasming fist. In this moment, he is not the wounded dog, but rather the limp itself: the awkward cadence of his breath reminiscent of limbs struggling to hold new weight. 

“What do you need?” she asks. “What can I do?” 

The mattress jostles as Percy scoots closer, freeing up part of the bed. “Could you stay here with me? Wake me up if it gets bad? If you have to go back to your cabin, that’s fine—” 

He’s cut off by Annabeth kicking off her shoes and crawling into bed behind him. There isn’t much room on the twin mattress, but she tucks her knees into the backs of his and wraps around him, and they fit well enough. She settles quickly to avoid overthinking, glad for the excuse to be close to him. 

This is entirely unfamiliar territory, as Annabeth discovers when she tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She’s never spooned someone before. 

Percy senses her hesitation and laces their fingers, pulling her arm around his torso. Annabeth squeezes him tight, like maybe lining up their hearts will calm the frantic beat of his. Between that and her body protecting his Achilles spot, she’s got him. 

It’s a little awkward, the silence that follows. They haven’t exactly had pillowtalk before, let alone while calming Percy during a breakdown. Annabeth doesn’t know how to hold him to make all that go away, so she clings to him as tight as she can. 

“You’re like a boa constrictor,” he chuckles. It’s a wet, half-hearted laugh that tells Annabeth he still has more to say. He’s at his worst when he’s deflecting. 

Still, she moves to loosen up. “Sorry.” 

 He tugs at her hand. “No! I mean, it’s nice. I feel… safe.” He pauses, his breath deep. “I always feel safe with you.” 

Annabeth hasn’t kissed much of him apart from his lips, but she liked the comfort of kissing his forehead. She tightens her grip again and presses her lips to his shoulder, just because she can. 

“Sometimes they’re about you,” Percy whispers. 

Annabeth lays her cheek on his shoulder, trying to see his face. “What?”

“The nightmares. Sometimes they’re about losing you.” 

“Percy, look at me.”

The tension falls from his spine as he flips around, tangling further in the mess of sheets. Annabeth smooths everything out for him before laying on her back and tugging him close. He ends up halfway on top of her: his arm around her waist, her hands in his hair, their legs a tangled mess. 

She holds his face, thumbs swiping at his cheeks gently. He may be invulnerable, but he’s a fragile thing. Maybe even more so with the invulnerability. 

“Tell me about them.” 

“What? No. Annabeth, I’m not— I can’t talk about you d— about losing you. I can’t say those words.” 

Annabeth just holds his face and his gaze. “You should. Talk about it here, safe, with me, and maybe it won’t be so bad when you fall asleep. I’ll be here the whole time.” 

The tension in Percy’s body is palpable as he resists Annabeth’s coaxing. But slowly, she slips her hands to his scalp and massages him there, leeching the stress from his body as he sinks forward into her. His weight presses Annabeth into the mattress. It’s comforting, having him above her. She can feel every breath he takes, every time his heart beats in his chest. 

“We’ve almost died a ton of times, but that was always together.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs against her collarbone. “But then on the bridge with Ethan, when you took the knife…” 

Percy takes a shuddering breath. 

“Sometimes we get you to the hotel and Will can’t help. Or I can’t find Will. Or Blackjack can’t grab you. Or—” his grip tightens around her, and his tears fall on her skin. “Sometimes you, you die right there at my feet. You jump a second earlier, and Ethan hits you in the chest, and I kill him for it. I kill everyone on the bridge. Most times it’s an accident, just the river listening to me, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t know. Both scare me.” 

One of Annabeth’s hands moves to his Achilles spot of its own accord. Percy gasps into her neck, where some tears fall as well. He’d fought his way through his confession, coming from somewhere so deep inside him that the deluge of tears was unavoidable. She hopes to distract him from them now.

“You saved me on that bridge,” she reminds him, her free hand scratching lightly at the base of his neck. 

“But what if I didn’t?” he breathes. He sounds so small. 

“Doesn’t matter. You did. Anything else is a hypothetical.” 

“But in the future—”

“Uh uh.” Annabeth’s chin taps Percy’s temple as she shakes her head. “It’s like strategy. You can think and think and think and plan your whole life out, but it’s not real. You never know what’s going to happen until your feet hit the floor. Are your feet on the floor?” 

“No,” he grumbles.

“No,” she echoes. “You’re in bed. You get to rest now.” 

Percy is still for countless heartbeats. Right when Annabeth thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, he props himself up on one elbow to look at her. Even in the lowlight, Annabeth can make out his puffy eyes and wet cheeks. 

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” He sniffles, his nose wrinkling adorably as he does, and his eyes bore into Annabeth’s. “You’re my girlfriend too, but you’re my best friend first. Always.” 

Annabeth hears that statement for what it is and grins despite the tears prickling in her own eyes. “And you’re mine. Always.” 

A smile breaks out on his face like dawn at this late hour, brightening up the small space between them. Exhaustion sets in to close it, drawing Percy to settle back into Annabeth’s neck with the slow pull of gravity. 

They drift off in a bed made to be slept in alone as they share a burden made for one person. Newness tinges the corners of this memory, this moment Annabeth finds herself missing before it’s gone: Percy asleep above her, finally getting the peaceful rest he deserves. Part of Annabeth wants to stay up all night to make sure he gets the most of it, to watch his back as she promised to do, but her eyelids are heavy with sleep in no time. 

What sticks with Annabeth is this: Percy’s breath slow and steady against her neck, his heartbeat reliable as ever as it syncs with her own. The world is warm and safe despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that’s what makes this moment untouchable. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, here they are. Together in every way that matters. 

[zmayadw]

Hello to all!

I've been sick as hell for a week, and finaly started to feel a bit better today.

So, finaly got the strenght to post new part of the story.

Wish you all a good week, take care and stay healthy! :)

CALL OF THE RAVEN

PART 24

„'Morning.“ I said smiling, peeping from under the covers. Jake tured to me from his laptop „Good morning, angel.“ He said smiling back. „Did you sleep well?“ „I did.“ I said, getting up and stretching. „I actually don't remember the last time I slept so well.“ He grinned „Good.“ I looked arround the room, the absence of my favourite scent leaving me confused. „No coffee?“ I asked, and he looked serious at me „No, I'm affraid.“ „Oh.“ I said disappointed, draging my feet towards the bathroom, mumbling curses under my breath. I was at the doors when he said „I actually thought we could go to town for coffee.“ I turned to him surprised „You did?“ „Mhm.“ He said „It's a nice morning, would be a shame to spend it inside.“ He grinned, and I looked at him inquirely, leaning on the doorframe and crossing my arms „Really?“ „Yes.“ He said and I raised my brow at him „And that's the only reason?“ He laughed shaking his head „All right, you caught me. I do have an ulterior motive for it.“ „Yeah, I figured that out already.“ I said and grinned „All right, so out with it.“ Now he grinned „Patience, angel.“ I laughed „Are we playing that game again?“ „We are, and we both know who will win.“ He said and grinned even more „Again.“ I chuckled shaking my head. „Fine. But just so you know, one day I will find out how to break your winning streak.“ I said to him all serious. „Is that a threat?“ he asked teasingly. „No“ I said, detaching from the doorframe , mischievous smile on my face „It's a promise. And I always keep my promises.“

„Better now?“ Jake asked looking at me with a raised eyebrow, as I took a big sip of my coffee sighing happily. „Better now.“ I hummed cheerfuly back at him. He chuckled leaning back in the chair. „You know, I wonder what would happen if you'd go a day without coffee.“ „Oh, god, don't.“ I said and shuddered at the though of it „That would definitely NOT be a good day.“ He laughed hard at it. „Well then, I'll let you enjoy the rest of your coffee in peace.“ He said getting up. „Right, the 'ulterior motive'.“ I said grinning at him. He smiled and leaned to me for a kiss. „I wont be long.“ „Don't worry, you're leaving me in a good company.“ I said taking another big sip of coffee and grinning at him, and he shook his head at me as he walked away. With him gone, I took my phone out to check some things online, enjoying my coffee and the warmth of the sun. I was casually scrolling through some pictures slouched in the chair, when someone blocked the sun from me. I looked up annoyed by it, and was surprised at seeing the person in front of me. „Hello, Maya.“ I straightened in my chair. The bruise on his face was still a bit visible. „Hello, Phil.“ I said with indifferent voice. „You're still pissed at me, I see.“ He said and I looked at him rising my eyebrow. „You think?“ „All right, I deserve that.“ He said. „Can I join you?“ „Not sure that's a good idea“ I said „Jake will be back shortly, and I doubt he would be thrilled at seeing you.“ „You know what? I don't care.“ He said pulling the chair and sitting across from me. „Suit yourself.“ I said leaning back in mine. „So, how are you?“ he asked lighting up a cigarette. „Really, Phil?“ I asked sarcastically „Small talk?“ He sighed desperatly, exhaling the cigarette smoke „Damn it, Maya, cut me some slack here.“ „You're kidding me, right?“ I asked surprised „After what you did, you expect me to go easy on you?“ „Hey, I was the one who ended up on the floor, so yes.“ He said and grinned. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him. „And I am trying to apologise here.“ „It's not just me that you need to apologise to, Phil.“ I said. „I know that.“ He started „But with you first, I have a less chance of ending up with a new bruise.“ „Oh, I wouldn't be so confident about it if I was you.“ I said with a smirk. He laughed „ I knew I wasn't wrong about you.“ „What's that supposed to mean?“ I asked a bit defensively. „Relax, gorgeous.“ He said, and I looked at him warningly. „Sorry, old habbits.“ He said and grinned. „All right, Phil“ I said a bit annoyed „So far, all that I heard from you didn't sound remotely close to an apology.“ „Jesus, you really are a tough cookie.“ He said, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray a bit harshly. He looked back at me „I am sorry for what happened.“ He said, and I waited a little for him to continue, but he said nothing. „That's it?“ I asked surprised. „This has to be the lousiest apology I have ever heard.“ „Damn it, Maya, what do you want from me?“ he said, his voice starting to sound insecure. He took out another cigarette, lighting it up. „Well, a bit more then a simple 'sorry' was what I expected, to be honest.“ I said. He shook his head at me „You really can't comprehend it, can you?“ Now I got confused „What are you talking about?“ „You think this is easy for me?“ he said almost hissing it. „I was really into you, Maya, and I guess I still am. Belive me, I tried to move on, but dam it, you are not easy to let go off.“ I held my breath a this words. „And then the two of you parade in front of my eyes all happy and shit, and you expect me to just be ok with it?“ I didn't know if he wanted me to answer, but I could't say a word, feeling a knot in my throath. He laughed then „It's funny, you know“ he said „I always laughed at guys like that, thought of them as weak, whining about a girl that got away.“ He looked me in the eyes, his own with a sad touch in them, my heart squeezing at the sight of it. „How ignorant was I.“ I felt awful, his words hit hard at me. I never gave much thought of it all after we talked back then, when he assured me he

will be fine. But hearing all this from him now... „Phil“ I said softly, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away before I had a chance to do it „Don't.“ He said sighing „And don't look at me liket that, please.“ „I'm sorry, Phil.“ I said and he laughed surprised „You are apologising to me now?“ „Yes“ I said „I had no clue how this all might be for you, I never wanted for any of this to happen. I really am sorry I made you feel this way.“ „Excellent, now I fell like even a bigger wimp.“ He said defeated. „Don't say that“ I said, reaching for his hand again, and this time he didn't pull it away. He looked at me. „I don't find you weak, or think of you being a wimp. It takes a lot of courage to admit what you just did to me.“ I said and squeezed his hand tight. He shook his head at me „You are really not making it any easier for me like this.“ I smiled awkwardly at him, moving my hand away „Sorry.“ I said, not knowing what more to say. I slouched sadly in my chair. „Don't worry, gorgeous.“ He siad and I looked at him. „I'll be fine, eventually.“ I smiled „I'm sure you will, Phil.“ „So“ he started, clearing his throath „Are we good now?“ „We are, as far as I'm concerned.“ I said and smiled. „Excellent!“ he said and grinned. He chuckled „Huh, I guess the hard part is done now.“ I chuckled back, but he got serious then, straightening in his chair. „Or was it?“ he said, and I looked confused at him, when I felt an arm on my shoulder „Everything all right here?“ I looked up, Jake staring intensly at Phil. I saw tension in his jawline, so I quickly covered his hand with mine „Everything is fine.“ He looked at me and I smiled reassuringly. „If you say so.“ He said, sitting down next to me, turning his look back to Phil. „So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?“ Jake asked him witha a bit of a menacing tone, taking my hand in his. Phil looked at Jake, a mixture of emotions on his face, and I felt a squeez at my heart again, so I quickly said „Phil was actually apologising for what happened.“ He looked at me, his eyes grateful for not making him say the words himself to Jake, and i smiled. „And I accepted his apology, from us both.“ I said, and Jake turned to me rising his eyebrow „Really?“ „Yes, really. I knew you would agree with me eitherway.“ I said, flashing him with the most charming smile I could make, knowing he wont be able to contradict me. „Don't tell me I was wrong?“ i said making a bit sad face, and he smiled at me „No, angel, you wer not.“ I smiled back at him, turning to Phil „Great, so that's settled then. Let bygones be bygones?“ I grinned, looking from Phil to Jake, until both reluclantly mumbled under their breaths something that sounded like 'fine' and 'sure'. „All right“ Phil said after a moment getting up „I'll be off now.“ Jake said nothing but I smiled at him „Take care, Phil. See you arround.“ He smiled back „ See you arround.“ He made a few steps, when he turned and walked back. „I just want to tell you one more thing, loverboy.“ He said, nad I tensed. His tone wasnt friendly at all, and I felt Jake tensing too, squeezing my hand tighter. „You better take care of her really good.“ He said his voice threatening. „Because, if anything happens to her, you better run, and fast. Before I can get my hands on you.“ He looked at me and winked before turning around and walking away casually. I just stared speechless after him. „Did he...just threatened me?“ Jake asked surprised, his grip to my hand relaxing. „It did sound that way.“ I said serious, but I was laughing inside at it. „He is aware that I don't have to use any physical force to make his life miserable, right?“ he said, and I turned to him. He was grinning devilishly still staring after Phil. „What ever diabolical thoughts are crossing your mind at the moment, disperse them.“ I said. „I have no idea what you're talking about.“ He said turning to me, trying to sound ignorant. „Jake, I'm being serious here.“ I said warningly, looking at him crossly „Leave Phil alone.“ „Fine.“ He groaned after a moment. „But only because you asked so

'nicely'.“

„So, are you finally gonna tell me where you went earlier?“ I asked him as we walked back to the motel. He looked sideways at me „Hmm, I could keep you on edge for a while more.“ „Oh, you're just being evil now!“ I protested and he laughed. „All right, all right. You have been really patiente, so here.“ He said, reaching to his back pocket handing me an envelope. I slowed my steps opening the envelope, and stopped when I saw what was in it. He stopped after a few more steps turning to me, and I ran and jumped to hug him. „Thank you, thank you, thank you!“ He chuckled „You're welcome, angel.“ I moved from him grinning „Are you really gonna endure watching an almost two hours long 'chick' movie with me?“ „If it makes you happy, yes.“ He said and smiled. I gave him a quick kiss „Thank you for this, really.“ I said as we started walking again. „It's something a normal couple would do.“ He laughed „ We definitely don't fall under that category.“ He hugged me with one hand „But you know, I will get a bit jelous, with you dreamily staring at the screen at Chris Hemsworth, with me sitting right next to you.“ „Oh, you dont have to get jelous“ I said grinning at him „After all, you will be the one I'll be going home with after.“

„I'm bored.“ Jake groaned, throwing himself on the bed next to me, my drawing pad jumping from my lap from it. „I can see that.“ I chuckled at him, taking my headphones off. „I have a great idea how you can help me with that.“ He grinned, burrying his face to my neck, leaving soft kisses. „Oh, as much as I like where this is going“ I said, reluctantly pushing him away „But I really need to finish with this before we go to the cinema.“ „You can be so cruel sometimes.“ He said, dramaticaly throwing his head on the pillow. I laughed, reaching for my phone that started to ring. „Hey, Jessy.“ I answered. „Hey, Maya.“ She said „Hope I'm not bothering you.“ „Ofcourse not, what's up?“ I asked. „Well, I'm actually calling to see if Jake is with you.“ she said, and I turned to look at him „He is.“ I said, and he looked confused at me. „Great. Is he bussy at the moment?“ she asked, and I grinned at him „Nop, he's not bussy at all.“ He made a face at me, and I chuckled silently. „What's happening, Jessy?“ „Oh, the end of the world is happening!“ she exclimed desperatly. „All right, calm down and explain.“ I said to her, trying not to laugh, knowing how Jessy can be overdramatic sometimes. „Calm down?!“ she boomed form the other side „I can't, Maya! I need some important things from my laptop for tomorrow for work, and it just started to act weird on me a minute ago! I can't do anything on it, I'm desperate.“ „Oh, thats not good, indeed.“ I said symphathetically. „Would you like me to send Jake over to take a look at it?“ „That would be great.“ She said hopefully „He really wouldn't mind coming?“ „Ofcourse not, Jessy.“ I said „He is bored, and I do have some work to do, so you are actually doing me a favore with draging him out of here.“ I grinned again at him, and he threw a pillow at me. „Yay, thank you so much!“ she said cheerfully „Tell him he can come over whenever he feels like it.“ „No worries, Jessy. He will be there shortly.“ „Thank you again, Maya. Talk to you soon.“ „Bye, Jessy.“ I putted the phone away, turning back to him grinning again. „There, now you have something to do.“ „Yeah, yeah.“ He said, getting up from the bed. „I get the hint.“ „Awww, dont be sulky.“ I said teasingly, coming to him, putting my hands arround his neck. „I'm almost done with my work, so if you finish fast with Jessys laptop, we might still have time for some fun before we have to go.“ He smiled mischievous at me „Oh, you just gave me a motivation to be fast with it.“ „Good“ I said kissing him. „Now, off you go, I'll be right here waiting eagerly.“

I was done with work after Jake left sooner then I expected, so I decided to take a quick shower. When done, I got dressed and I took my laptop sitting at the desk, finding some entertainment online to pass the time. My phone beeped with a new message, so I took it and smiled as I opened the chat.

Jake: Almost done here

Maya: That was really fast :P

Jake: You did gave me a motivation for it :P

Maya: And you weren't kidding about it :D

Jake: I never joke when that's in question ;)

Maya: Haha, I'll keep that in mind :)

Jake: See you soon, angel :)

Maya: Can't wait :)

The movie doesn't start before 9pm, and it was not even 7pm yet, so we still had plenty of time. I continued to browse stuff online, finding an interesting documentary to watch. I got so into it, when a knock at the door surprised me, making me jump in the chair. I turned to the doors, shaking my head at the sight of the keys sticking from the lock. I closed the laptop and got up, walking to the doors with a smile. I opened the doors grinning, ready with a witty comment on the subject of forgetfulness, the grin from my face dissapearing as i saw the person standing in front of me was not Jake. „Good evening, Miss Cole.“ I stared at the face of the unknow man, and the feeling of dread started to crawl at me. As I continued to look at thim, I thought there was something familiar about him to me, but i couldn't quite realize what. „I'm sorry“ I said, trying to hide the fear from my voice „Do I know you?“ „Not really.“ the man said, as the sinister smile formed on his lips. „But I tought the time has come for me to properly introduce myself.“

[burnedbyshoto]

i’m genuinely confused by mama midoriya haters. I keep seeing all these fucking posts about how if they had been inko they would’ve dragged izuku’s ass outta ua at the first drop of a problem,,, but like,,, you do realize she was gonna do that but backed out because of izuku? I understand that at least with my culture, my parents probably wouldn’t give a rats ass about my opinion when it came to my safety, but you can’t be applying modern logic to bnha.

my long ass opinion is below the cut, beware lol.

midoriya inko carries great guilt for how she treated izuku. it’s not to say shes a bad mother; honestly I adore her and how much she supports izuku, but there was a time where she was most likely numb. the scene in which she apologized when izuku asked if he could be a hero instead of saying that despite his quirklessness caused her great grief and guilt. if i’m not mistaken, and sorry i’m merely recalling on my memories, it’s a major factor in her weight gain over the 10 years izuku was quirkless.

mothers, in an ideal setting, should be a child’s greatest supporter. no matter how out of reach, stupid, or childish it may seem, they should support their child. in a crucial moment in izuku’s time, she failed to do so, and knows she did it in more ways than one (genetic failure & reassurance failure). it seems even when he’s 14 shes still hesitant and not supporting izuku’s dreams because I mean,,, yeah, she does have a point to not believe in him.

our version of hero isn’t the same as theirs.

a hero is a profession that requires you to have a versitle quirk in order for it to work. so yes, for all you “izuku should’ve stayed quirkless because that would’ve been a cooler story,” shut up, no it wouldn’t have. it would’ve been super strict in how it was presented; moreover, izuku wouldn’t have lasted past the USJ arc. it’s like, for instance, your child saying they want to become a broadway star but possess no dancing or singing or acting skills.

she wants to support him, but knows she shouldn’t.

so when izuku “manifests” his quirk and is suddenly 100% okay and “normal” shes struck with even more guilt because she’s never believed in him. her son, her baby, her child whom she loves to the end of the world and back, never once gave up on his dreams despite her probably nighttime prayers that he does. not only does he manifest a quirk, he gets into the most prodigious school in japan.

she thinks izuku is damn fucking cool and awesome because he did that all on his own. she didn’t support him (i mean look at all the shit he’s gone through? she’d be crazy to think he’d be able to survive) and we as the readers can’t blame her.

then we get the USJ arc, the sports festival, and the mall encounter with shiggy and inko has already had enough. she warns izuku to stop it, that she can’t take this stress anymore because she could handle the fights her quirkless son used to get into. she could handle that because people pull their punches and he never fought villains, simply bullies. but now he’s fighting villains. these people won’t pull their punches, heroes still in canon die from villain attacks despite all might, and izuku has a self sacrificing streak that has been blazing a million feet high since he was 4 years old.

but we must remember that there’s guilt in her still. she trusts izuku when he says he won’t make her worry anymore because this isn’t her dream. izuku put in a goddamn lot of fucking effort to get where he is right now. izuku did not ever once loose faith in his ability to be a hero, whereas she did. she never believed in him before, and now izuku stands before her, declaring he’ll be fine and she caved. she caved because this is her baby’s dream, and inko is not a dream crusher.

but, she does have her limits and we see this why after the training camp arc. she won’t let izuku into the dorms which then implies that she’s pulling him from UA. she tells izuku why can’t he pick any other hero school, there’s more schools than UA, and he sure as hell will be fine going into any one of them. but again, that guilt, the sadness, the desire for her son to be happy and choose what he wants in his life which is something izuku hasn’t had control in for awhile (plus THE all might getting down to his knees and begging, pleading for her approval doesn’t hurt!). inko caves again because just like her son, she’s gentle, caring, and wants what’s best for the other person even if that means she gets hurt.

post move in, we don’t really see inko until this latest arc (not including the endeavor internship arc where inko and izuku have a heart to heart) but without a doubt, with no spec of doubt in my mind, she’s not going to cave this time. there’s just no way.

[likecastle]

In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex​, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!  

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

*

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

*

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

*

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought.  “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.  

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

[happy-whumper]

Sold

This chapter literally cost me my last nerve and while I am still not happy with it, I have decided that I also cannot deal with it any longer so I'm posting it now anyways xD it is still not super whumpy, but I promise that'll change in the next chapter!!!!! CW: dehumanisation, swearing, some more auction whump; if i forgot anything please let me know!!

The first few minutes were rather uneventful, the bids weren’t too high yet, some people were still unsure how interested they actually were and wanted to just keep their options open. Nicolas went with that for a while, but he was sure he wanted to have them. So after the offer of 650.000$ for Rain, he spoke up. “1.4 Million for all three.”. The room fell silent and he could feel peoples gazes turning to him. He didn’t mind it, he was used to being the center of attention. The auctioneer seemed pleased with that. “1.4 Million, anyone bidding more?”. There was a moment of silence and just as Nicolas thought that was it, another person spoke up. “1.5 Million.”. It seemed to have come from a table not too far from his, but he didn’t bother to turn his head to see who the other bidder was. Whoever they were, he would beat them. Once he had his mind set to something, he could be quite determined. The auctioneer's eyes lit up and Nick noticed that the pets on the stage started to look uneasy. Which was somewhat reasonable, given that someone was offering over a million dollars to buy them. “1.7”, his voice was calm, knowing full well he could keep going like that for a while. There was a whispering discussion breaking out at the other bidders table, agitated voices seemingly discussing something. They seemed to have come to a conclusion, because another offer was put out. “1.9 Millions dollars.”. A murmur went through the crowd. That was a lot of money to pay for three pets. But Nicolas didn’t let that stop him. He simply smiled, raising his glass to his lips before saying, “2 Million.”. He took a sip, watching the reaction of the people. The auctioneer paused for a moment, giving the other bidder a chance to up their offer. “ 2 Million dollars for the three pets…”, when there still weren’t any further offers, he hit the hammer on the podest. “Sold to Mr. Bennet!”. Some people clapped, some confused, some impressed. Most a mix of both. The curtain closed again and Ethan patted him on the shoulder. “Not bad man!”. “What can I say, you were right. Those are some interesting candidates.”. “Sure are!”. He leaned to the side, looking over his shoulder, trying to catch a glance at the other table who had been bidding on the three pets as well. He frowned, leaning back and looking towards Nick. “I didn’t know your sister was back in the business?”. Now it was his turn to frown, “What?”. He turned his head and there was, standing at the table with some other people he didn’t recognise. She had dyed her hair light pink and was wearing a simple and yet elegant black dress to fit into the scene. “Excuse me for a moment.” Ethan nodded. “Of course, hey I’ll go make sure they get your pets ready, while you take care of that!”. “Thank you.”, he gave him a last, genuine smile, before turning around, making his way over to his sisters table. “Hello Clarissa. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She hadn’t seen him coming so when he spoke, she flinched, spinning around. “Nick, hey...Yeah I uhm…”, she looked to her friends, but they looked just as confused as her. “I’m just here for research purposes.”. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure. Though i have to ask, since when does research include bidding almost 2 Million dollars on pets?”. Her hands started fidgeting and her eyes kept darting around the room, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah uh...Listen it was really nice to catch up and all, but we really need to go now.”. “That’s a real shame, we should really meet again sometime!”, his voice sounded honest and for most people around it would have sounded genuine. But his sister knew better than that. “Oh one more thing…”, he leaned forward, lowering his voice to not risk being overheard, “I know about your little...rescue group. I know that that’s why you’re really here. Trying to save those pets, it’s pathetic, really. I would have expected more from you.” Clarissa took a step back, straightening her back and finally looking him in the eyes now. “Just good that I have stopped caring about your opinion a long time ago.”

As soon as the curtains closed, the guards appeared again. “Damn, I can’t believe someone would pay this much money for some stupid pets”, the guard looked at them with a sceptical expression. “I can’t believe that you think anyone cares about what you have to say to that…”, the girl, Olivia, mumbled more to herself but still loud enough for Rain to hear her. Unfortunately, the guard had heard it too, stepping over to her and grabbing her by the hair, pulling her head back. That caused a pained hiss from her and she glared at the man. “What did you just say?”, his voice wasn’t particularly loud, but his anger was still coming through. She was clearly not impressed though, looking him directly in the eyes, “I said that no one cares about your opinion, dickhead.”. His face turned into an angry grimace. “Listen here you little-”, before he could finish his sentence, she interrupted him, a way too confident grin on her face, “What, you’re going to threaten me? Oh please, do tell me all the awful things you want to do, we both know that you won’t do it anyway. So please, save both of us the time.” He shot her a last angry glance, before letting go of her hair again. Rain let out a breath, he had been watching the whole situation anxiously, scared of what might happen. Talking like that to a guard in the Academy would have gotten him punished easily....

Just as it seemed that the guard was just going to let it be, taking a step back, he seemed to change his mind, kicking Olivia hard in the stomach. She leaned over, groaning in pain and making a pained grimace. “Fucking asshole!”. Her tone was still angry but her breathing was ragged and the slight shaking in her voice did not help either. The man seemed satisfied though, removing the cuffs around her ankles and pulling her up by her arm. The other two guards, who had only been watching so far, now did the same with the other two. They were more or less dragged out of the room, causing Rain to stumble and almost fall, which brought him a harsh pull on his already bruised arm, causing him to let out a small cry. “Can’t you be a bit more careful? Geez he’s already terrified, no need to be such a dick.”, Rain turned his head in surprise,this was the first time the other boy, who had been introduced as Theodor, had said anything. His voice was calm but had a slight annoyance to it. The guard just rolled his eyes and pushed the blue haired boy forward again. A few minutes later, they got to a new room, again it was completely different from the ones he had seen before. It was mostly empty, there were some beds standing against the wall, separated by curtains. Each of them got brought to one of the beds and immediately a cuff was closed around his ankle, securing him to the bed to make sure there was no escape. With that, the guards left, locking the door behind them. For a moment they just sat there in complete silence. And as they sat there, the reality of their situation came crashing down on Rain. Someone had just bought him, like he was nothing more than an object. A complete stranger just...owned him now. His breathing started to get faster again, his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest and his body started shaking. What was he going to do with him? Where would he go? Why were they in this room? The room started to spin again, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision. Before he could stop it, a ragged sob escaped his lips and he could feel his face getting wet with hot tears. Once it started, he felt like he just couldn’t stop crying, helpless sobs and gasps the only sounds coming from him. He was scared, hurt and just wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe again, not at this strange place, no idea what was about to happen. Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and rapidly turning his head. The hand had belonged to Theodor, who was looking at him with a worried expression. “Hey, look at me. You need to calm down, can you take a deep breath for me?”, Rain stared at him with big eyes before slowly nodding and doing as he was told. “Very good!”, he gave him a reassuring smile, that immediately made him feel a bit calmer, “Now just keep doing that okay? Nice deep breaths.” Rain nodded again and continued to focus on his breathing, eventually calming down enough to return to his normal breathing. Theodor took his hand away and for a moment he felt sad, the skin where his hand had been felt cold and sad now. His cheeks turned red and he looked at the floor, embarrassed about the outbreak. “Th-thank you…”. “No problem.”, his voice was warm and calm, something about it made Rain feel a bit saver. He was still absolutely terrified of course but...something about Theo made him feel like it would all be okay eventually. For the next few minutes none of them said anything, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Rain shivered slightly, although he wasn’t sure if it was from the low temperature in the room or something else. But before he could question that more, a man in a white coat entered the room. He was holding a clipboard and was wearing a pair of thick black glasses. His hair was dark brown, although there were streaks of grey visible. Immediately Rain's hands began to twitch again. “Well, hello there!”, he smiled at them, it was friendly and he immediately wanted to smile back. The other two looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. “Now, I’m just here to

make sure you’re all healthy and ready to go, I promise it won’t hurt!”. Olivia just scoffed, rolling her eyes. The man just pretended as if he hadn’t seen that, still smiling. “So, who wants to start?”. No one answered. After about a minute of uncomfortable silence, he sighed and turned towards Theo. “Okay, then I’ll just start with you.” He called someone and one of the men from before stepped in. The man in the white coat nodded towards Theo, who was then led through a door in another room. Rain looked after them for a moment, worried what they were going to do. Olivia seemed to have noticed his worry and confusion, “Don’t worry, the Doctor’s probably just going to do some tests and sign some paper saying that everything is okay. It’s no big deal.” She groaned and put one leg, the one that wasn’t secured to the bed, up resting her chin on it. “How...How do you know all that?”, Rain tilted his head in curiosity. She smiled slightly, though it wasn’t a happy one. There was something bitter about it. “I’m not doing this for the first time. It’s always the same procedure, you get used to it. Well. If you get sent back as often as I do at least.”, she let out a short laugh, but again there was no humour in it. Rain nodded slowly, not fully understanding what she meant but he also didn’t want to bother her any more. So instead he just stared at the ground, trying to stay calm. About ten minutes later Theo and the guard returned to the room. He didn’t bother to close the cuffs around his hands again, instead he just went over to the girl who seemed already annoyed even though he hadn’t said anything. She sighed, letting her leg fall to the ground again. “I hate doctors…”. With that she was brought through the door, leaving the two boys alone in the room.

After the brief conversation with his sister Nick didn’t quite know what to think. Her being at this event wasn’t necessarily something to be concerned but most definitely unusual. For the most part she preferred to say more behind the scenes and her appearance on this evening made him wonder if there was something special about this one. But that was something he could think about later, for now there were other things that needed his attention. Namely the three new pets he had just bought. He still wasn’t quite sure if getting three at once had been such a good idea but well...It was a challenge. And he loved a good challenge.

He made his way through the crowded room until he reached a discrete door at the back. It wasn’t locked, so he went right through, entering a hallway. Compared to the luxurious hall before, this one felt cold. Sad almost. The floor was made out of a light wood, the walls had a bland beige wallpaper on them. There were a few people walking around, but no one paid much attention to him since they were busy with the still ongoing auction. He didn’t mind that one bit. Since he already knew the place a bit, he had been here before, after all one of his oldest friends worked there. As if on command, Ethan rounded the corner, just finishing up a conversation. When he saw Nick he grinned. “Perfect timing, I was just about to go look for you anyways!”. He made a gesture, telling the other man to follow him. “So, they’re just in for the doctor checkup, you know the drill, but I figured I’d get you their files while you wait.”. Nicolas just nodded, his thoughts starting to drift off again. They passed a few windows and he saw that it had started to rain (haha...Rain...Why am i like this), in fact it seemed like there was a whole thunderstorm going on. The lightning caused sudden flashes of light and was shortly followed by the crashing thunder. He frowned, driving his car home in this weather was not going to be fun.

There was a loud crashing sound, causing Rain to flinch. His eyes darted towards the door, half expecting someone to storm in. When nothing happened he relaxed a bit more, perhaps it was just the weather. When they had brought him to the car earlier the sky had already been grey, thick dark clouds blocking out the sun. He had been nervous, it wasn’t like they never took trainees away from the academy but he had never been one of them before. The knowledge that a lot of those people never came back hadn’t done much to calm his nerves either. It had been about 3 years since he had gotten to the Academy and it still terrified him. No one ever explained anything, they only were told the bare minimum of information. Anything that hadn’t to do with the training wasn’t important.

Once again he felt like he was left in the dark, completely unaware of his faith.

All the time he had been in the room there had been steps in front of the door, passing and never stopping. Now he heard them again, but this time they didn’t leave. Instead he heard a click of a lock from the door and a moment later it swung open, revealing to men standing in the door. The first, the one that held the key to open the door, seemed vaguely familiar, Rain had seen him earlier. He had short blonde hair and his smile reminded him of a salesman, someone who was always trying to convince you to spend your money on something new you didn’t really need. His suit seemed expensive, but also as if the man hadn’t spent a lot of time picking it out. But he wasn’t the one Rain was paying attention to. Instead he fixated on the other man who had entered. He was taller, had dark hair and grey-blue eyes. Something about him immediately made him seem important, in an intimidating way. As if not watching out for him could have fatal consequences. Rain immediately felt his heart starting to beat faster again, unsure whether he wanted to look away from the man or not let him out of his sight to make sure nothing happened. From the corner of his eye he could see that the other two had gotten tense as well, all of them feeling the weighing presence of the stranger. Like a promise for dark times looming over them.

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