#also you can fit so much more crops into a space than you realize

[swagging-back-to]

if you have poor soil dont till it you're just disturbing all of the microbes in there and basically killing everything even more.

lightly rake to disturb the top and start adding compost. work incomplete compost into your grow beds, too, especially at the end of the season when most things are removed.

What I learned about growing vegetables in the last 3.5 years of doing it:

Squash: it will grow even in poor soil, summer squash will grow even in the worst conditions, winter squash needs a little more care! If you plant them far apart they will grow huge. Winter squash struggles in heat, but will generally survive it and start growing again once it’s not too hot.

Peppers: They have to be watered consistently and periodically after being planted outside. Even if you don’t water anything else, you have to water peppers, or they will remain small. They will also cross-pollinate and if you plant hot peppers next to non-hot peppers and try to collect the seeds, next year you will have all hot peppers.

Tomatoes: They’re the biggest monster plants and they will grow so vigorously and stubbornly I actually have no clue how to stunt or stop these once they’re on the open fields. You’re supposed to prune them but they get out of hand so fast. If they survive the ‘seedling’ stage god himself can’t kill them. But blight could so if the lower leaves are looking sick and yellow, cut them off.

Beans: Another thing that will grow in poor soil, the most important thing I learned is that the bush variety will produce earlier, and it’s a way safer bet to plant them, because if there’s a drought, or slug infestation, or whatever the hell happens, bush variety will give you the produce earlier, and you’re very likely to get a harvest. Pole beans, or the climbing variety, is capable of growing so much bigger producing much more beans, but does it slower and is at more risk to be attacked or sun-damaged! So plant both, always.

Carrots: I am still not great at carrots! There are many tricks to germinating them, and I always try to sow them early in the spring, then again in the summer, and it will sometims have better results if you put a big plank over the soil after planting them, to keep them from drying out. They really need soft and well-fertilized soil. Also if you plant them in the fall, harvest before the late spring comes because they will start going to seed.

Onions and garlic: Honestly there’s no effort in growing these, bulb stuff grows as long as its underground, it’s more of a challenge to stop them from growing really. Even if you cut up the tops they’ll regrow like some kind of zombies. Beware of onion fly tho that stuff is evil.

Sunflowers: Do Not Let the seeds fall around your garden, they Will take over your Entire Garden and you will be helpless as these monster plants devour your garden space while You feel too Guilty to tear the pretty flowers away from your space. Do Not be Deceived. That’s exactly what they Want you To Think. Will stunt your beans if planted close so be careful. Zero effort in growing, will grow in any dirt.

Cabbage and Kale: They need so much fertilizing, or they will just stay sad and small, you have to give them compost, mulch, and water them with some sort of fertilizer tea (you can make that by mixing nettle with water and letting it sit in the sun for 10 days) or you will not get the gorgeous full plant that you want. Also they are frost hardy but if there’s not much sun they won’t grow very fast in the cold.

Leek: they do not tolerate being grown inside as seedlings, but if you direct sow them every seed will come out I Swear. Can be grown in a bunch in one place then transplanted around later. Onion fly can also mess them up but I have no idea what to do about that.

Parsley and Celery: seems to do better direct-sown than transplanted, needs a lot of seeds to be thrown in order to germinate. I’ve never tried the root variety but leaf varieties grow very easy.

Potatoes: They’re extremely easy to grow, as long as you put the potato underground you’ve done it, now if you want them to do amazing, you need to plant them in spring while the soil has a lot of water content in it, and you want to keep adding soil/mulch on top of them as they grow, in oder for them to grow more potatoes. I absolutely love growing them in mulch instead of soil! If you dig a hole, put a potato in it, then cover it in hay, or dry leaves, not only it will grow, but you won’t have to dig out the potatoes, you can just feel them thru the mulch! 10/10 Love growing in mulch. They still spread their roots into the soil, but the potatoes itself have a good time growing in mulch because it creates no resistance to potatoes getting bigger underneath. Also they like having decent amount of water, if planted in hot times.

Green beans: You need to put 5-6 seeds in one place in order for them to do well, they like having more of their own kind around to create shade and stability, they get easily damaged by the sun so they appreciate being around each other and protecting each other. Bush varieties do best in my climate, but I’m longing for the evasive pole green bean plants, I want to see them tall one day.

Cucumbers: I’ve only grown this once and all I have to report is that it was very stubborn, grew in poor soil and with no care, kept creating cucumbers long after I’ve expected it to call it quits, sometimes they grow bitter and it takes a Ritual to make them edible, good for canning tho.

Peas: This is one thing I suck at so don’t do what I did – don’t take out seeds from hybrid varieties of peas and expect them to grow next year, they will germinate at abysmal rates. I finally bought some heirloom seeds so we will see if my luck changes.

Chives: Absolutely immortal, zombie plant, grows always except when frozen, grows like grass, loves being cut, unlimited onion seasoning exists and its chives, not as sweet as green onions sadly, but I appreciate it’s properties of being an endless supply, a woman needs that sometimes.

Spinach and Swiss Chard: Idk if it’s just me but I Never know when these are randomly going to go to seed and it drives me Insane. Cannot be relied upon because they all just loooove going to seed whenever sun hits them in a Way. Plant in fall to have some to eat in the spring for 2 weeks until they decide they’re ditching you because sunlight now exists.

Basil: Oh, oh, don’t get me started, I thought, originally, this plant needs lots of sunlight to succeed and it made Sense! I mean why Not! But then for several years they did badly..? And then, then I find out, basil grows better in Shade! I find this via youtube video randomly! Really?!?! I have planted the forsaken herb in the shade and I’m Watching its Every Move. It’s doing fine for now we’ll see tho. =_=

[sio-writes]

Botanist's Guide - Chapter 15

< Chapter 14

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Summary: Cassandra Rowland, PhD, finally has the chance to work on an experiment that really matters: growing Earth crops on another planet. But too many overdue reports and marked failures have put her in hot water with the board, and this is her last chance at redemption. So when she finds herself railroaded by a seven foot tall, glowing alien named Kri, it won’t be as easy as sticking some seeds in the soil and running them under the tap. Tack on the looming repossession of her lab contingent on her success in Kri’s reports, and Cassie realizes she may have her work cut out for her.

Tags: No new tags today, but Cassie really gets down on herself

Cassie Shower sex did not go as planned. In fact, Kri had simply wanted to forego anything physical and talk instead. I tried to use what little feminine wiles I still had to seduce him, but it was no use. Kri is playing some version of doctor/nurse/mother hen which leaves no room for "unhealthy coping mechanisms." 

I knew scowling at him would do no good, so I sighed out my frustration and tried to appreciate the fact that he's only trying to help. I'd groaned to the ceiling and pushed Kri out of the shower, and then waited until he had dried off and left to see if I could work up the gumption to masturbate. The motivation, though, wasn't there and I stepped out of the shower unsatisfied and grumpy.

Bathing was nice though, I needed it. Hot water, nice-smelling soap. Kri had apparently texted Ari for Jillie to get me some new clothes and had them ready for me as I stepped out of the shower. I'm surprised at Kri's networking skills, and also a little intimidated. 

I feel like I'm floating as I get dressed. Jillie brought me my favorite jeans and an old band t-shirt, my ultimate comfort outfit, but as I look at myself in the mirror I realize that I'll need more than just clothes. There's dark circles and bags under my eyes, I look pale, and I've chewed my nails down to the quick. I can feel my temper angrily pacing in the back of my mind, mumbling about things that need to get done.

I need to clean the greenhouse today, and find places for all the plants that aren't going to be mulched. My little planters are unfortunately in the later category, but the bigger ones I could try to sneak away with on their own. They'd fit right in with the plants at home, and I could continue the spirit of the experiment indefinitely. God, there's still so much to do, and I have so little time to do it. The lab comes after the greenhouse, and there's even more shit in there that's going in the garbage, too. I'll need boxes for the office and containers for the lab, and I have to clear space in my apartment now for the extra plants. 

Thinking about everything makes my head spin, and the frustration of it all has fresh tears of blooming behind my eyes. No, I can't do this, I can't break down. Not today, not ever. 

I take an unsteady inhale to push every ugly emotion wanting to surface, and jab my finger against my reflection. "You. Get your shit together."

There's a soft knock at the door, and Jillie's soft voice carries through. "Cass, you okay in there?" 

My voice cracks as I respond, "Yeah, I'm good." 

I push off the countertop and pass over to the door while wiping my face free of tears, opening it and letting the steam out into Kri's apartment. Jillie's still there, eyes wide and locked on me. She steps forward and wraps me in her arms, hugging me tight to her and burying her face in my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, hon."

Another deep breath from me, and I hug her back to let her know I'm functioning. "Yeah, it sucks."

She pats my arms reassuringly, and squeezes my shoulders, and I think the move is more for herself than me.

On the couch sit Kri and Ari, their heads bowed down so their antennae touch. Ari has on arm wrapped around Kri's shoulder, and another holding two of his hands as they both quietly speak in Universal. When I step out of the bathroom, though, they both stop immediately, watching me with wary eyes. Kri stands up, and I'm struck by a pang of irritation at that-- they were talking about me, or something else they didn't want the humans to hear, and it sets my teeth on edge.

I step around Julie and towards the exit. "We have to clean the lab today."

Jillie stops me halfway to the door, grabbing my wrist. "We have a few days to do that. How about some lunch first?"

I sigh through my nose. I need to get everything cleaned out, then I'll feel better, or at least I can go home and cry in the solitude of my own apartment. I turn on my heel and I'm met with three concerned faces. "Guys, I really want to just get everything cleaned out."

Kri chirps an anxious note as he rests a hand on my shoulder. "There's no hurry, why not eat first?"

His hand is meant to comfort, but instead another shock of annoyance courses through my system. I have to resist shrugging him off. "I really just want--"

"Cassie, please," Jillie says. "Humor us? Let us take care of you."

Et tu, Jillie? The thought of eating makes my stomach twist. I could barely get down the bread and fruit Kri shoved in my face, now I'm expected to eat again? I'm not in the mood to entertain a group of hovering nannies while I force down a sandwich. That shock of annoyance comes back, and I have to focus on my expression so I don't scowl. They won't let me do what I want to do, I'm going have to play their game until they're satisfied and leave me alone. After another moment to weigh my options, I roll my eyes and give in. "Fine."

At that, Jillie lights up, she even gives me a smile instead of a drawn in half-frown of concern. "You feelin' anywhere specific?"

I shrug. I'm really unfamiliar with the restaurants here, even the shops. I spend most days at the food court eating whatever is offered, and everything I need to live is supplied by the Outpost. Jillie, though, is socially active enough for the both of us, and has likely been to every restaurant and store twice over. She goes out here on Summanus more than she did on Earth.

Jillie gives me a strange look. Usually I'm all for finding somewhere to eat, but right now I just want to crawl back into Kri's super comfortable hammock and sleep for five days. I don't want to make any decisions.

Snap out of it, Cass. Be a better friend.

Back on Earth, I'd been given bad marks on assignments, failed tests, the usual. Rejection happens to even the best of us, not that I'm even close to the best, but I'm not new to the sting of it. Stephen was there to give me pep talks-- although, thinking back on it, he only did it to get me over the emotional slump and move on as fast as possible so we could focus on him. I can give myself a pep talk just fine, thank you very much, I just have to ignore the big part of my brain convinced that I do nothing but fall on my face.

To distract myself while they find somewhere to eat, I step over to Kri's bookshelf. Most of the books are in Universal, but I spy one in English and pick it up. It's an artbook; more specifically, a book on the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It's well-worn, with indentations in the thick spine and several bookmarked pages. Kri must have revisited this book a dozen times or more, if he marked out his favorites.

It's a side of Kri I'm unfamiliar with, and one I find infinitely fascinating. What else does he enjoy, besides art? Clearly he enjoys reading, too, but what kind of books? Does he like romance novels like I do? Our back-and-forth in Igrien was surface level, and thinking of the trip makes a foggy memory come to surface: his favorite color. He'd told me it was blue, like my eyes. I truly hadn't made the connection at the time, but now I want to smack myself for being so stupid. At the same time, though, I feel warm. It could be a coincidence, it could've been his favorite since he was born, or if it has anything to do with me, but I don't care.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open to the first bookmarked page. It's pop art, like I've read about from the 1970's, with bright screened half-tones on canvases as large as I am tall. There's an image of a white woman with curls of blonde hair and bright red lipstick, holding a matching red soda can with the label facing out. The image of the can is repeated as a border around the image in different colors. There's a passage that I skim, explaining the artist's process, their feelings on the creation of the art, and plans for future installations, and something about anti-capitalism.

The second bookmark makes me smile. It's a photo of a young black woman with vitiligo, wearing bright yellow underclothes that barely cover her breasts and groin. Her pose is simple, one leg propped up on a low block, the opposite hand planted on her hip. It looks like an advertisement for alcohol, if the setting was an art gallery. She's dark-skinned, and the vitiligo is a pasty white that goes all the way down to her feet, and Kri's fascination suddenly makes sense. The pattern almost looks like his.

A cleared throat to my right makes me jump, and I slam the book closed. It's only Kri; he hooks an arm around my waist and rests his head against my temple. "Is there a word for one who goes through another's things?"

A hot flash of shame locks me up. "Sorry."

"I'm only joking." He presses a kiss to my hair, and the tension in my muscles unwinds. "What did you find?"

"Your human obsession." I open back to that bookmark, and Kri makes a choked noise in the back of his throat.

"That is--uh, well--hmm," he says, rubbing the back of his neck before aborting an explanation. "It is not an obsession, I simply appreciate the aesthetics."

"Uh-huh," I say with a smile, my first smile since this morning. "Shall we go through the rest of your marked pages?"

"No no--" he grabs the book from my hands, closing it and stepping around me to place it back on the shelf. "How about…" He searches the shelf for a moment, so I glance behind me at the others. Ari and Jillie are bent over Ari's phone, scrolling through restaurants. One of Ari's hands is resting on Jillie's shoulder, and they're leaned in close together as they search. I wonder at what their relationship is, and I want to ask, be nosy. They must feel me staring, and both look up at me at the same time.

Jillie raises her eyebrows. "How about Indian food?"

The hoverbus that takes us is crowded and hot, and the person behind me keeps kicking my seat to whatever music they're listening to. I grind my teeth the whole way there and try not to think too much about what I need to do, but I do anyway. Why did The Board fail me? There was progress. It was small, but very present, and they saw that. Why wasn't I good enough? Who do these people think they are, cutting an experiment so new it's not even off the ground?

The good mood from Kri's apartment has all but disappeared once we walked out the door. It felt like the balloon holding up my mood suddenly had a brick tied to the end, and then plunged into the ocean. Kri seemed to have backed off once we left, and I understand he's giving me space, but I wish he wouldn't. His presence isn't as abrasive as the others, not that I dislike them, but Jillie can be…a lot sometimes. I love her, but I'm someone who needs quiet once in a while.

We end up at a small restaurant in the Chem Building run by the Outpost. It looks like it seats maybe fifty people max, with a small but well-stocked bar at the far end.

"Oh thank god, I need a drink," I say, pushing past the others to make a beeline for the bar, but a small hand around my wrist stops me mid-step. It's Jillie, her face pinched in concern.

"Maybe that's not the best idea?"

I roll my eyes, jerking my hand out of her grip as my anger spikes. "Seriously, Jill? I can't have a fucking drink with lunch?" She flinches back, and I immediately feel bad. I've yelled at Jillie once, and only once, and swore to never do it again. I collect myselfwith a deep breath and correct my words, "No, no, you're right. Probably not a good idea."

We're told we can sit wherever we like, and Ari grabs us a half booth with two chairs on one side. The cushions are soft and it's relatively secluded, but I find it hard to appreciate. How many more fuck ups can I make in one day, I wonder? Maybe I should just stop talking.

I take the first of the booth seats, assuming Kri and Ari will take the chairs because of their wings. But Kri sits next to me, and Ari slides in next to Jillie, who then sits opposite me. I feel trapped, boxed in and under pressure to do…something. I'm not sure what, yet. In very human fashion, Kri stretches his upper arm over my shoulder, resting it on the back of the booth. I feel his wings poke at my back, slightly extended to accommodate the booth, but he doesn't look uncomfortable or stiff. I try to move forward to give his wings more room.

A young woman introduces herself as our waiter and takes our drink orders, and I float through it like I floated through dressing earlier. Menus are handed out, and I notice that Kri and Ari's are in Universal, the squiggly lines of the language stand stark against the several English words that couldn't be translated. I sneak a peak at Kri's menu, curious, and he tilts the large sheet of laminated paper towards me so I can see. I feel his other right hand move to rest over my thigh, from the inside of my knee upwards, and before I can pretend to be scandalized he turns his wrist and opens his palm for me to take. I slip my hand into his, his fingers slotting between mine, and I feel stabilized for the first time in days.

"I've never eaten here before, what is good?" Ari asks, scanning their own menu before turning it facedown at the end of the table.

Jillie repeats Ari's action, then props her elbows on the table and folds her hands under her chin. "Indian food can get spicy, do ya'll like spice or not?"

Ari shakes their head while Kri nods, and Jillie nods in understanding. She turns to Ari, "You'll like butter chicken or tikka masala. Kri," she turns to him, "Get whatever speaks to you."

Kri chuckles as he flips the menu over, and then tilts it for me to see. It isn't a requirement to learn Universal to come to Summanus, human vocals have a hard time with some the tonal sounds. But the fun part of being discovered by an alien species, as the ento did us, is that they already decided to learn a handful of Earth languages before landing. It scared the hell out of the first contact scientists. In my early days of training at NASA, I took the course on the language hoping to get a leg up in applications, but nothing stuck. Very similar to my lessons on Korean, I've forgotten most of it outside of a few key words, like "hello," or "fuck off."

"Drink," I say, pointing at the word on the menu. It's something a toddler would do, yet I feel too numb to worry about embarrassing myself. I want to impress Kri with my knowledge of his language.

Kri smiles down at me, "Yes, that's right," and I blame the sudden heat in my face on the close quarters. "Do you have any recommendations?"

I know he's trying to distract me, pretend everything is normal, and it's a little overbearing but I think I can handle it. I look down at our linked hands. "I like tandoori chicken, and biryani is always tasty. If you're feeling veggie options I've heard aloo gobi is good, and you can adjust the spice level."

Kri hums in thought and flips the menu over to study it. I feel bad that he's down to half his hands and try to unlace our fingers, but Kri softly locks his down, making escape impossible. It's soft, like he's afraid of hurting me. He squeezes my hand reassuringly without taking his eyes off the menu and suddenly, our hands feel like a secret between us. It's pretty obvious by the way we're sitting, but the small movements of his against mine are our own, something only we'll know. I return with a squeeze of my fingers.

When the waitress brings us our drinks, the conversation dies down. I think Jillie was expecting Kri or me to talk, but I'm not feeling very chatty. It leaves a hole in the interaction, like a tear in a stocking. I stay safe and order tikka masala, but that's the extent of my attention span, and I wind up staring down at the table.

I'm exhausted, but I'm also wired. Everything to do is still on my mind, everything that still needs to be done, and we're just sitting here. Sitting around like nothing matters, and I'm growing more anxious by the minute. Kri squeezes my hand again, but I don't squeeze back. When our meals come I don't feel like eating anymore. I pick at it, rolling the chicken in the sauce as Jillie talks to Ari through a mouthful of food.

"This tastes like the creckt from home." Ari says. "'Asxu, taste." They push their bowl towards Kri, who takes it in one hand and grabs a bite with the other. His eyes light up and he hums in exclamation.

"Indeed it does! Here, try mine," he says, pushing his bowl forward.

"No, thank you, it's searing my eyes from over here."

Kri shrugs and says something in Universal that makes Ari scoff and smile. Kri reaches over and easily steals another piece of chicken from their plate. It's strange, watching Kri pick off Ari's plate, like how girls in high school would flirt with the boys. It sets me on edge, watching a tradition I know very little about. It could be cultural or just between them, I'm not sure which, but that fact of it doesn't make me feel any better.

Julie breaks the silence, "Ya'll come from the same town, right? What's home like for you guys?"

Shame twists my stomach before I can sort it away. The last time I asked Kri about his life was in Igrien, and I made him sad thinking about V'les. Since then it's been about nothing but me and my issues, and I hate to think I've been such a bad girlfriend after so little time has passed.

Kri speaks up, "We are from Lethien, about 300 kilometers, ah, Northwest?" he looks to Ari for confirmation, who only shrugs in response. "It's a small mining village built into a mountain and surrounded by forests."

"That sounds gorgeous," Jillie says.

Ari nods again. "In the summer, yes. Spring too. But the winters I do not like."

That piques my interest, and I want to say something, ask about their home, but Jillie beats me to it. "Ooh, Cassie you grew up in Maine, aren't the winters there bad too?"

"Um, yeah."

Jillie waves her hand dismissively. "She's downplaying it. Maine is up north so it sees harsh winter. Northwest of here…Ya'll farm, like, staple crops, right?"

Ari nods. "The Athena Grain that's in most breads. We also have three kinds of berry bushes that grow naturally in the area. 'Asxu is fond of the grengish berry." They turn to briefly acknowledge Kri, whose hand falters against my own as Jillie chuckles.

They keep pretending like everything is normal, like my life hasn't been uprooted. Part of me wants to scream, part of me wants to cry, but mostly I just stare at the table and say nothing. The same touch of annoyance comes back to nibble at my conscious as they continue to talk around me. I don't feel in touch with any of them, not even Jillie. I feel isolated and far away.

We finish lunch without issue, and I digest my half-eaten chicken on the walk to the lab. It only takes about ten minutes, but it's ten minutes of conversation, pointless talking, and things I'm not part of. Julie asks more questions about Lethien, and each one is a stab in my chest with a knife that says, You're a subpar friend and girlfriend.

We step into the lab and a heavy weight settles over my shoulders. My lab isn't mine anymore, it belongs to the Outpost. Well, it always belonged to the Outpost, but there's white tape criss-crossed over the counter like police tape. There's no text on it, just a shiny finish that reflects my face back at me at weird angles. "I feel like I'm being evicted."

Beside me, Kri frowns in confusion. "It is not. You will continue to live at your apartment."

I sigh. "I know, I was just being dramatic." No jokes allowed, I guess. "Let's get started." I grabbed a box of garbage bags from the apartment's convenience store on the way over, and tears begin to well in my eyes as I pull out the first one. I push my tears down. I can cry tomorrow, where I can properly process it.

"Lets grab what we want to keep, first." Jillie says, delegating the other two. "Electronics, hardware, anything not owned by the Outpost-- Cass, not that!" She stops me before I grab a single planter, my hand hovering over it. It's just a cup of dirt that I assumed would be composted.

"This is garbage, it didn't even germinate," I reply, following through to pick it up and put it in the bag.

Jillie pouts, her lower lip pushed out. "I had a system…" I look to Kri and Ari, who don't respond, so I guess I'm outnumbered. I sigh again, and pull my hand back.

"Fine." I let the trash bag fall from my hand. "My laptop's already been returned to the Archive."

"Yeah yeah, I turned mine in too," she waves me off as she scans the desktop for electronics. She picks up a microscope and sets it back down. That's not ours.

It soon becomes clear that Jillie intended to take the lead from the beginning, organizing every item into huge, unmanaged piles of "Keep," "Outpost," and "Trash." It works, I suppose, but the piles are so close together they're starting to fall into one another and we're going to have to sort through them all over again. Her system left us with too many cooks, so I wound up leaning against what was once my desk and watching her and Ari sort through the past half year of my life.

On my side, though, is Kri again. Normally, I'd be annoyed, but he's not hovering over my shoulder, he's not trying to talk to me, he's just standing half a step away. It's hands-off, not really like his style, but I can appreciate it. It doesn't do much against the visuals in front of me, though, so I resign myself to grinding my teeth and fighting back tears. There's no point in resisting anymore, there's no point in trying to salvage things, there's no point in trying anymore. I don't even have my music to cut the silence.

"Cass, what do you want us to do with this?" Jillie asks, holding up the stack of paper that contains my report. It's at least an inch thick, full of mistakes.

"I don't care," I say with a shrug. She'd just thrown away all my pictures of the planters that hadn't made it to the slideshow presentation. All my hard work, right in the trash. I grind my teeth and push back another wave of tears. Without ceremony, Jillie dumps it all into the garbage pile, where a few flutter to the ground.

She continues piling up piece after piece until the lab returns to its original appearance, sparkly clean, just like the day it was assigned to me. Just like I predicted, we had to sort through things again as the piles had started to blend together, taking twice as long as it should've.

I volunteer to carry the first bags to the trash compacter, where I had to throw out Emmie the MP3 player. I drop the bags into the chute, and turn away before I can consider throwing myself in behind them, and stand there, in the hallway. The 'Keep' pile in the lab is so small, just enough to carry in my arms and back to…I'm not sure. I can't keep the equipment in my apartment, there's barely enough room for me. We'll probably donate it to the Outpost, and then what?

I look down at my hands. Going back to the lab isn't an option anymore. The door is going to close in my face for the last time, and it's going to break something in me. Instead, I turn to the right, take the stairs down, and leave the building. I need to talk to someone else.

At my apartment, I toss my keycard on the kitchen table and I pull out my laptop and sign into StarNet, the network that allows communication to Earth. It's used primarily to send scientific data back to NASA, but we recently got an update to allow video, at least for a few minutes. I last used it months ago to talk to my folks. I'd told them about Project EVA being approved, the audit, how excited I was to get started. They don't know about anything else, not because I kept it from them, but because I ever took the time to call them about it, and I admit that I was apprehensive telling them about my relationship with Kri. Technically, he was in a position of power over me, and it's not ethical to start a relationship with a power imbalance, that's what NASA told us, at least.

I check the time and mentally calculate that would mean for my parents-- and it's just after dinner there. I dial their address, and dad picks up after the second ring. "Cass! It's been a minute!"

Hearing his voice hits me with a wave of emotion and my chest heaves. I can't break down yet. Still, it makes me miss them. "Hi, Dad."

"Oh no, sweetheart, what happened?"

I'm A Daddy's Girl through and through, he's always been able to read me like a book, especially my moods.

He leans back to reveal Mom puttering around in the background, and I recognize that the laptop is set up the kitchen. "Is that Cassie? Cassie, hi! I love you, baby!" She waves at me with a long spoon, splattering red sauce everywhere. Behind them, out the window, I see the crescent Earth peeking around the corner of the window.

I miss Earth, a little more than usual. There's no fast food on Summanus, nothing from Earth at least, NASA wanted to keep commercialism to a minimum when setting up the Outposts, so all the restaurants are privately owned. But damn, I miss gobbling down french fries from the deep fryer, covered in salt.

I can only muster a half-smile. "Hi, Mom."

Dad asks again, his face coming back into frame, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

My chest feels like it's going to cave in as another wave of emotion washes over me. "The experiment failed, Dad. I've lost my lab, and my greenhouse."

There's no point in hiding things anymore, and I recount the events of the experiment. I carefully leave out Kri to save myself more heartache, but I know it's going to come up later. They'll ask, and I'll have to answer, but I'm going to put it off for as long as possible. When I reach the presentation, the letter of determination, and the notice of failure, both Mom and Dad are crowded around the camera, faces drawn down in concern.

"Sounds like it was a success, though," Mom says after I finish recounting cleaning up the lab.

I sigh. "Technically, it was, it just wasn't fast enough."

"That auditor they sent probably didn't help, I bet he was an ass."

That makes me chuckle. "Yeah, at first, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding. His name is Kri, and he's actually very kind."

"Oh, are you two friends?" She says the word friends like she means something else. It's a distraction from the talk of the experiment, but I don't mind.

I fiddle with my hands shyly. "We're actually…seeing each other."

"After the experiment, right?" Dad asks, drawing it out suspiciously.

I chuckle again, but awkwardly. "Well…"

Mom gasps, scandalized. "Cassie! That's incredibly unprofessional."

"I know, I know."

They both give me a look of mock-disapproval, but Mom's fades almost instantly. Dad's though, only becomes stern. Mom lightly smacks him on the shoulder. "Give her a break, Daniel, she's had a hard few months."

Dad scoffs, but doesn't say anything else. Mom pushes past him, "So, what's he like?"

I smile at her eager face on screen. She's always been supportive of my relationships. "He's an ento--"

"Ooh what color? Wait-- Is that rude to ask?"

"I don't think so. He's blue and black, about seven feet tall, big wings. He's actually a botanist like me, except I think he did field work, and then got promoted to auditor. He likes art, and he's really smart." For a brief moment, I feel like a teenager again, telling my parents about my crush. Then, like being hit by a truck, that feeling of inadequacy comes back full force, and I go quiet. I'm not good enough for him, I shouldn't be here. Before I can stop it, tears are falling down my face

"Cassie, honey, don't cry. Crying won't solve anything," Mom says firmly. She in Psychiatrist-Mode, and that means no big emotions. I sniff back the next set of tears, pushing my emotions down as she guides me through a breathing exercise. I wipe my eyes, sit up straight, and try to calm myself down. At the end of it, Mom says, "You need to start looking for a job."

"I know, Mom."

Dad leans in. "Do you need someone to look at your resume?"

I shake my head. "There's a database that keeps all our work data. Cuts down on paper."

They both nod in understanding. "Well, now you know what you need to do, you've got your orders," Mom says, half-joking. By the time we hang up, another half-hour has passed where they update me on their life on the moon. They show me their new kitten, Tyson, a gray Maine Coon that hasn't realized he's on the moon and keeps yowling to be let outside. Macy, their three-year-old German Shepherd, has tried to make friends with Tyson, but Tyson isn't big enough to romp with a forty-pound dog yet. I push down more emotions, and by the time we're waving goodbye, I'm exhausted. Still, I remind myself, I need to find Jillie and apologize for disappearing. They took the rest of the garbage out by themselves, cleaned the lab, and returned everything to the Outpost that needed returning.

The door closes behind me, and I instantly realize my mistake. My fucking keycard for the door is on the table.

Fuck. Fuck!

I kick my door, forgetting for a moment that it's steel, so when my toe makes contact I scream. The pain lances up my leg and I reel back and hold my foot. "Ow, ow, bad idea, son of a bitch--" Of course. Of course this happened to me. Was I supposed to expect differently?

God damn it.

Down the hall is a call station, a cutout in the wall with buttons for Emergency Services, the Fire Department, and Maintenance. I hit Maintenance and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. A sleepy-voiced man answers. "Hello, Sagan Building Maintenance."

"Hi, I'm in 407-C, I need my door unlocked. My name is Cassandra Rowland, Code 6702."

The man sighs, not annoyed but like he's standing after not having moved for very long. I hear him shuffling through papers and typing something into a keyboard. "Alright Ms. Rowland, my buddy Scott will be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you." I rest the phone on the receiver to hang up. I can't go find Jillie now, even though she's probably back at her apartment. Out of things to do, I look up and down the hallway, empty. I pat my pockets one more time, just to make sure I didn't stupidly just leave my keys in there. They're also empty, and I'm oddly comforted by it. At least I didn't rope someone else into my existential crisis.

For lack of anything to do, I walk back to my door and sit on the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. My boobs get in the way of resting my chin on my knees, so I let my head fall back against the door and stare at the ceiling.

God, I feel so stupid. After everything that's happened today, I had to lock myself out. I've never done this before, not in the three years I've been here. I lose my keys, I can't write reports, I can't even grow plants, which is my whole job. I'm not good at much of anything, am I?

I groan against the door of my apartment and thunk my head against it. Fuck.

After another few minutes of stewing in silence, I feel a presence at the end of the hallway, an ento if my ears are to be trusted. I don't look at them, I don't care who it is, I don't care how I look, I don't care if I get any weird glances.

They stop in front of me-- It's Kri. I'm almost relieved. His head blocks the harsh fluorescent of the hallway, casting his face in a soft halo of light. He says softly, "I hope I'm not intruding."

"As long as I can just sit here on the floor," I grumble into my arm. I'm not in the mood to be carried to three different places again. "How'd you know where I went?"

"I didn't," Kri says, still soft. "This was the third stop." He moves to sit next to me, wings extending to accommodate the floor. He wraps an easy arm over my shoulder, and I allow myself to scoot into his embrace. "I think…avoiding the problem is not advised."

I snap my head to face him. "I'm not avoiding--!" I stop myself with a sigh, cognizant of the space we're in. There's other people living here, probably sleeping. "I just wanted to clean the lab." I sniff and rest my head against the door again, and I think of the beach before a tidal wave. The water has receded from the shoreline, which means something ugly is coming. I've been pushing things down so much today, I don't have in it me to resist anymore. Kri rests his head on mine, his cheek on my hairline, and reaches for my hand like he did at the restaurant. I take it and interlace our fingers, the points of contact helping ground me.

Kri doesn't answer right away, and I feel him shift to look at me. He's examining my face in my periphery, until he lets out a sigh and returns to resting his head on mine. "I'm sorry. I thought having direction would help your mood."

I sigh heavily through my nose. "I appreciate everyone trying to help, but my mood wasn't going to change in a different setting. I wasn't suddenly going to be happy."

"I understand that now. Similar tactics were of use on me, and they worked well."

"When?"

He pauses, and I feel his jaw working against my temple. "After V'les died, I was inconsolable. Ari kept me distracted, which kept me from falling into despair. I'd hoped for the same results for you."

I sigh again. "I'm sorry. I know you were all trying to help, I just didn't want it."

"Can I offer you anything now?"

After a moment of indecision, I realize what Kri is doing. He's giving me the option, which is really all I wanted in the first place. An opposite hand comes up and brushes a curl of hair from my eyes, and he looks at me with an expression of deep concern. It's for me, he's worried about me. This level of gentleness is too much, and I feel my walls crumbling. I'd been holding them up all day, but now the day is over, and I'm tired. I sniff, feeling a tsunami on the horizon, and when tears start falling, I can't stop them. I'm hit full force by everything that's happened today, and I start to sob in earnest. Kri doesn't say anything, only holds me tighter.

"I lost my greenhouse," I gasp between breaths. "I lost my lab, my job."

His voice is low, sympathetic. "I know. I'm sorry." He wipes away my tears with the opposite hand, turning his torso into mine to reach, forming kind of a protective cocoon against the outside world. It's a futile effort, one he realizes after a few moments of my tears spilling over his hands and onto the floor. I'm being wrung out like a wet washcloth, my shuddering breaths only serving to egg me on more. Kri rubs my back, offering hums of appreciation, active listening noises, but doesn't force anything.

I find a break in to storm to apologize, "I'm sorry, Kri."

He brushes another curl from my face. "Why?"

"For being," I gesture vaguely to all of me. "This."

His expression turns confused. "What, human? You should be proud to be human, you're one of the hardiest species on Earth. The universe throws so much at you, and yet you keep standing up again."

"I'm so tired of being knocked down." First Stephen, now this. I'm pretty pathetic. "I don't want to get back up."

"But you must."

"I know," I whine in earnest, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. "But it's so hard."

"That is what makes it amazing."

We sit there for a moment in silence that's occasionally punctuated by my disgusting sniffling. I disagree with Kri, I'm nothing amazing, just a botanist with rotten luck.

"May I offer a word of encouragement?"

I sniff again, feeling the tears beginning to lessen. I must be running out. "Go for it." His thumb rubs comfortably over my shoulder, providing encouragement.

He kisses my temple, and squeezes encouragingly. "It's going to be alright."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

A strange sensation-- I should be crying, but I'm tapped out. My nose burns and my eyelids twitch, but nothing comes after, except maybe a wayward sniffle. The sensation I feel is much like how I felt at the restaurant after Kri had grabbed my hand. The eye of the storm. The deeper waters underneath are finally still. "Thank you."

"Of course." He kisses my temple again, and I'm filled with warm affection.

We sit in the hallway like that, Kri comforting me with those small circles on my shoulder, not talking. We don't say anything, not when maintenance comes to unlock my door, or when we step inside and close the door behind me. I walk into the kitchen and pull two glasses from the cabinet, and I fill them with water from the sink.

I empty the glass, then I set it down. "Do you wanna stay here?" Kri looks apprehensive, standing in the space between living room and kitchen like he doesn't know what to do. If there's some ento or cultural protocol that goes with inviting someone else into your home, I'm too tired to remember it. "You're welcome to sleep over, but I'll warn you, I'm a blanket hog."

At that, Kri seems to relax a bit. His shoulders slump and he takes a long sip of his water before clearing his throat. "My body temperature is hotter than yours, so that shouldn't be an issue." His straightforward tone reminds me of his early days with us, and it makes me smile.

After I quickly change into pajamas and crawl into bed, I feel the last of my energy evaporate. My mattress is comfortable, my pillow feels like a cloud. I leave space enough for Kri to crawl in next to me, and he does so and faces me on his side. I move closer and tuck my head into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain. I feel myself relaxing as both arms curl around me and pull me in, and as I fall asleep, I feel safe and cared for.

Chapter 16 >>

[impostorsshow]

Hey just wanted to say I sawr the new persona design and I really like it it is cool

(This ask is a free space to ramble about it if you want)

YAYY the main two reasons I redesigned my persona is that A, coloring was terrible. my design was made when I was like 14 and was optimized for doodles on homework, which means that whenever I wanted to color them, figuring out where their hair ended and the skin began was a big issue and it's also a very weird one? the second one was that my persona was literally just. the outfit I wore every day in middle school until my jacket became a safety hazard I don't really remember what happened but my parents had to take it away because I didn't understand that I couldn't continue to wear my favorite safety hazard

also it was a hoodie not a jacket it did NOT HAVE A ZIPPER. MY OLD COLORED DRAWINGS OF ORI HAD GENUINE ACCURATE COLORING TO THE IRL HOODIE I DID MY DAMN BEST TO REMEMBER WHERE THE COLORS WERE. LOOK AT THIS THE ONLY INNACCURATE THING ON THIS HOODIE IS THE THREAD THINGS I PUT ON THE POCKET FOR PIZAZZ

it was actually really difficult to even make the decision to remake my persona since oris like a little time capsule, I made them before I found out I was trans, before I realized I probably had ADHD and DID, while I was in the thick of depression, and Ori was my little light that got me through that and the only change they ever got was a haircut. but they just weren't me anymore, my growth as a person pernamently changed that. ALSO I HAVE GLASSES AND ORI LOOKS TERRIBLE WITH GLASSES TRUST ME

anyway, so after finally making that decision whatever, I went through a bunch of designs, here's a few of them

I really like crop tops in general but they just don't fit my vibe unfortunately :/ I really liked that cape design because I wanted my persona to be like, recognizable?? but uh. way too much superhero vibes. as you can see, I really either wanted slippers or high boots, and I really wanted gloves, but it just wouldn't work with long sleeves. I was torn between pj's since that's. that's literally just what I wear most days with a hoodie on top of it, and nerd since it really did feel like it represented how I like to appear online [despite what I nicknamed it lmao I take pride in my stupid obsessions]! eventually I came up with a compromise, adding in the future-tech esque glasses from the superhero design, which was just the best option in general

like Ori has those weird flop ears, so I just thought it made sense to have the earpiece thing go *over* their floppy ear, rather than pretend they have some sort of human ear under that, and it still gives me a pretty big area for oris goofy expressions, even if the expressions don't quite have the same room they used to. I also went through like 50 different color variants, including messing around with the possibility of making the star stickers match bowtie variants

you can also tell that the idea to add stars and the bowtie was actually a last minute thing, I woke up the next morning and decided I needed a bit more pizzazz as well as more wiggle room for self expression while not constantly changing the color scheme since I'm honestly just not happy with the colors I landed on-i liked the agere flag color scheme the most, but decided it should be kept for just like, sometimes because pink is not really my color. I also keep forgetting the stars on the sleeves, oops - they're very well needed I just keep forgetting because it's a new design :]

anyway here's details about the final design I doodled up, with alt outfits, some bowtie examples and explaining some design choices. yes the slippers are from Sam and Max :] I also am getting better at drawing the cross body bag, my actual bag irl sits at hip level and is black and white but I like the brown better and that shade of brown works with pretty much any color combo. also uh, by "government assigned favorite color" I mean that like 70% of my shirts are genuinely the same t-shirt in various shades of blue. I do not go out of my way to buy these it just Happens.

[red-doll-face]

Hey girl!!

I just read your answer to an ask abt Arthur and his family and literally HAPPY CRYING over here bc I was praying you’d talk more about reader and Arthur and their future little family if they had one🥹🥹🥹

I have a few questions (I just wanna hear your thoughts you do NOT have to answer all of these😭) to follow up on that bc like they’re just so cute I can’t not!!

Do you think reader and Arthur would be genuine to the kids about the way they met? I could imagine them sitting around the dinner table, one of the kids asks and the reader gives Arthur the meanest side eye LMFAO😭 and if he wasn’t honest what would they even tell them? (Going off that, ik you said Arthur raises his sons to be more protective of their mother so do you think they’d like hold that against Arthur if they were to find out? Or would they just be chill?)

If they were to have kids how many do you think they would have? And if they did have a lot, do you think Arthur would add onto his little cabin to make space, or would they buy another home together to fit them? (Subtle reference to the house building scene in the epilogue🤭)

Also, let me tell you how much I love the idea of everything coming full circle and the same thing happening to one of their daughters. Like, obviously he’d be furious but would it make Arthur reflect and look at the situation between him and the reader’s family years ago in a different light? Would he regret shooting her father in the shoulder now that he stands in the same position as he did?

And finally (if it won’t spoil much) do you have plans to write in a family for them in the future of snow angel? Genuinely curious because I seriously think you would do it so well!!😁

Anyway, you don’t have to answer all of these if you don’t want to I know it’s a lot! I am literally so excited for chapter twelve and can’t wait for whatever you do next love! Keep being you!!🥰💗❄️

-Brookie🍪

BROOKIE !!! ughhh im so glad you liked it and that i secretly answered your prayers!! and im here to do it again!! I WILL answer all of these becuase how could i not??? i love to ramble about snow angel arthur, hes my mansss, i adore him, i love him, i enjoy writing about him omggg this is more fun for me than you LMAO stuff under the cut because it’s super longgg 🤭🤭🥹🥹💕💕😌😌

hm if he told them, I think he'd be veryyy vague when theyre young and he is the type to romanticize what happened, hes very obviously coming up with a story on the spot like well uhhh your momma was a beautiful princess and the huntsman saved her life and then the princess wanted to be with the huntsman forever 😊😊😊 and then they had many beautiful children together 😊😊😊 meanwhile reader just like 🤨😳😳😳

but as the kids get older, they question that story more. and when they ask mom, mom is just like, well your father is a very...determined man 👀 but eventually they start to realize that something isn't quite right, especially when they ask why grandpa doesnt like dad very much LMAO

if his sons found out or even his daughters, i think theres definitely a rift. LMAO i think it would be so inchresting if they found out because readers dad gets a lil senile or whatever and is like yeah, your father is a terrible evil man who forced your mother to marry him 😔 he even shot me, and he shows the scar likeeee omggg arthurs face OMG but if his sons find out, it def is like wtf dad 🤨😠 he raised a bunch of protective boys so it would have to be from reader to tell them to calm down in a whats done is done and your father is still your father sense. Poor readerrr that sounds so angsty i love it

I want them to have a ton of kids LMAO I would love for arthur to have to build another house on the property and keep the old one for memories and hopefully when one of his kids gets married, they could live there 🥹🥹 i could also see them moving so that they can start a farm somewhere nice and with less harsh weather, some cute farm land where they grow crops and raise livestock awww 😭😭😭 arthur having his own little housbuilding scene?? and maybe his sons are a bit older so he's trying to get them into it but theyre just different aspects of his personality, lol one of them just wants to sit and draw and nap, and the other is like ok but when can we go do all the fun stuff you grew up doing dad, and only like one of his sons is actually taking this seriously.

ok but how crazy would it be if it was jack marston trying to marry one of his daughters and he’s like utterly obsessed LMAO perhaps too crazy but the thought made me laugh lmaooo like fr John really screwing Arthur over from the grave bruhhh 😫😫😫in any case though yeah he’s pissed…

but i think he would definitely have already thought about what he did to his wife and he loves her dearly and would do anything for her...but it would make him realize how painful it is to have your child taken from you like that, even worse if his daughter is giving him the noooo dad i need to be with him, hed be livid. Honestly even if he just found a guy unworthy for his daughter in any way, like he picks apart the people his daughters bring around as potential partners. Its hard for lh arthur to regret what he did because he thinks he did what he had to do to marry his wife soooo he doesnt regret it that much but he would probably wish that things had gone better.

I dont mind spoiling a little bit, i will say yes to kids though because i would love to write that, even if separated from the main story as like an aside or 'extra' chapters, i would love to include some stuff like that. NO official details though, ill keep some things up my sleeve for now...also all of these are subject to change these are kind of just little musings because i do wanna keep some things up to how the story flows and all but for now i would love these so muchhhh❤️❤️❤️

THANK YOU SO MUCH brookiieeee for being so considerate and sending me these lovely questions, I love to write about this arthur and i love to imagine more stuff for snow angel so im over having a blast LMAO 😳😳❤️❤️☺️☺️☺️💓💓💕💕💕 also dms are open if you just wanna discuss??? Broooo I need to make a snow angel discord server so all the girlies can commiserate over snow angel Arthur together LMAO

[lavender-sunhaven]

So how do we feel about that update

because I'm obsessed

Sheds are changing my life. This is exactly what I wanted. I'm so happy.

(this got really long so I'll put my thoughts under a read more! spoilers for, the update I guess!)

I am speedrunning sheds immediately. I have already found some places to set them up and figured out how I can fit my entire crafting operations into 2 sheds. Now I just need to move over all the stuff in the chests in my one barn so that I can replace it with the shed and put the barn elsewhere.

Then I can use shed 3 for storage as I've wanted so badly so I don't need nearly so many hecking chests everywhere. Shed 4.... I actually don't know what I'll use it for yet. I actually have options! Maybe I will dress it up like a cute little room, or keep some of my pet collection in it, or fill it with stuffed animals, or see if I can make a cute little flower shop like Lavender would want.... I'm excited. I have options again. And assuming I can find somewhere else to put my other barn, that opens up a lot for me.

Also the barn upgrades are great. They don't take up any more space than before, they look cool, sure they give me more junk that I have to remove to fit more animals in but that's always the truth so it's neat. Now I have... ladders I guess. But I can store them in my shed!

But also. Nel'Vari barns. I am. SO excited

the moment I saw. that they had added in a frog barn animal. I knew. I would need Nel'Vari barns immediately. I love him I need 10 of these things right now immediately

All the new animals are so cute! I'm excited to get stuff set up so that I can put them places and gain their resources.

To that end, though, I realized that Nel'Vari barns were going to require me to actually do Progression that I hadn't done yet (because so far I hadn't really found anything I wanted that required Nel'Vari mines stuff. I knew I wanted to get there sooner or later, but just... didn't need to yet). I have a fire under my butt again and I'm actually making progress which feels amazing. Trying to seriously manage multiple farms is going to be a problem but what I really need to find a spot to do a massive amount of wheat production which will help with all the barns. It'll be complicated, but I'll figure it out.

uhhhhh oh yeah more RNPCs happened. They're cool! I like Kai, I've met him and I like his stuff so far as I've seen it. I haven't met Vivi yet but I can't WAIT to forcefully befriend her. Wesley is... Wesley. I'm happy for him. I'll befriend him eventually, probably while I'm in the middle of running around Nel'Vari doing mine stuff.

The house customization I haven't been able to play a lot with yet but I will more when I have my sheds figured out and money to waste. Playing Mix and Match should be fun, and I'm glad they're planning to put out more in the future! Even more stuff to look forward to~

Also now sometimes ghosts come and water my crops and I love them. Me and the ghosts are buds.

But also... this list... ohhhh man this list. I love this list. I'm p excited for most things on it but ESPECIALLY Farm Structures and WG and NV fruit trees. I LOVE fruit trees. I have a whole orchard section on my farm. Passive income is my JAM. Black market? Birthday? MORE RNPCs? I'm looking forward to all of these so much. Race-based dialog I know is something a lot of players have been looking for for a long time so I am interested to see how that gets put in! More dialog is generally good and they seem to have the personalities of the characters pretty well in hand so hopefully they'll just be fun fluff things and Lavender will finally be able to relate to Kitty and Catherine and they'll be best Amari buds forever (And then with Vivi too!)

Anyways I just wanted to spew my thoughts everywhere for a bit because I've been having so much fun again. Tell me your thoughts! Anything you don't like? What do you want to see in the future?

Bonus: Claude continues to have a hard time fighting the vampire allegations.

[garuda4321]

Another behind the screen tour for the infographic! Today’s focus is going to be the raid (complex) image and the outline. Here we go!

Now, this image (above) is what is called “Raid_complex”. Looks familiar if you’ve seen a raid banner. Now, to add the 3 pixel border, I need space.

As seen above, I need to adjust the canvas size otherwise I can’t add a proper 3 pixel border. This is because I cropped to content about 8 months ago not realizing I’d ever need a border. Whoops, but we can fix this.

Now, I COULD just add it by 3 and say I’m done (making it a 259x259), but that only takes care of the top and left, especially if I don’t center it. I want the image to remained centered so I don’t have to guess about it fitting or not.

Needless to say, this is now a 262x262 to ensure we can properly border it.

Now… we still have a problem. Yes the canvas is big enough but the layer itself (what we’re adding the border to because I don’t want to add more layers than needed) is still a 256x256. So we still have some readjusting to do.

Fortunately we have a solution! Layer to image size turns our 256x256 layer to a 262x262 layer, the same size as our canvas. So NOW we are ready to start!

Now, this is CLEARLY a lot to border. This is when I realized that the dungeon icon (which was only a 180x180) was big. My only saving grace here is that there are no semi transparent (translucent?) white squares, it’s either transparent background or white. We’re going to start off in the top left ish area of the skull, where the X is between the chains and the skull.

This is the point I realize I need to select black because otherwise this is gonna get REAL awkward real quick. Also, we can’t exactly do a 3 pixel border in some spots due to their only being 1-2 pixels available. So we will simply fill them in.

It looks good so far! Except for a few small places that seem just a little awkward… we don’t want those awkward chunks of transparency preventing the border from connecting to itself. So now I have to guesstimate what looks “right” for the shape and the border.

This looks much better now! Now, I won’t post the next parts (a lot of rinse and repeat between those last few steps), but now you all know what I’m doing for these images and the process behind it!

Yes I’ll add to this post when I finish the border so you can all see what it looks like completed.

[liquid-luck-00]

Where There Is Change

Identities

@maribat-bdbwm

First *** Previous *** Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Once the crashes died down, Alfred returned with a pet carrier and a smug Jason.

"Not to say this revelation isn't important, but in this moment it is not." She spoke as she stood up. "What is urgent now is to return Damian to his original state. Do you know who was the person who caused the transformation?" She looked up at Dick, because of the call she heard he may have been there when it happened.

She specifically looked at Dick, directing her question. He on the other hand opened and closed his mouth, debating on how much he could tell her.

"I don’t know who they were, but I can remember some pieces of their appearance if that helps any." He started to speak. "One was definitely a girl, ashy blonde, brown curly hair and was wearing equestrian riding clothes in browns and white. And I’m sure she had ears and a tail. The other I can’t tell if they were male or female, so they wore dark grey shorts, black stockings, and an orange crop top. Their arms were stained black to their elbows, the most unsettling purple eyes. Ears and nine tails the same orange as their hair."

"So, in other words a horse girl and a human nine tailed fox. Who turned your, our brother, into a black panther cub." She repeated aloud. It’s not that it sounded impossible, the thing is it sounded familiar. Not just vaguely, but headache inducing familiar, unfortunately in more ways than one.

---

*Flash Back*

A silvery blue portal opened and out stepped a human Trixx and Kaalki.

"When did you two leave?" Tikki flew up to greet them.

She wasn’t paying them much attention. She noticed that they changed back and all three went back to the miracle box. Yet she did not think it was important to ask them on their exploits.

*End*

---

She stayed silent, lifting her hand, thumb under her chin, index on her lower lip. She was thinking. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

Trixx.

This was Trixx’s magic. Meaning that it could be reversed, but they would need to be the one to do it.

She opened her eyes. Her voice was level, but her voice held authority. "Trixx." Was all she said.

---

Marinette stood so still he could have confused her for a statue. Then her eyes snapped open, her blue eyes almost glowing.

Then she spoke. Dick couldn’t believe her voice, it was eerily level, but held such authority that he stood straight. "Trixx."

A beat passed and nothing happened. Then she repeated the same word.

"Trixx." This time the smallest sliver of anger or was it disappointment lingered on the word. Although he knows she isn’t talking to him, her disappointment weighs on him.

Then an orange ball of light appeared in the center of their little circle. "I’m sorry. I didn’t think that the angry, stabby, bird vigilante was going to be your brother." It then turned around and saw him. "Oh, you are the blue bird." It flew around his head. "Oh, and this now makes a lot more sense. Did you realize that there was a peacock in this house." The mini little fox flew over to Alfred.

"Yes, I realized that Trixx." Marinette answered. "But you being distracted will not distract me."

"But it’s practically fate." The fox, Trixx, exclaimed while flying circles around Alfred’s head.

"Him not realizing you cursed Damian, is what should be considered luck."

"But birds don’t usually turn on foxes."

"Miss Marinette, how is it you have a kwamii with you?"

"Not just one." The fox piped up before Marinette could open her mouth.

"Trixx."

"Sorry I’ll go back."

"Not until you turn him back."

"But Mariiiiii." The fox pleaded. "Fine." They relented. "It isn’t permanent and will completely fade in 72…60 hours."

"Thank you."

"Miss Marinette, do you have multiple kwamii on your person?" Alfred asked her.

She panned for a moment; Dick assumed she was thinking of her response. "Robin." She pointed at Damian still in the carrier. "Nightwing." She pointed at him. "You fit as Red Hood making you Red Robin." She pointed between Jason and Tim respectively. "That would make you Batman himself." She turned to Bruce. "Am I correct Peacock?" She turned to Alfred.

"You are a ladybug." Alfred answered her, but Dick was just confused with this girl.

"I am also the Guardian, not just a ladybug." She returned.

"Okay, wait." He had had to interject. "You just assumed who we were because of a flying fox, you are calling Alfred a Peacock and he is calling you a ladybug. Respectively what does that mean."

"Was I wrong?" She asked in a deadly calm, tilting her head, the only indication of her confusion.

"You are correct, Ladybug." Alfred confirmed, causing everyone to turn to him wondering if he's lost his mind.

She nodded and then once again with resolution. "He calls me ladybug because I am the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous, as he is the designated holder for the Miraculous of the Peacock."

"So how does that play into you figuring us out." Was asked by Tim seemingly awake now.

"That was made by a combination of what Trixx said, my basic knowledge of heroes outside of Paris, and my personal ability to recognize people as akumas." She shrugged.

"That's the second time you've mentioned akuma, Marinette." Her father space up. "You know more than you let on."

She chuckled at this. "Of course, I do. I am Lady Scarlet, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous, and heroine of Paris."

"Shit! She didn't need your help to be a hero B." Jason screamed.

"That alone explains so much more than you believe." Bruce sighed walking out of the room, Tim and Alfred following him, Jay following not soon after.

He would have followed, he was just out of the door, if he didn't stop when she spoke.

"Are you going to behave?" He backtracked a few steps and watched her, he leaned against the door frame, in full view.

She held up a single finger then knocked on the air. Held up two fingers then tapped her index and middle finger to her thumb. It took him a moment to recognize the ASL, but Damian picked up on it quickly.

He meowed once and she went and released in from the carrier. Who then jumped on her bed, watching her. His gaze turned to him, and he blinked slowly, before going back to watch Marinette.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

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[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Eighteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: a short update while i try to find my writing rhythm again :))

***

Nesta hasn’t danced in over ten years—yet her body still remembers how to move fluidly and create shapes as if she never stopped. Pole dancing is different, of course: most of it takes place in the air, and she doesn’t have the right muscles developed to support her weight that well. Damn, she should really ask Cassian for help if she wants to keep doing this.

Still, Emerie and Gwyn are gaping by the time Nesta lands on the floor after trying out a basic spin.

She cracks her neck. “What?” she says at their stares.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Emerie demands.

She shrugs indifferently. “Eight years of ballet. Push-up challenges with Cassian.”

The instructor, an overly energetic Australian woman, comes up just then and claps Nesta on the shoulder, making her jump. “That was beautiful,” she praises. “Really, you have the balance of a cat. What’s your name again?”

Nesta introduces herself obediently, and Gwyn and Emerie follow.

The instructor nods. “In that case, Nesta, you keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t worry about your upper body strength yet, it’ll come around with time. You, the redhead,” she addresses Gwyn.

Gwyn straightens.

“I’ve never seen someone with your height and grace at the same time,” the instructor says. Gwyn beams with pride. “Unfortunately,” she continues, “I’ve also never seen someone so prone to hurting themselves on the pole.” Gwyn hangs her head.

“And the pretty girl.” She turns to Emerie last, who looks like she already knows what she’s about to hear. “Well, we can’t all be naturals.” The instructor grins broadly. “Feel free to keep using the poles after class is over.” She nods to their group and moves on to some other students.

Emerie sticks her tongue out and groans. “My tights keep giving me wedgies on the pole.”

“This was your idea,” Nesta reminds her as she reaches for her water bottle.

“Yet you’re the only one reaping the benefits,” Gwyn grumbles. “You never told us you had the body of a dancer and the balance of a gazelle.”

“Cat,” Emerie corrects.

“Guys,” Nesta says firmly. “This class is important for all of us. We won’t look this good,” she gestures to all their bodies, “forever. Gwyn is already pushing thirty.”

Gwyn’s jaw drops. “I’m turning twenty-seven, not getting menopause.”

“Same thing,” Emerie mutters. Gwyn shoves her hard and goes to pack her gym bag, leaving Emerie dramatically rubbing her shoulder. Nesta follows after Gwyn while the rest of the class begins gathering their things, too.

“How’re you feeling?” she mutters lowly as Gwyn packs. They haven’t brought up the conversation in Gwyn’s car since it took place, but Gwyn seems returned to her usual self now, if not even sunnier.

Gwyn’s lips twitch up as she glances sidelong at Nesta. “Perfect,” she says smoothly. “I can’t even remember what I was so upset about.”

Nesta is glad, even though she knows the nightmare isn’t gone. Knows that anytime from the next hour to the next year, it could reappear in full force and drag Gwyn down again. But hopefully it won’t hit as hard as it did before, now that Gwyn has her.

After class, they all pile up in Emerie’s car, a handed-down hunk of metal which Emerie insists on calling “vintage”. Gwyn sticks her head between the driver and passenger seat from the back and wrinkles her nose. “Get me home quick, it smells like a dead banana back here.”

“Oh, is that where I left it?” Emerie starts to turn around, but Nesta stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “I need a shower and a nap,” she pleads. “Let’s go.”

Emerie begrudgingly assents, sticking the key in the ignition and turning it. Nothing happens.

Frowning, she turns it again, but the engine doesn’t so much as choke. She slaps the dashboard like it’ll bring her car to life.

“Amazing,” Nesta mutters.

***

Cassian has imagined more times than he’d like to admit what it would be like when Nesta finally introduced him to her friends, but he never imagined this.

Three tired and hungry girls sit in his truck, alternating between arguing and laughing with each other. He can’t keep up with all of their personalities at once, so he just hones in on Nesta while he drives. Nesta, who Cassian has never seen so carefree or witty with people other than himself before. It both fascinates him and freaks him out, the realization that there’s so much to Nesta he doesn’t know yet. It gives him all the more excuse to spend the next several years getting to know her.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my car,” the dark-haired girl, Emerie, is snapping from the backseat. “Mr. Madani,” she abruptly says, sticking her head forward to look him in the face. Cassian nearly jumps. “Do you know how to change a car battery?”

Nesta shoves Emerie’s face back through the gap between seats from where she sits in the front. “You don’t need a battery change, you need a lifestyle change,” she says. “And don’t call my boyfriend by his last name, he’s not a middle-aged dad.”

Cassian bites back a laugh at that.

“Oh, but if I’m twenty-seven, I’m on the brink of menopause,” Gwyneth speaks up.

“Really?” Cassian says, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror for the first time all drive. “You’re the same age as me?”

He remembers what Nesta told him about Gwyn’s discomfort around men, so he tries to keep his tone casual, distant. If he scares Nesta’s friend away, he’ll never forgive himself.

Gwyn looks stunned to be directly addressed by him, seeming to lose all her sass. “Uh...my birthday’s in a few days,” she says, suddenly awkward.

“That’s right,” Emerie interjects eagerly. “We’re having a rager.”

“We’re having a sleepover,” Nesta corrects. She throws Cassian an exasperated look. “Drive faster, will you? I can’t share a car with these girls any longer.”

“Don’t be fucking rude.” Gwyn flicks a hair tie at Nesta, making her cry out.

Cassian does not understand this dynamic at all, so he shuts up and does as he’s told.

After Gwyn and Emerie have been safely dropped off, Cassian throws his keys into the bowl at the cabin entrance and tosses off his shoes. “I think I finally know what it’s like to be you,” he tells Nesta as they meet the warmth of the house.

“What do you mean?” She unzips her windbreaker, revealing the form-fitting athleticwear beneath. God, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to look at her since he picked her up.

He redirects his eyes to her face. “You know,” he says. “On the outside looking in. I feel drained.”

Her lips quirk up as she hangs up her jacket. “That scared of a couple of girls, huh?”

“They’re your friends. I don’t know what else I expected.” He follows Nesta deeper into the living room, kicking at the ground. “So…” he trails casually. “How was class?”

Nesta responds by rolling her eyes. “I was wondering how long you’d take to crack.”

“What do you mean?” he says, indignant.

“I mean…” She steps up to him and takes his hands, dragging them up her waist to settle on the bare skin beneath her black crop top. “You haven’t said a word about pole-dancing since I told you I was starting it. One would almost think it didn’t affect you at all, and yet,” she tilts her head, “I get the feeling you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Especially at night, when you’re alone.”

Cassian’s breath goes thin. She knows him too well.

“Cunning witch,” he breathes. Nesta’s smile is slow and winning, which he takes as invitation to slip his hands around her back and pull her in. Her chest is pressed flush against his.

She stares at his mouth, the place she always stares when her mind is five steps ahead of reality. Like she’s already imagining how he’ll take her. “Dreaming about a private performance, are you?”

“Hopefully not right now,” a low voice says from above them.

Nesta jumps, spinning around in Cassian’s arms, but Cassian just closes his eyes and sighs. He opens them to find Azriel sitting in the reading nook that overlooks the living room, various work reports scattered about him.

“Have you been there this whole time?” Nesta demands.

“Unfortunately,” Azriel says at the same time Cassian grumbles, “Of course he has.” Remaining unnoticed is all his brother is good for.

Nesta sighs and rubs her eyes, the mood effectively killed. “I need a break.”

Cassian considers going up to Az and pushing him over the second floor railing as Nesta wiggles out of his arms and heads for the stairs. “And a back massage,” she calls over her shoulder.

“I’ll be right there,” Cassian tells her. But he waits to hear their bedroom door click shut before he also goes upstairs, not towards Nesta but to the reading nook.

“Hey, bro?” He tries to sound lighthearted as he approaches Az. “Do you mind not cockblocking me in my own house?”

Az doesn’t look up from the report he’s reading, flipping a page. “It’s rude to be horny in public spaces.”

“My house is not a public space,” Cassian growls, struggling to keep his temper. “Before you moved in, it was a very, very private space.” For him and Nesta alone, he doesn’t add.

Azriel finally looks up, question in his eyes. “So what?” he says. “You want me to leave?”

Never, is the automatic assurance that nearly comes out of Cassian’s mouth. Of course he’d never want his brother gone, especially when he’s clearly going through… something. But he bites down on the word and takes a seat in the chair across from Az. “I want to know how long you’re planning on staying. For real. You can run from your problems as much as you want, but that doesn’t mean I can provide you with a hiding place forever.”

“Wow.” Azriel’s eyes widen in mock-disbelief and he clasps a hand to his chest. “So cold, brother. I think you caught some of your girlfriend’s iciness.”

Cassian narrows his eyes seriously at Az. “Or maybe I’m being the only adult here.” Cassian now has responsibilities to a person who isn’t part of his traditional inner circle. A person he can see himself making long-term plans with, a person he plans on keeping around. It changes the course of his future in a way that the rest of his family probably haven’t realized yet.

Though maybe Azriel does realize it, because he looks away and murmurs, “No need to rub it in.”

For the thousandth time that month, Cassian wonders what caused Azriel to run away from Velaris. It’s a secret Az refuses to share with even him.

“I’m trying,” Azriel says. His words are slow, unsure. “I’m trying to create space between me and that city, but I’m going to need more time. I can’t tell you how long it’ll take until I can go back. But if you can’t keep me here, I’ll find someplace else to stay.” He shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

Cassian exhales, feeling sympathy twist deep in his chest for his best friend—and he doesn’t even know what the sympathy is for. “Then take your time,” he says sincerely. “Stay here forever if you want. We can Photoshop you into all our pictures. But don’t think I’m gonna make it easy on you,” he warns.

“You already don’t make it easy on me,” Az mutters. “I can hear you and Nesta fucking all the time.”

“First, don’t ever talk about Nesta and fucking in the same sentence ever again.”

Az blinks in surprise, likely remembering the way they would talk about their hookups before Nesta came into the picture. “Damn, she’s got you bad.”

“Second,” Cassian continues, “I will not hesitate to make you sleep outside if you get on my or Nesta’s nerves.”

“With that attitude, I’ll be out of here by next week,” Az snorts. He crosses his feet and picks up his report again, clearly done with this conversation.

Seeing no hope in rubbing the point in further, Cassian leaves Azriel to his work.

***

Nesta is stripped down to her underwear and getting ready to shower when she notices a missed call from Elain on her phone.

She hesitates at her sister’s name on the screen, wondering what could possibly have encouraged Elain to call while Nesta was at dance class. What happened to the times that Nesta could go weeks without a single person checking up on her?

Looking toward the bedroom door as if Cassian will come in and save her from having to call Elain back, she waits a solid minute before giving up.

Elain picks up on the first ring. “I’m surprised you called back,” she greets.

“I’m full of surprises these days.” Nesta settles onto the bed. “What did you want?” She doubts Elain called just for a check-in, not with the stagnant bitterness that’s been between them lately.

“To have a normal conversation with my sister for once.”

Nesta tries not to roll her eyes all the way back into her head, even though no one is around to see her. “Go on and have it then.”

“I heard from Rhys that Azriel moved into Cassian’s place,” Elain says in her honey-sweet voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask how that’s going for you.”

Nesta’s brow furrows at that voice, the one that Elain uses whenever she wants to give her best first impression—or wants to pry something out of someone. “It’s going fine,” she says flatly. “Az and I get along great.”

That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but…

“You’re calling him Az now?” Nesta can hear the way Elain tries to tamp down on her curiosity, but she’s never been as good at affecting apathy as Nesta is.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Why? Do you miss him?”

Elain nearly chokes over the line. “Why—why would you say that?”

“I thought you guys were friendly,” Nesta says, leaning back into the pillows. “Doesn’t everyone miss him back in Velaris?”

“Oh.” The relief in Elain’s voice is palpable, piquing Nesta’s curiosity. “Yeah, we miss him.” She clears her throat. “He left without telling anybody.”

Nesta fiddles with the band of her panties. “You don’t know why he left either?”

Elain is silent for several moments. “No.” Her answer is quiet, truthful. “I don’t know.” She adds, “Keep an eye on him, will you? I would do it myself, but I’ve been iced out.”

Nesta finds this very suspicious. She can’t bring herself to be interested enough to keep snooping, however, not as the door creaks open and Cassian enters the room. “Will do,” she promises Elain, and makes a quick goodbye. When she hangs up, Cassian asks, “Who was it?”

“Elain.” Nesta frowns at her phone. She wonders if someone like Cassian would be better at reading between the lines of the strange conversation she just had. Maybe he could put his finger on the mysterious relationship between her sister and his brother. But since there are no creeks nearby for Azriel to be shoved into, and it isn’t any of Nesta’s business either way, she decides to give him and Elain time to sort their own shit out.

“What did she want?”

Nesta refocuses on Cassian, who leans against the door appreciating her half-naked form stretched out before him. Without words, she holds her arms open.

He shoves off the door and approaches her on the bed, letting her envelop him into a hug. It isn’t the warmest or most comforting hug, and her arms are stiff as stone, but he melts into her either way. There’s a weariness in his broad shoulders that spikes concern in her.

When Cassian pulls away, she traps his face in her hands and scans it closely for answers. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “You fell asleep early during the last two movies we watched and you’re half-asleep now.”

“What are you talking about?” He throws his signature smile her way, but it lacks alertness. “Do I look like there’s anything wrong with me?”

“You tell me.” Nesta shifts so she can slide her hand over the smooth plane of his back, resting her palm on the warm spot between his shoulder blades. It’s her best imitation of a soothing gesture, and it makes Cassian’s lips quirk up lightly.

He hangs his head and sighs. “Is it possible to have growing pains at my age?”

Nesta is confused. “Like, physically?”

“No,” he says. “Just… growing up.”

“I don’t think we ever stop growing up,” she answers honestly. Maybe she’s biased because a part of her is still trapped in that childlike state, and she has more growing to do than most people. “I think it hurts a little every time we have to shift and become someone older. What’s hurting you now?”

Her hand slides up to the nape of Cassian’s neck, gently massaging the muscles there. His head droops even more under her touch. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that when I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he huffs. But he doesn’t look very inclined to argue.

Nesta squeezes the back of his neck. “I can be the stable one, too, you know. I can take care of you.” She should’ve defeated this misconception sooner.

“That’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “I meant that I promised you a massage.”

Oh. She nearly forgot about that. “If you tell me what growing pains you’re having, I’ll let you join me in the shower,” she promises. “You can do whatever you want there.”

He looks up at that, dragging his gaze over her mostly-bare figure, and Nesta knows she’s won. “Tell me,” she demands one final time.

Cassian inspects her face, likely deciding how much he should reveal or not. “I’ve been thinking about the future,” he finally says. “It was never something I cared much about before, but now it keeps me up at night.”

Nesta is slow to realize—he’s talking about their future. “You really never thought about the future before?” she asks. At one point in time, Nesta had her life planned out to the age of forty. Her plans hadn’t included this, though.

Cassian shakes his head. “There was nothing for me to think about.”

She runs soothing fingers across his scalp, her heart rate unexpectedly picking up a beat. “And what do you think about now?”

Hazel eyes meet hers with wariness. “Stupid stuff,” he says. “Cars, taxes, insurance.”

At the look on her face, he pulls away from the hand that’s gone still on his neck. “Okay, let’s get you in the shower before I scare you away for good.”

Nesta feels herself being scooped into Cassian’s arms, but she doesn’t quite register it. It’s not until they’re in the bathroom that she remembers words. “I’m not scared,” she says from the cradle of his arms. “I was just surprised.”

Regaining her senses, she squirms until Cassian puts her down on the floor. She straightens. “I’ve never... pondered on the small things like that.”

Except they aren’t really small or stupid, are they? They’re big, inevitable facets of sharing a life with someone. She clears her throat. “The way we live now is already so nice. I guess I forgot things won’t be like this forever.”

Which isn’t the most assuring thing to say from the way Cassian’s face becomes carefully still. But in a blink he’s smiling again, his hands going to unclip her bra. “Don’t worry yourself with that shit,” he chuckles. “I was only dreaming.”

Guilt turns Nesta’s stomach into sludge. She made Cassian share what was weighing on him only for her to brush it off. She wants to talk through it with him until he’s giving her a real smile, but she doesn’t know where to start or what to say. So she lets her bra drop to the floor and steps close to wrap her arms around him.

His breath hitches against her ear, and one of his broad hands comes up to rest on her bare back. “Two hugs in one day?” he says, his amusement covering up some deeper emotion. “I’m either doing something right or doing something very wrong.”

“No. I’m just feeling appreciative.” Her hand returns to that space between his shoulder blades, the spot that seems to disarm him, and pats him there. She gives herself a solid moment to luxuriate in the warmth and size and hard strength of him before saying, “Get undressed, will you?”

One of his hands squeezes her butt. “You need to get off me first.”

She hums in agreement but doesn’t move—hoping he can feel everything she doesn’t know how to tell him.

***

a/n: i bought my eid dress and it’s so pretty yall 🥺

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 26)

Previously, on LBitR...

Lena has never given much thought to what happens after death.

She’s heard all about feeling cold—she’s felt that cold, more than once. She’s heard all about darkness—which she has seen, but not exactly in a near-death context. She’s also heard all about the light.

She does see that—not exactly a light she has to follow or whatever it is people see when they die, but a blinding expanse of white, as far as her eyes can see, though a little fuzzy, darker around the edges of her vision.

Considering the way she went out, Lena’s very surprised she doesn’t see any green.

Green. Kryptonite.

Kara.

Something that feels like a sob wrenches itself out of her chest by force. That dumb, stupid, idiotic Kryptonian—if Lena’s dead, then Kara is for sure—how dare she—

“Lena?”

The voice is familiar, and close; physically close, something that Lena didn’t think was possibly in this ethereal, post-death realm. Lena turns her head and realizes that, despite the brightness of the light she’s seeing, her eyes are most definitely closed.

Huh.

She opens them, then blinks, because the only difference seems to be… a lot of fuzzy shapes.

“Lena?” the voice calls to her again, closer still.

“Eugh…” is Lena’s less-than-eloquent reply. She could have done worse; her throat constricts painfully around something, and it’s like she’s pulling air the wrong way in, which causes a coughing fit that rattles her to the bone.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK, take your time,” the voice continues, and Lena knows that voice, but right now her brain feels like actual Jell-O sloshing around in her skull, and her entire body lights up with pain, so it’s understandably taking her a little while to get her bearings.

She blinks the crust out of her eyes; the speaking blob at her side begins to take shape and look like a person.

“Lena, don’t worry. You’re alright, you’re at the DEO. You’re hurt, but we could take the implant out—there will be an adjustment period, but you’re alright.” The voice explains, and Lena finally, finally places it.

“Agh… ah—ugh… L-lex?” she tries; her tongue feels like a wad of cotton in her mouth, and her throat is just burning.

The voice grows soothing. “We got him, Lena, don’t worry, we got—”

Lena shakes her head, which is a terrible decision—there is s sharp jolt of pain that shoots down her temple and settles all the way at the base of her spine; it makes her clench her teeth, which in turn just worsens the throbbing in her head.

She attempts to raise a hand; that fails when another painful shock travels from her shoulder across her collarbones. Lena groans in frustration, she needs to ger her words out, but it’s like her entire body has decided to call it quits.

Finally, she manages.

“Ah-Alex… Alex?”

The figure releases a breathless little laugh, and a reassuring hand comes to rest very gently at Lena’s shoulder.

“It’s me, Lena. I’m alright, you’re alright. Rest now, OK? Your meds will be kicking in again any time.”

Lena is equal parts relieved and panicked; there’s the obvious relief that comes with the knowledge that Alex is fine and right here next to her. But the agent doesn’t say a word about her sister, and that fills Lena with a dread she cannot express in her condition; especially now, as her lids grow heavier by the second, as her body sinks into an undoubtedly double-padded mattress.

“K—K..agh…” she tries, needing to know that Kara is alright, that she’s alive, because if Lena made it, Kara has to be alive. The alternative is unthinkable.

She manages another unintelligible gurgle before the meds do kick in, and then she’s out like a light.

Lena dreams.

This time, she does see green—a lot of it as the entire space of her LuthorCorp office is awash in the glow of the fully-armed Kryptonite cannons, and when Supergirl—Kara—lowers herself onto her balcony, Lena realizes this is not a dream at all.

It’s a memory.

She watches Kara raise her arms in surrender, sees the crinkle of confusion on her brow as the Kryptonian stares at her as if she’s seeing someone else entirely.

Lena watches her fall once she’s hit by what was meant to be a lethal dose of Kryptonite.

The memory shifts.

They’re in the Jeep, this time. It’s the dead of night and Kara’s in the driver’s seat, hair cropped short—Christ, Lena had forgotten just how short it was during those first couple of weeks. Kara’s driving, but she’s not looking at the road—no, in this snippet of reality, she’s staring straight at Lena, her gaunt, pale complexion fixated on her passenger. She looks perplexed, but also, inexplicably, relieved.

The memories keep shifting—they’re at the diner where they finally spoke to one another again, then they’re at a gas station, a phone booth, on and on and on—until everything seems to move and merge into a blur of colours, shapes, and sounds. It’s a convoluted, puzzling mental kaleidoscope, but surprisingly, Lena finds it remarkably easy to make sense of it all.

After all, how could she not? These are her memories. She’s lived through it all before.

Lena blinks into awareness slowly, this time. Her dream—or actual trip down memory lane—fades away softly, giving way to the soothing darkness of eyes gently closed for sleep.

There’s warmth at her side, and movement, too. It’s the up-and-down, in-and-out steady rhythm of deep breathing.

Lena instinctively tucks into the warmth and feels it in a solid, unmovable presence on her bed. She blinks once, twice, registers the lower lighting of her room, the tell-tale beeping of hospital equipment…and a very warm Kryptonian, glued to her side, squeezed so tight into the MedBay bed she cannot be comfortable.

Lena shifts—she needs to get a better look, needs to touch, to make sure she’s not dreaming, that her mind (which hasn’t been extremely reliable as of late) isn’t playing a cruel trick on her.

When she moves, blue eyes rimmed by dark circles snap open; they crinkle at the corners with a smile as they meet Lena’s gaze head on, and Lena releases a breath of pure relief.

“Hey,” Kara murmurs, her voice a soft breath ghosting over Lena’s cheeks since they’re only inches apart.

Lena can’t really help it; the tears are running down her cheeks before she realizes she’s crying, and she breathes in through sniffles as she reaches out to touch Kara’s face.

She’s there, inches away, warm and soft, and alive, and Lena lets the sobs rip through her chest. Her breaths are short little stuttering gasps, really, and she can’t stop smiling.

“Hey,” she whispers back, leaning into the warmth of Kara’s touch once the Kryptonian delicately wipes at her tears with her thumb. Her hand stays there, cradling Lena’s face as they smile like idiots after one-too-many near-death experiences.

“I have to admit,” Kara says after some time, smile unwavering and bright despite the pallor of her features, “that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

Lena chuckles—she does so lightly, since her ribs (most likely broken) protest at the slightest movement. “What, crying?” she asks. She can’t really move her arms, or really anything at all, so she settles for slightly craning her neck, leaning further into the hand Kara has kept in place at her tear-stained cheek.

Kara just nods, laughing a little. There’s a warm yellow hue around them—Lena surmises someone probably moved a sunlamp to her bed once Kara invited herself in—and it makes Kara’s hair, growing at awkward, adorable angles, glow golden and beautiful.

Lena soaks it all in.

“Is this real?” she can’t help but ask. She doesn’t think she would survive another trick of the mind, especially one so cruel.

Kara shifts on the thin mattress, impossibly closer, body practically melding along Lena’s. She’s still smiling, and there’s such certainty in her gaze, Lena practically melts with relief before Kara can even reassure her.

“Yes,” Kara says. “I have to admit the details are a little bit fuzzy,” she raises her arm with some difficulty to poke playfully at her own head, “but it seems I uh, ripped the Lexosuit apart and tossed it just before it exploded.”

Lena furrows her brows, trying to remember. All she can recall was the countdown clock and the split-second feeling of weightlessness before she began falling to the earth once the suit powered down.

“And then?”

Kara shrugs—Lena notices how her movements are stilted, like moving pains her, and wonders just how close to dying Kara had been. Again. “As far as I know, J’onn got to you in the nick of time.”

Lena narrows her eyes. “And you?”

Kara looks sheepish. “I uh. Hit the pavement.”

It’s said so… matter-of-factly, so casual and off-hand. It wrenches another sob right out of Lena, and her ribs ache in protest, but all she can think is Kara falling again, crumpling limply onto the pavement again, being on the brink of death again, and she can’t—Lena can’t cope with the image at all.

“Hey, hey, no, it’s OK,” Kara moves in, ready to calm and soothe, wiping at Lena’s tears with both hands. Her lips find Lena’s forehead, and while the gesture is entirely unprecedented, it has the desired effect—Lena’s body instinctively relaxes, and her sobs begin to abate. “I’m here,” Kara says, lips still on Lena’s skin, “Good as new, I promise.”

Lena doesn’t believe that for one second—there’s an unhealthy pallor to Kara’s complexion that tells her she still has a lot of time to spend under the sunlamps, and Lena can tell just how much it hurts for the Kryptonian to move. She bets there are slow-healing bruises all over her skin under the DEO-issue henley and sweats.

Though—she considers as her own body twinges with pains she hasn’t yet had the mental fortitude or will to catalogue in their entirety—she supposes she also has a long way to go as well.

“How long have we been out?”

“A few days,” Kara replies, chin resting atop Lena’s head and showing no inclination of moving. Good. “I just woke up a few hours ago.”

Lena grins. “And then the first thing you did was come to crowd my space while I recovered?”

Kara laughs. “Of course not. I went to pee first.”

It’s worth the twinges in her ribcage to chuckle a little. Lena lets out as deep a sigh as her injuries will allow, and her breathing adjusts to follow the steady rise-and-fall of Kara’s chest, still melded to her side.

“So, what now?”

Kara’s sigh is deep, and when she speaks, her voice grows heavier with sleep by the word. She’s probably exhausted and just about ready to conk out.

Lena thinks she’s got the right idea.

“Well,” the Kryptonian murmurs, voice so soft Lena has to strain to hear over the faint hum of hospital machinery surrounding them. “Nia caught Lex—gave him a good ol’ trashing, from what I hear. Uh, your name’s been cleared. LuthorCorp is yours, or will be after Lex’s trial—again. Supergirl is alive and back, sort of. Kara Danvers, meanwhile, is due to return from a mysterious illness… or something, I’m not sure what lie Nia made up at CatCo. Oh, and…”

Lena nods, barely processing Kara’s words. She’s just sinking into warmth, and Kara’s rambling in earnest now, and it feels so familiar. Comfortable, even here, cramped in this tiny MedBay cot.

Especially here.

Lena tucks further into Kara’s neck, and that stops Kara’s talking just enough for her to get a word in edgewise. “OK,” she whispers against Kara’s skin. “But for now… we just rest?”

She feels Kara’s slight nod, and Lena’s smile stretches wider while her eyes grow heavier. “Together?”

Another nod. Another whisper. “Together.”

<<<Previous||

That’s it! It’s done! Oof! Thank you all for humouring me in this wild, bumpy ride. All chapters (plus an epilogue!) will be posted on my AO3 within the next few days.

[soyforramen]

Prompt: Dance + Hangover Bughead

Betty groaned and pressed a hand against her throbbing head. That was the last time she’d let Veronica drag her anywhere, let alone out of a particularly productive study session. With the bar only a month away, it was all to easy to succumb to Veronica’s promise of a stress free evening at the most exclusive club in the city.

(The fact that Veronica owned said club certainly helped convince Betty. After all, who could turn down an all expenses paid night out at the Bijou? Opportunities like that didn’t ordinarily crop up for most environmental law interns, especially the ones who didn’t get paid to save the planet.)

As she shifted on the bed, a twinge of pain shot through her ankle. She glanced down to find it still wrapped in a shoddy attempt at a brace. A memory of being swept off the dance floor – literally – by a tall, dark stranger flashed through her mind, along with her stilted attempts at flirting that lead to three spilled drinks and a twisted ankle.

Well, perhaps he hadn’t been a stranger stranger. After all, whenever Veronica’s latest beau came by Jughead trudged along. And he wasn’t terrible company; in fact they managed to get along quite well on their third-wheeling excursions. And last night had been rather enjoyable, despite it ending with a marathon Jenga session after sharing a cab back to her apartment.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Betty forced down the remnants of the dark rum and syrupy sweet mixers Veronica had insisted on. The alcohol oozed from her pores, leaving behind a sticky, disgusting feeling. Still wearing last night’s clothing – a dress that was high necked, low backed, and far too short for any decent legal scholar – Betty couldn’t help but feel like an absolute gargoyle queen.

She stumbled towards the shower and, most importantly, a handful of ibuprofen.

It wasn’t until she was in her normal Sunday morning outfit of sweats and an old faded jersey that Betty finally felt human again. Now that that was taken care of, her mind moved onto more practical things. Breakfast was out of the question – her stomach roiled at the thought of anything else being funneled into it. Her pounding headache demanded otherwise, and she walked towards the kitchen with a guilty glance towards her abandoned stack of BarBri study guides.

The pot of coffee in his hand hovered in the air above a mug, suspended by her sudden appearance.

“Hey,” Jughead greeted softly.

“Hey,” she replied. “Are you going to drink all of that?”

He shook his head and slid the mug towards her. When she lifted it to her mouth she found it filled with a thick, hot brew strong enough to clean a carburetor. Unable to stand the small, Betty opened the refrigerator for a hearty dash of creamer.

“You stayed the night?” Betty asked as nonchalantly as she could.

While she wasn’t concerned that he had stayed over, she was curious. Mostly, however, her curiosity’s own hangover could only extend as far as to wondering when the last time she’d vacuumed the couch he’d likely slept on.

Jughead nodded and poured a second mug for himself. He downed half of it and refilled it before answering. “Wanted to make sure everyone got home okay,” he said with a glance towards Veronica’s still closed door. He lifted the pot and Betty shook her head, still nursing her first cup.

It was oddly endearing, she realized, to know how concerned he had been about not only his roommate, but also about Veronica. Something of Betty’s own worry must have seeped into him last night between her constant glances between the door and her phone. At first glance, she’d assumed Jughead to be nonchalant and a believer of one for one, and none for all. But as they became closer, it was a comfort to know that appearances could still be deceiving in a good way.

“And I might have had too much to drink last night to get down Scarlet O’Hara’s grand staircase,” he admitted.

Betty laughed at that. It seemed Veronica still hadn’t told Jughead about the service elevator in the back, forcing him to take the three flights up to their apartment.

“You and me both,” Betty said, trying to soften the mood. “Is this your handiwork, or mine?”

“Sorry about that. We Jones’ are more Nurse Ratched than Nightingale,” Jughead said with a wince.

He reached up and rubbed at his forehead, another victim of Veronica’s penchant for sweet liquors. As he did so, a lock of hair fell over his face and Betty realized that he was cute. Not a head turner, like his roommate, but cute in a way that grows on you.

“Like a fungus,” Betty murmured under her breath.

Jughead glanced up, squinting at her, and she blushed. Veronica had definitely been right about studying too much if Betty couldn’t keep from talking out loud.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Betty said. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You bartend, right?”

“I wait tables. At the old diner,” Jughead correct her, a note of bitterness in his voice.

“Ronnie said something about writing a book too, though, right?” Betty said, trying to sway the conversation away from his fits of melancholy.

At the mention of writing, his eyes flashed to life. “It’s nothing, really. Just a few pages.”

“Oh?”

Betty did her best to act coy, leaning against the kitchen island and cupping the mug in her hands. Most certainly it was a pale imitation to Veronica’s practiced flirting, but a girl had to start somewhere. It was bolder than Betty normally was, but last night had been fun even with the minor bodily harm.

“I’m trying to study the decay of the American small town and what it might do to the character of the people living there.” As he spoke, energy came to his body and the space around him felt alive, caught in his orbit. “Maybe as an allegory about what our culture is today and what it thinks it used to be.”

She lifted her mug to her lips and sipped at the hot coffee as she thought through what to say next. Jughead’s eyes flicked down to her lips, and an slow ember lit in her chest.

“Ronnie and I grew up in a small town, though –“

A loud patter of giggling echoed down the hallway from Veronica’s room. Before Betty could roll her eyes, a loud moan followed it. Jughead’s eyes went wide and Betty blushed down to her toes, both reeling from the second hand embarrassment.

“Maybe we should get out of here?” Betty offered.

Jughead nodded, his head moving like a bobblehead on a shelf during an alien invasion.

“Sorry, Toni can be –“ he trailed off, his face scrunched up in discomfort.

“I can’t begin to tell you how many study sessions were interrupted by them,” Betty offered to try and lighten the situation. “I’ll just get my jacket?”

Jughead nodded. “It’s a date. I mean - ?”

Betty set her hand on his arm and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Another sound came from Veronica’s room, and Betty and Jughead both headed towards the door.

“Or maybe I can just borrow yours?”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license​

[thesmokingguns]

Waiting Game

Word count: 1890

Request Summary:“The band meets a girl whos in a band like ghost and she fine as hell and shes super funny, chill, but also very confident and they all fall for her and compete for her affection. he thick asf like megan thee stallion😌 she got tan skin brown eyes and long black hair, long painted nails, she 5’8, and she wears alot of tight clothes or just stuff to show off her body”

A/N: I should be back on track with things and posting daily/ every other day. Requests are back up a little bit but I’m saying two weeks for a turn around and hopefully I can stick with that. Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ayablackwood​ @agroupiewhore @littlemisscare-all​ @thenobodies-inc​

It was a Wednesday night on the Sunset Strip. The four men walked into their favorite Strip Club, eyes searching for the band that they were going to meet before going on tour with. They had heard some of their music but wanted to make sure that even though they sounded good it would be a good fit on tour. It would be two months of being around them so they had decided that they’d go out and party with the newbies to see if they could match energies.

The band had gotten there early, wanting to enjoy some time in case they didn't match energies with the band. As they sat down they noticed a taller girl getting on stage, laughing as she talked to a group on the side of the stage. Music started to play that was almost upbeat rock and the girl held on the pole, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. The guys watched how her hands gripped the pole, her eyes scanning the crowd and smiling at the table of men.

“Holy Shit, she’s new.” Tommy said not being able to take his eyes off her. Her hands sliding up the pole as she rolled her hips. Bouncing her cheeks before turning so her back was against the pole and spinning around. She brought one leg up, wrapping around the metal, her leather tiny hot shorts seeming to raise even higher to give even more view of her cheeks.

“Give me money, Mick.” Vince held out his hand to the guitarist who was in charge of going to the bank earlier to get the ones. His eyes still on the girl who had her knee wrapped around the pole, her black hair sweeping down before she pulled her head up and spun around. She she was off the ground She wrapped her other leg around the pole twirling down, on the ground she extended a leg straight up running her fingers over the thickness of thigh.

Mick was handing out stacks of cash handing them to each of the guys who were leaning towards the stage, watching her stretch out, her hips rocking up and down , the crop top band shirt she was wearing rising to show the swell of her underboob as she made eye contact with Nikki, her tongue sticking out.

“Oh Fuck,” he hissed reaching out to tuck some cash into her leather shorts. He watched her wink , tossing her hair back, one long finger run down his cheek before she jumped up heading back to the pole.Holding the pole as she slowly twirled her body seductively around it. Her hand trailing over her stomach as she pressed her other hand above her head, her knees bending as she opened her legs dancing down in slow hip rolls.

“What is her name? We need her, oh my god,” Mick watched her drop into a split, bouncing up and down as the song came to a close. She had this smug look of satisfaction on her face as she stood up, grabbing someone's hand and stepping off the stage.

“DIBS!” Four voices all yelled out at once. The  guys all looked at each other with this competitive glint in their eyes. They all wanted the stranger they had just met on stage. Before they could get a word in she was walking over to the table, four guys behind her.

“Hey. I thought you would be coming later tonight. I’m Ivy.” her easy smile  threw them all off as she sat down. “I’m the singer from Blood Bank.” She slid between NIkki and Tommy as the rest of the band.

“So you’re going to be the singer in our opening band?” Mick was the first one to make an intelligent sentence and all the other looked on envious that he had done it. She nodded, eyes sweeping over everyone.

“And if you keep up the tips I’ll even dance after the shows for you.” Tommy choked on his beer, foam coming from his nose at her comment. The way she smiled from the side of her mouth at  how flustered she had them didn’t go unnoticed by Nikki. He loved that she knew exactly what she was doing to them.

“After the shows there’s a lot of things we can do.” Vince gave her a suggestive look, watching as she leaned forward, closer to him. Drawing the blonde singer in closer to her, letting the cloak of her charms lay over them.

“Like what?” she picked up the mixed drink he was sipping on, letting the straw run over her full lips. His eyes were glued to her full lips thinking of all the places that he would like them to be pressed against. Vince let his mouth open and close a couple times before she sat back, pushing the straw aside and taking the drink like a shooter, “Captivating. Can’t wait for that.`` She was easy to joke with. Witty and quick. She fit in easily with them. Her eyes turned to Nikki expecting him to add to the conversation but he had two fingers in the air ordering another round of drinks for everyone.

A moment later a whiskey with ice was being pressed into her hands. Nikki’s fingers sliding over hers for a second longer than they should have. Both of them locked in a stare.

“Were you dancing to your song? I’m looking forward to hearing more of you on tour.” He asked, moving to pick up his own drink. Nikki was being as smooth as velvet, not letting himself stumble over words like his band mates.

“It wasn’t.” She looked at her band ages, rolling her eyes at the way the guys were all acting. This was pretty typical of what her life was like when she went out. She knew that they would all just be trying to get her attention for the next few months.

“You’re going to make her puke, Mick!” warned Tommy. Mick had challenged Ivy to a drinking contest on the tour bus, shot for shot they went of the clear liquid, letting it burn for a second before reaching for the next shot.

“Way to underestimate me, T-Bone.” she rolled her eyes slamming back the next shot, watching the way that Mick’s eyes were starting to close. “You better have a back up bottle so you can’t bitch out.” she warned. Mick glanced warily up, he wasn’t going to be able to play in a few hours if she kept it up.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I need my guitarist tonight. You’re going to have to call it a draw.” Nikki warned her. Her eyes rolled to look at him as she downed the last shot looking unbothered by the fact she had just shared a handle with Mick.

“I’m going to lay down.” Mick muttered, stumbling down to try to sleep off some of the drunkenness before they arrived in Denver for their show. Tommy bounced out of his seat, knowing Ivy was alone now from the attention of anyone else.

“Hey. we’re going to stop for gas soon. Do you want to jump on the back of my bike for the rest of the ride to the venue?” he asked. She had liked going on the bikes for a few hours in teh afternoon. Her skin is warm in the sunlight and hair in the wind. She’d often spend hours wrapped around Tommy between pit stops. She never got on the back of a bike with anyone else, much to their disappointment.

“NO, I think I’m going to end up in my bands bus. I should probably nap before the show.” her easy smile slipping out but Nikki could see she was thrown off kilter a little bit.

“Why don’t you go lay down in my bunk?” Nikki offered. He saw the hesitation in her eyes. She was friendly with everyone except him. She would drink with Mick, go on the bikes with Tommy, and do vocal warm ups well drinking tea with Vince. But Nikki had been almost an outsider. “I’m not going to offer to lay down with you.” he added, trying to make her more comfortable.

“What if I sleep better with someone?” her voice was like honey and he was the fly getting stuck in her trap, “Lead the way, Sixx.” standing up, he remembered she was just wearing a band shirt as a dress, her thick thighs looking like they should be wrapped around his waist. It was easy to fall into a fantasy about her because even when she wasn’t dolled up in her sheer outfits or tight stage costumes Ivy was drop dead gorgeous.

“I don’t sleep. So if you fall asleep I’ll probably just leave you.” he warned as he pulled the curtain open to the bunk. Ivy climbed in, her full booty showing as she climbed in. Nikki said a prayer to himself in hopes he could try and keep his hands to himself.

Ivy was making herself comfortable, pulling the blankets over her and laying down on his favorite pillow. The bassist was thinking about how his bunk was going to smell like her tonight. The scent of her perfume and shampoo was already filling the small space and he knew it would be stronger when he was lonely driving to the next town.

“You don’t like me.” her eyes were on him, like a cat watching him settle into bed. This threw him off but she was going to explain, “Everyone else in your band tries day in and day out to get close enough to me to sleep with me. I’m not an idiot.” she licked her lips and his eyes fixated on the movement of her tongue, “But you’re all one liners and ice cold coolness. I had to ask you into bed with me.” she pointed out.

“You’re drunk. I don’t want to get you in my bed when you’re drunk and need to sleep it off. I want to get you-” she didn't let him finish, her lips hitting his. Ivy slif under the covers closer to Nikki, her leg sliding up, until his hand hooked around her pulling her closer.

His mind was fireworks and not thinking correctly. He didn’t realize what was happening but he also knew that he didn’t want it to stop even though he had to stop it. She was sliding so that she was on top when he finally groaned, pulling away from her kiss. The way her eyes questioned him.

“Tonight. I just need you sober and know that you really want this.” Ivy rolled her eyes. He was the only one in the band that would stop and make sure she was fully able to consent to anything before going further. Nikki had this respect for her but he also had his own pride. He wanted to make sure that she wasn’t just kissing him because of the vodka but because she wanted to be doing it.

“OKay, Sixx. I’ll be back here tonight and you won’t be able to say no then.” she warned moving her head down to his chest. She might have not been able to go as far as she had wanted with him but Ivy was going to make him regret his decision of stopping her and Nikki knew it.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House Part 5.2

Vikings College AU, Dom/sub/Dom,  Ivar x Reader, Ubbe x Reader

It’s a broke, submissive college girl’s dream: living for free with your two crushes in exchange for doing all the housework. The Lothbrok boys wanted a “thrall,” and now you’re hoping they’ll notice that you’re game for all kinds of “services.” Ivar seems to know exactly what you’re looking for, but you’ve never met a Dom so mysterious, constantly keeping you off-balance and not sure what to expect next. And then there’s his brother Ubbe, who may not understand the kind of game you’re trying to play here, but makes up for it in raw sexiness and eager desire for you. But will these two strong-willed boys be able to play nice and share you as you live out one of your hottest fantasies with them both?

This fic is so far away from canon that it should be accessible to anyone that can imagine being in college and wanting to be submissive to two hot bros at the same time. 

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (you can also find the whole thing on ao3)

A/N: after an embarrassingly long hiatus, I think I’m ready to finish this fic now. I have all the rest of it planned out, I think there will be 3 more chapters. And if I continue my streak of posting the chapters in part 1 and 2 chunks here on Tumblr, then I guess you have a lot to look forward to!

Also, you might want to review the previous section; what’s included below is pretty much all smut straight through. If you need a little seduction to get back in the mood first, the first half of the chapter is here.

Ubbe’s cock feels so good under your hand. How long had you been dreaming about touching it? How many times has he taunted you with the sight of it, letting you know how you had been affecting him on the most primal of levels. You take the time to savor it now, stroking that tantalizingly wide shaft through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Do you like that?” Ubbe asks you, voice slow and thick. He’s got one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick, and he keeps his eyes mostly on the road even as you slide and sculpt around the length of him. Ubbe drives like a speed demon, and apparently he can’t take it easy even with a distraction like you and your willing hand in his car. He shifts gears and tilts the wheel in tight, expert little motions, passing another car he deemed to be driving too slow. You know from driving with him in the past that just about everybody on the road qualifies for that judgment.

“I do,” you answer, with what you hope wasn’t too much self-conscious hesitation.

“Yeah?” Ubbe takes his hand off the shifter just long enough to pop open the button at the top of his fly, angling his hips enough to ease the zipper down. “Want to take a closer look?” He keeps his eyes on the road, letting you stare at the perfect profile of his chiseled face.

You never realized before this moment how much lust and hunger could feel similar. The prospect of getting your hands, and probably your mouth if the streets were dark enough, on Ubbe’s cock is actually making your mouth water right now.

Your fingers dance up to the opening in his fly. Ubbe puts his hand back on the shifter and leans his hips a little further, making more room for you. A heavy breath escapes him as your fingertips dive under the fabric.

The noise makes your submissive soul tingle. You’re quite sure Lauren or Sonya wouldn’t stoop to giving a guy road head before he’d even taken them out on a date, when you’d barely even had time to share more than a few breathless kisses yet, but you like feeling a little bit like a whore. If Ubbe wants this right now, why on earth would you withhold it from him?

You slide your fingertips across his lower belly, seeking the waistband of his boxer briefs. You allow yourself to indulge just a little in tracing your fingers along his skin, playing with the trail of hairs that tempt you lower. Ubbe rumbles an appreciative little sound, though you can almost detect a little whine at the end of it. He wants you to get on with it, doesn’t he.

Your fingers slip under the elastic band and feel down along the warmth of his body. The hairs get thicker and thicker as you go, though you can tell Ubbe keeps them cropped fairly short down here. You make contact with the side of his shaft; he’s angled mostly up and a little bit away from you, and you tickle your fingers up and down the edge of it.

“Fuck,” Ubbe whispers through his teeth; then, without looking away from the road: “are you teasing me right now?”

You give him a cute giggle, and a few more light, quick fingertip strokes. “Maybe.”

His brow crinkles, crookedly, and he glances at you like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. “I thought you were a good girl.” Blood rushes to your face. “Or do you want me to treat you like a bad girl, hm?” Watching you out of the corner of his eye, he reaches behind your head, curling his fingers into your hair, close to the scalp just above your neck. He tugs once, and you moan at the tiny pain.

You accept the reprimand, relishing the way he’s taken control of your head, and push your fingers deeper into his pants. You wrap them around the warm velvet iron of his shaft. The contact feels electric against your palm.

He groans, first tightening his grip on your hair, creating a sharp pain, and then releasing it quickly, as if he had only just realized how hard he was pulling. He scratches your scalp in an appreciative caress as you trace your loosely-cupped fist up and down the length of him. “Fuck.”

There is barely any room to work him while still inside his pants. You’re just pondering whether you should take his dick out, and what’s the best route for that, when Ubbe stops the car at a traffic light. The street isn’t busy, but there is another vehicle waiting alongside yours. Still not as much privacy as you would like.

Ubbe’s hand leaves the shifter, returning to the back of your head and pulling you toward him, his mouth meeting yours halfway for a searing kiss that seems to go on and on. He breaks away as decisively as he went in, shifting gears before you’ve even opened your eyes, barely crossing the intersection before he’s shoving the top of his undies down, letting the full length of his cock spring free.

It’s magnificent in the flashing lights of the passing streetlights. The ruddy head of it looks positively swollen with need, and you lean over his hand on the shifter to wrap your lips around its tip. You flit your tongue, tasting the salt of pre-cum. More evidence of how much he’s been longing for you.

A guttural groan comes out of Ubbe’s throat. It sounds both pleasured and exasperated, and after you give him just one more lick, his arm that’s underneath your bent torso is pushing you up and away. He needs to shift the gearstick. You lift your head to see the oncoming red glow of another traffic signal.

Turns out, there are too many traffic stops on the drive home for you to give Ubbe any proper road head. Every time you lean down to run your tongue around that fat, glorious head, you get in no more than a few licks before he needs room to shift gears again. The whole stick shift thing is suddenly feeling a lot less sexy.

Settling back into your seat, you keep your hand wrapped loosely around his shaft, arm snaked under his and giving him plenty of room to change gears. You’re counting down the minutes with lazy strokes and firm squeezes until he pulls into the parking garage attached to your building.

You can’t help but notice that Ivar’s car is in its assigned parking space as Ubbe backs into his own beside it. He must be inside the apartment. It’s impressive, really, how Ubbe is able to reverse the car so competently between the narrow lines while your fist is still gripping his rock-hard erection. As soon as he’s got the car in ‘park,’ he kills the headlights, but does not turn off the engine. He reaches across to pull you in for a kiss, wild and needy. His mouth plays expertly across your own, sucking and nipping until you’re sure your lips will be swollen.

“Fuck, babydoll, you want it bad, don’t you,” Ubbe groans against your cheek. His mouth assaults your neck again, teeth grazing your skin and tugging at your ear. “Such a dirty little girl, grabbing a guy’s cock when he’s just trying to drive her home.” His kiss claims your mouth again before you can answer. You tug harder and he squares his hips toward you. He breaks away after one last a flourish of his tongue and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pointing your face toward his straining cock. “Let’s see how far can you fit that down your throat.”

Your pussy clenches on nothing and you moan as you bend down to show him. You’re still not sure if Ubbe has any idea about doing BDSM the “right” way like Ivar does, but his frat boy, bad-porn style of dirty talk is working for you anyway. Your head is spinning at the whirlwind this night has turned into, as you suck his cock deep into your mouth. Not in a bad way, though; you’ve built enough of a relationship with Ubbe over the past weeks to know there’s a caring guy behind this disrespectful façade. It’s safe to let this thing get a little wild.

His cock is thick. It’s hard work to suck him down deeper, and the press of his blunt head at the back of your throat bothers you a little as you strive to show Ubbe just how far you can take him. Judging by his noises, you’re doing well, though, and his hands clench and un-clench in your hair as your head bobs up and down. Like he wants to encourage you but he’s holding himself back from choking you on the damn thing. “Fuck, that’s good, oh, take it deep like that.”

Soon instead of pushing you down, his clutching fingers start pulling you up.

“Get up here, straddle me, I want to see you.”

You kick your heels off quick as you can. Ubbe rips at the seat control and lays it back almost flat, giving you just enough space to plant your knees to either side of his hips on the expensive leather and hover your body over his. Your hands land on his shoulders, keeping you balanced while hunched under the roof, and while your faces are almost close enough to kiss again, Ubbe’s eyes are focused lower.

His palms run up your thighs, greedy, still muttering filthy nothings while pushing your skirt up until you remember you’re not wearing anything underneath it. You make a warning noise and he slows down, sliding around to the sides and then exploring the bottom curve of your ass carefully, reawakening the welts Ivar left there without causing any new damage. His gaze comes back to your face, pupils widening, as his hands cover both your cheeks. Reaching that far lifts his upper body closer to yours but still he doesn’t kiss you. Your skirt’s now shoved up high enough that you know your whole pussy would be visible through the front windows, if anyone were to come walking by. He spreads you further, and you wonder if he’s thinking about that too.

Does he want Ivar to catch you? Does he know you’ll be punished? Or does he not want the interruption, is that the reason that Ubbe’s tracing his fingers between your legs out here, and not taking you inside to his more comfortable bed. The questions blur and scatter as his finger slides along the slick he finds between your inner lips.

“Fuck, dirty girl,” he marvels, “you really like getting treated like this. You’re so fucking wet for me.” But he doesn’t plunge his fingers in like you’re expecting, like he did out on the balcony back at the party. Instead his hands slide up your sides, coming to scoop around your breasts, leaving your skirt rucked up high. “I want your tits out.” He pushes the straps of your tank top and bra down your shoulders, far enough to scoop your breasts out into the thin light of the parking garage’s scattered fluorescents. “That’s my beautiful, slutty little girl. Just imagine if someone came by and saw you like this.”

He slaps you across the side of your ass, lightly, but you’re sensitive enough to jump and moan just from that. His eyes follow the bounce of your breasts, hanging out of your shirt above him. Your clothes are still technically on, but they’re not covering anything important, are they.

“I love the idea of someone else seeing what I got to watch last night,” he murmurs, and then his fingertips are sliding between your slick folds again. “Would you come for me right here, with your pussy pointed right out the windshield?”

You moan in agreement, and his fingers find your clit. He keeps on muttering filthy nothings as he traps it with his fingers and squeezes, then rocks in circles that make your toes curl. His other hand squeezes into your thigh, trying to pull you closer. His lips trace the skin of your neck.

“Fuck. I can’t wait anymore.” The growling edge of his voice sounds ragged and you absolutely believe him on that. You’re feeling it too; his fingertip on your clit is amazing but after all the buildup of the past few days you need so much more than just a little teasing. “Will you ride me?”

You look down at his cock, still springing tall and proud from his open jeans, framed by your knees. You want nothing more than to sink right down onto it. “Do you have a condom?” you somehow remember to ask.

Ubbe grins darkly, and with only a little digging produces one from his pocket.

You pluck it from his fingers. “Let me.”

You’re so conscious of his eyes on your body as you sit up and concentrate on tearing the little packet open. Your bare thighs, your pert and exposed nipples, the teasing glimpse of your pussy that’s surely visible to him under the skirt that’s been pushed up to your hipbones.

Ubbe’s looking like a wet dream himself, reclined underneath you with his shirt riding up over cut abs, a light trail of hair leading down from his navel to the base of his straining cock. His pale eyes are rapt and so hungry he’s almost begging.

But only almost. As you roll the slippery latex over his fat head, a predatory spark blooms across his features. His fingers spasm and you know that as soon as you get this condom situated, you’re all his.

He scoops up your ass with both hands, pulling you closer to line yourself up. “You might be Ivar’s in there,” he murmurs, and there’s no trace of unhappiness in the words, “but right now you’re all mine. Show me. Sink yourself right down on it for me.”

So he does know. And, apparently, is entirely cool with the situation. You tease yourself with the tip of him for a moment, gliding it along your inner folds. With his eyes locking onto yours, Ubbe spits into his fingers and reaches out to coat your entrance, a cocky look on his face like he knows exactly how wide he is and how you’re going to need this to take him all the way in. Then he grasps himself at the base and presses in between your slick folds.

The stretch feels amazing as you sink down onto him. His fat cock fills you up and just keeps coming, inch after delicious inch. When your hips come to rest against his you just stay there for a while, reveling in it, gloriously full.

He bumps his hips, just a little, and you shudder. Even a small movement has a huge effect with a cock like his, making you feel tight and delicate above him. “Not too much for you already, am I princess?” he teases.

“Ho—just hold on,” you gasp, holding onto his shoulder and trying to get a grip so you don’t just drool in his face.

But Ubbe doesn’t want to see you get control of yourself. He wants to see you a panting mess. “Like this?” he says, grasping one of your hips in each hand, squeezing hard and pulling you against him even tighter.

“Ah!” you squeal, but maybe the motion feels better, despite the intensity. You rock against him, taking a shuddering breath in, and find that all that stretch melts into pure pleasure when he’s moving inside you.

“Is that how you like it, babygirl.” He turns his hips up to meet yours, matching your rhythm as he stares up at your face. “You’re taking it so good for me.”

His thrusts start to hit harder, and it becomes more difficult to keep up as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through in his wake.

“Fuck, yeah, this tight little thing. I love to feel you ride me.”

You try and rally, forcing your core muscles to keep moving because that’s what Ubbe wants. Even though his sweet impaling is making your legs feel weak.

“That’s it. Stay up just like that.” His hand has found the back of your neck and he’s coaxing you to sit up as straight as you can inside this car, bouncing over him. “You look amazing. Keep your back straight.”

Every demeaning little instruction just makes you wetter, your core burning and stretching around his fat hog with each pornographic phrase that comes out of his mouth.

“God, your pussy’s tight. I want to feel you cum all over my dick.”

He brings his hand between your bodies, finding your clit and batting a rapid, back-and-forth rhythm across it.

“Just stay up—keep sitting up high and pretty for me so I can watch you cum.”

It doesn’t take long, not with the string of filthy words that keep coming out of his mouth, not with his expert finger on your clit and the staccato bounce of his cock buried to the hilt inside you. You press your lips together so that you don’t wail as you come to pieces all around him.

As soon as you gasp in your next breath, Ubbe’s grabbing your hips again, taking over all the movements and not giving you even a moment’s rest after your peak. He fucks up into you, fast and hard and with more force than you thought one could accomplish from the driver’s seat of a tiny sports car. You bury your face in your shoulder to stop from yelping, hands clutching at his shoulders as he groans and drives himself on. “Fuck—yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

He’s hollowing you out. The aftershocks of your orgasm feel like little climaxes of their own, given that Ubbe is still bucking up into you for all that he’s worth. You’re panting, gasping into his ear and you can’t decide if you need him to finish right the fuck now, or if you want this to go on forever.

His whole body strains, and a long, wrecked sound pushes between his teeth and against your ear. He holds you to him tight, shuddering through wave after wave of his evidently spectacular finish. “Oh,” he finally pants, with a concluding-style tone, “fuck. Yeah.” His arms wrap you up tight as his entire body relaxes underneath you. “Wow, Y/N. Just, wow.”

You’re floating. Shimmering high above the clouds, luxurious and electrified both at once. You nuzzle into Ubbe’s neck and he shifts to make room for you there, inviting the post-coital snuggle.

Except, absolutely nothing else about your current position is comfortable. As your consciousness comes back down to earth, your knees are screaming and your ass feels way too conspicuously bare up here in the front seat. The steering wheel is likely not providing it much cover. You shift, and Ubbe nuzzles your cheek before letting you go. He holds the bottom of the condom down as you disengage and swing yourself back as gracefully as you can into the passenger seat.

Ubbe tilts his own seat high enough to be even with yours again. He rolls his face toward you, peaceful and present. As soon as you’ve got your shirt covering your chest again, he’s reaching out to take your hand.

“You’re really ok with this.” It’s not really a question, though he’s looking at you like he wants a response. “Both of us.”

Warmth blooms through your body as you continue to straighten your clothes. “I’m the one that should be surprised, that you’re cool with it.”

Ubbe smiles, a little darkly. “Ivar and I, we’ve got a way that we work things out. When we both want the same thing.” His thumb is playing idly with the side of your finger.

“I think I’m gathering that.”

You’re still settling your skirt back into its correct place when you hear the stairwell door swing open. The sound of Ivar’s crutches on the concrete confirm the nervous thrill that runs through you at the noise; you look down at your fingers entwined between Ubbe’s. Does this count as “his hands on you?” You glance up to meet Ubbe’s eyes nervously. He squeezes once and then lets go with a soft, conspiratory smile.

You smooth your skirt one last time and try not to look too suspicious as Ivar comes past Ubbe’s car on the way to his own.

His face lights up when he catches your eye through the glass. “Y/N, I was hoping you would be back soon!” He nods to his brother. “So kind of Ubbe to drive you home.”

Ubbe nods with a grunt that only sounds a little bit annoyed. There is a bit of smugness to Ivar’s smile.

“Forgot my phone,” Ivar says, holding it up after rummaging through his car. “Let’s go inside, shall we? I was just about to start a movie.”

 It’s too difficult to concentrate on the film he wants to show you. You’d rather think about how good it feels to be tucked under Ivar’s arm, snuggled up in the dark, even if it is a little odd that the guy that just fucked your brains out is now the one back in his bed sleeping alone.

Ivar’s fingers are dancing over your limbs, slowly, intermittently, as you pretend you’re paying attention to the movie. There’s nothing urgent about it; his fingertips just seem to like to explore.

He tickles at the base of your hairline, rolls his face into the crook of your neck. How are you supposed to think about anything but that? If he starts kissing you, you’re just going to turn off the movie.

“You’re lucky that you had your clothes back on,” Ivar murmurs in your ear. His fingers keep playing idly with your hair. “I came so close to catching you.”

You emit a sort of small animal noise. You know you didn’t violate any of his instructions today, but you still feel deliciously trapped.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks, tone even, and a little bit amused.

“Mhm,” you answer in a small voice.

He nips at the edge of your ear. “Did he make you cum?”

Somehow the question sends heat flooding between your legs all over again. You’re not sure if it’s the right answer, but you nod ‘yes.’

Ivar’s fingers dig in for a moment. “Good.” Then they go back to drawing little circles all over your skin. “Tight space in that car,” he murmurs. “Were you riding him?”

Does Ivar like thinking about this as much as you do? Or is all of this some kind of trap. “Uh huh.”

Get up here, on my lap.” He pulls on your leg, setting you up to straddle him. “Let me look at you.”

You spread your legs for the second time tonight, bridging Ivar’s lap and grateful that the couch is soft enough under your overworked knees. Your pussy is already throbbing. Or did it never stop throbbing since Ubbe so thoroughly beat it up?

Ivar looks up at you, perfectly pleased by everything he sees. “Do you know how obvious it is when you’re aroused?”

You try to stop your face from flushing.

“I can tell so easily. Your lips part”—he reaches up, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip, peeling it down a little further—“your lashes get heavy, but your eyes sharpen.” His fingers trail down your collarbone. “Your skin somehow glows.”

He has to be making half of that up, but it sounds good. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, touch yourself.”

You bring your hands to your breasts, a little awkward. You wish he would let you admire his body too. Maybe you’ll ask him for that later.

He leans in, saying the next words a little lower. “You like the idea that we are both going to use you now, whenever and however we want.”

His words make you moan in agreement, and you scoop up your tits and nod.

“Our little thrall.” Affection and possessiveness drip in equal measure from his lips. “You wanted it as much as I did. I could tell, when I said it that day. You started to glow then, too.”

His fingers dance over your thighs, but he does not try to push up under your skirt.

“Tell me how much you love to be at our disposal.”

You purr for him, a little embarrassed but more than turned on enough to say some dirty things for him. “I’m all yours.” You rock your hips gently against him, mindful not to put too much pressure on his legs, and “I love letting you… have me, any part of me you want.”

“Whenever I want.”

“Whenever you want.”

“No matter how many times you’ve already come today.”

You definitely feel a flush after that one. Ivar’s hands trace up your waist, then catch at your wrists and push your hands down your body.

“Touch yourself for me now.”

You arch your back and sneak your hand into the waistband of the skirt, happy to ease the ache that’s been growing between your legs. You go right to your favorite spot, closing your eyes and making soft sounds of delight for him.

Ivar’s fingers dig into your thighs. The pain only heightens your excitement. “I almost feel sorry for you. Ubbe’s an animal, you know. Now that you’re ours he’s going to grab you every time he needs to nut and my God, that guy usually whacks it several times a day.” Although you may not be sure what, exactly Ivar gets out of telling you this, the thought is certainly sending your own arousal skyrocketing. “But then, no matter how he uses you, then”—he whacks your bottom swiftly, reactivating the bruises he left there last night—“you will always, always be ready for me.” He grabs at your wrist, making sure you’re still going, still working yourself as eagerly as he wants. “Even right afterwards. Won’t you.”

You hum and nod and press yourself even faster.

“Show me,” he urges, face dark and rapt as he stares up at your writhing passion. “Show me how your body can be so fucked out and still so absolutely ready for me.”

You moan and spread your legs wider, bringing yourself close to the edge but not wanting the moment to be over just yet. You try to keep your eyes open, staring at the way Ivar’s pupils have gone so wide there’s barely any blue, the way he licks his lips as he looks down the line of your body.

One of his hands finally slides underneath your skirt. His fingers climb quickly, his target clear when he runs one fingertip up and down your pussy. His growl is a deeply pleased noise. “So wet. That’s good, you’ll need it.” He presses more firmly; your swollen lips are tender from fitting all of Ubbe in and you jump. Ivar’s other hand is at the small of your back, catching you, holding you down.

Somehow the invasion of that one finger is as powerful to your system as Ubbe’s entire cock. Maybe it’s the way that Ivar’s gorgeous face is smirking up at you, or the sting still echoing through your abused backside, but all he has to do is press that one finger up and into you and suddenly your body is clamping down and spasming an unexpected release all around it.

You moan and writhe and keep working your own clit as the moment stretches on; you hadn’t planned to come so fast but you’re certainly going to make the most out of it. Judging by the praise Ivar’s murmuring up at you as you ride the waves of climax, you’re giving him exactly what he wanted.

When you’ve thoroughly exhausted your second fantastic orgasm of the day, you try and slump comfortably against your lover. “Stay up,” he orders instead. “Keep your back straight, I’m not done looking.”

And so you sit up straight above him, closing your eyes and letting only your head sag a little as you try and catch your breath coming down. Ivar makes it difficult by wiggling that finger inside you several times more, making pleased noises at the way you shudder and struggle to deal with the overstimulation.

“So gorgeous,” he whispers. Then he finally withdraws his finger, and draws you down to snuggle against his chest.

His hands spread wide and happy across your back. “Sorry I came so fast,” you feel compelled to say.

“Are you kidding? What better compliment could there be. You can’t control yourself around me.”

You both smile.

“I know you will always have more for me.” He pulls you down to settle into the couch beside him, grabbing a blanket to spread over the two of you. “I really do want to show you this movie, though.” He lifts the remote and presses rewind. “No more distractions now.”

On to Chapter 6

Taglist is open: @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @vladsgirlfriend@youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog @earl-aive @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @pokeasleepingsmaug @hvittysmutanon @honestsycrets @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor @writingfromasgard @tootie-fruity @lordsexmachine @uncomfortable-writers @sadbutatleastsassy @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme

[sasarahsunshine]

Vampire Omega Reid gets pregnant by another Vampire {it was a drunken one night stand} and his pack are very protective of him. He has a big belly during his bat form and Hotch let's him sleep in his mug since he couldn't fit in a cup due to his big belly.

I am seeing a common theme with some of my asks recently, and that's that we all love the idea of a pregnant Spencer <3

Didn't mean for this to turn into a whole freaking blurb but here we go! Standard 18+ just in case. Hotchreid cause I can. TW: Mpreg, depression, anxiety, A/B/O adjacent Vampire stuff. Enjoy!

-----

Spencer Reid should know better. Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid- is smart enough (a literal genius) to know better. Condoms break. One-night stands end without numbers exchanged or real names learned. He should have known better.

He didn't mean for this. He didn't want this.

He doesn't even know who the father is. No name, no number, nothing but blurry barely-there memories of a handsome Alpha who charmed him into his bed. Fuck.

He debates on getting rid of it: the fetus, the bundle of cells that don't even have a heartbeat yet. But when he's sitting on the dingy motel room bed, the hard mattress under his crossed legs as he stares at the positive pregnancy test he's been carrying in his bag for the past week, he realizes he can't do that. Not because he's scared (he's not scared, he's a freaking FBI agent! He's not scared, no sir), but because... well maybe he's a little scared.

And these feelings of indecision, of fear, shame, embarrassment, depression- they keep cropping up as the weeks pass by. He cries himself to sleep most nights, clutching his pillow to his chest, hiding his face in the blankets, and wondering how did this happen?

It's when he's about three months along (12 weeks, his mind supplies) that someone else seems to finally notice. Not that he wasn't acting totally weird and out-of-the-ordinary for himself anyways, getting cornered by everyone at least once as they drilled him.

"What's wrong, Spence?"

"Hey, Pretty Boy, what's on your mind?"

"Reid, if there's anything going on you know you can tell me."

"Hey kiddo, we're all a little worried about you."

"My baby genius, you're not doing the talking thing. What's wrong?"

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He managed to avoid them until now, though he wasn't sure why he was avoiding them. It wasn't like he could keep his pregnancy a secret forever. Because, logically, they would have noticed the serious drop in caffeine intake, the increased hunger, nausea, and finally, the eventual weight gain. It didn't take a genius to put two-and-two together.

It was about time when the whole team (sans Garcia) managed to corner him on the jet. He had almost nodded off, his chin resting in his hand, eyes slipping closed as the rumble of the engines lulled him to sleep, when the couch dipped and shifted beside him. He peeked open his eyes to see a very concerned-looking JJ. Right behind her were Derek and Emily, the two of them standing in such a way that blocked him in. No escape.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"Spence," JJ started, her eyes filled to the brim with sympathy and concern, shimmering in the low light of the cabin. Her hand reached out and took his, squeezing it, "Please tell us what's going on."

And the damn floodgates opened.

Stupid hormones.

Spencer's shoulders trembled, his lower lip quivering as he tried to rein in his emotions to no avail. Tears slipped from his eyes as he looked between his team members. He could hear Rossi and Hotch approaching, the two older Alphas making sure to keep enough distance as to not frighten the already spooked and emotional Omega (which Spencer was grateful for, even though the sudden urge to be held by a certain Alpha was overwhelming).

JJ leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Her instincts were on high alert, fingers carding through his hair in a calming manner, a rumble escaping her chest to ease him. And he just sobbed, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

Honestly, the first clue should have been how he had pulled away from everyone. Omega Vampires need to feed from Alphas to get the nutrients they need (especially when pregnant), so when Spencer stopped going to Hotch and Derek for his regular feedings, they should have known.

Maybe they did.

He just didn't want them to scent the change in his hormones. The Alphas would have known right away if they got close enough.

He could feel Hotch's eyes on him from across the aisle. And he knew that there would be a lot of explaining to do.

But telling his boss, "I slept with another Alpha that I met at the bar because he looked like you, and now I'm pregnant," wasn't exactly something he looked forward to.

~

Thankfully, Spencer never had to explain himself. Nobody pushed. Everyone gave him his space to speak as much, or as little, as he needed to on the matter. Derek did offer to find the Alpha who knocked him up ("I just want to talk to him, Pretty Boy."), but Spencer just shook his head.

And as the weeks stretched on, his pregnancy becoming more and more noticeable by the day, he was finding himself feeling... odd. Still ashamed, still upset that it happened at all. But also kind of excited.

Garcia was obsessively flittering about him every chance she got. She bought way too many baby items, not that Spencer could really complain. He had no idea what he needed, so it was kind of nice to have someone dragging him around the fancy baby boutiques and getting all the high-end items he could possibly need. "Nothing but the best for the tiny genius you have in there!" She would say as she motioned to his growing stomach.

In his eighth month, it was sometimes easier to just be a bat. Especially because nothing was comfortable. Everything ached from his feet and ankles to his back and shoulders. Clothes were ridiculous. And eating was a nightmare because only one person seemed to not make him nauseous- and that person was off-limits.

So that's how he somehow found himself in Hotch's office, curled up in a mug, a tiny blanket (courtesy of Garcia) covering him as he slept for the millionth time that day. Gosh, he was always tired.

Hotch would pause his work every few minutes to check on Reid. He had noticed how the young Omega had attached himself to him, how could he not? And the Alpha wanted nothing more than to protect him, cherish him, and take care of him. He just wasn't quite sure how to bring it up. Especially when the Omega was overly emotional with everything going on.

He tapped his pen on the paper a couple of times, watching the rise and fall of the little blanket (more like a cloth) that covered the mug. Spencer had been getting sick when trying to feed from Derek, but seemed fine with Hotch's blood, he noticed. He wondered if there was a psychological reason behind that, or if it was chemical.

When the little bat stirred, sticking his head out from under the blanket with a cute yawn, Hotch smiled. He bit into the pad of his own thumb, offering it to the tiny Spencer (who looked ridiculous being this pregnant, rounder than a beach ball Emily had said).

Spencer didn't hesitate in his sleepy state, climbing out and attaching himself to Hotch's thumb, feeding from the pin-prick bite that marred the skin. He was so cute.

Hotch smiled to himself, resting his chin on his opposite fist, watching as Spencer slowly came to himself. The next few months were going to be interesting, he realized. Once Spencer had his pup, the team would be rather overbearing (not that they weren't already). And Hotch wondered then if Spencer would ever let him get close enough to help raise the baby. Because as he watched Spencer shake out of his sleepy mind, stretching a little before moving to the edge of the desk and shifting back to his human form, he realized he wanted to be with this Omega in a way that wasn't appropriate for him as his boss.

And when Reid leaned against the desk, a soft smile on his face as he murmured, "thank you," for allowing him to nap there, Hotch felt a pull at his heart.

Now wasn't a good time to bring this up, he told himself. But soon.

"You're welcome, Spencer."

-----

Tagging some people who might like this! @tobias-hankel @sparklinspence @goobzoop @thaddeusly @merpancake

[mxbutchtwink]

1 through 6, 32 and 36 for the pride asks? And Happy Pride!!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️💖

1. Gender and pronouns?

I don't think there's a name for my gender, but genderfluid is the best fit I have rn. I use any pronouns, though my relationship with he/him and she/her are complicated at times. I prefer vae/vem/vaers over all of them :)

2. Romantic orientation?

I'm Aromantic! And not interested in romantic relationships at the moment

3. Sexual orientation?

Bisexual or Pansexual, attracted to all genders, also VERY T4T lol

4. Past labels you've used?

A lot ahaha. I've identified as a man and a woman in the past, switched to nonbinary a couple times, thought I only liked men, thought I only liked women, thought I was asexual, I've made up my own labels before because none of the preexisting ones seemed to fit. Identity is hard, name literally and label I've probably considered it before. I'm a bit of a mess but it's helped me figure things out (a bit).

5. How long have you been using your current labels?

I don't know exactly, but a little less than a year I believe? I thought I was nonbinary when I started my current job and I've been there for a year now.

6. What made you realize your current label fits you?

There's still a lot about genderfluidity that I don't really understand, but when I realized that I didn't have to be feminine to be a girl or masculine to be a man that was a game changer for me. Most genderfluid people are presented as a gender conforming man one day and a gender conforming woman next and that's just not how I felt at all. Sometimes I'll have girl days and I'll wear a hoodie and jeans or a typical "butch" outfit, sometimes I'll have guy days and wear eyeliner and a crop top, sometimes I'll have days where I am gender conforming, the line between man and woman gets blurred a lot and I find there's a ton of freedom in that. Nonbinary is a very important label to me be I didn't feel like it exactly captured my experience, I feel like I fluctuate between different ways to be nonbinary a lot. Maybe there's another label that would fit me better but genderfluid is the closest I've found so far.

32. Something you wish people understood about your identity?

Honestly I wish people understood and were more accepting of neopronouns. Not just for me but for everyone, there's so much history behind them that's really beautiful and I wish I had a group of people irl who were supportive and comfortable using them. The thought that I might never actually get to use my pronouns anywhere outside of niche lgbt spaces is really depressing. It's one of those things that I try not to think about too much, and I know it'll get harder for me as I get older. There are a lot of bigger issues in the community, and I hope one day we can all safely and unapologetically be ourselves.

36. Do you align with any gay subcategories? (Butch/femme, bear/twink, etc.)

You know it's actually funny because I have both butch and twink in my username lol. I identify with aspects of both labels, with twink it's the smaller body type and being femme, and I like that butch describes masculinity that's not reserved for men, they're both really cool subcultures. Idk if I'd really consider myself a part of one of the other, as I'm not involved in the communities (and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't accept me oof). Maybe being a butch twink is a community on its own idk. If you're a butch twink let me know let's start a club baby!!

Thank you for the questions this was really fun :)

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Love Enough to Spare

doing this thing | day 17 - accidental voyeurism

wow this got long af and also was not finished on time and also doesn’t exactly fit the prompt, but it’s 1am and I am exhausted so have some smut 🎉

Geralt usually prefers the silence of the forest to the comfort of towns and Jaskier can hardly blame him for that considering the way he's treated. It does, however, make Geralt's absolute insistence that they reach town before nightfall, a little out of character. They're not wanting for anything and it's a beautiful night - bright and clear to the point where Jaskier would happy to sleep out under the stars. But Geralt is adamant. Even when they're both weary and in need of rest, Geralt pushes on. Usually, he would let Jaskier stops for a few moments to rest, but not tonight.

Jaskier's confusion only grows when they reach the town. It's old and small; only a few houses, a blacksmith, and, surprisingly, a small inn. The place is tiny, just a single level and no common area to speak of, which makes it even more surprising when Geralt insists on paying for two rooms. Once again, Jaskier keeps his mouth shut and takes the key Geralt presses into his hand. There isn't any point in arguing when Geralt is this set on something.

He can't help but be a little disappointed though. Most of their money goes toward feeding Roach and upkeep on Geralt's armour and swords, as such staying in town usually means sharing a bed to save money - and those are Jaskier's favourite nights. Alas, it seems tonight will not be one of them and after bidding Geralt goodnight at the front counter, he makes his way to his appointed room.

Jaskier sets his lute to one side of the small room and goes about his nightly routine, but it's lonely without Geralt and even when he crawls into bed, he finds himself leaving space for someone else. It's summertime, so it isn't cold sleeping alone, but it does feel strange; even when Jaskier is not sharing a bed with Geralt, he is always somewhere close by. He misses the whisper of Geralt's breath, the shuffling sounds as he makes himself comfortable. This little room in this little inn is much too quiet.

So he tosses and turns for a little while before sitting up and lighting a candle. There's nothing for it; he'll either have to sneak into Geralt's room to sleep - by now he should have finished whatever he needed the separate room for - or he'll be awake all night and have to travel half-awake tomorrow. The latter is clearly the lesser choice, but he isn't sure he'll be welcome in Geralt's room, so for now, he pulls out his notebook and takes to writing.

He loses track of time, but it's well after midnight when Jaskier hears footsteps outside his door. Curious, and hopeful that Geralt has changed his mind about their separation, he climbs out of bed and tiptoes across the room to the door. He peers through a crack in the wood, hoping to see Geralt on the other side of the door, but when he looks- he's a Witcher, certainly, but not Geralt.

The man outside his door isn't dissimilar to Geralt, but his hair is cropped much shorter and it's dark where it falls around his ears. He's dressed in red and black and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall so his face is turned away. He's waiting, Jaskier realizes, but for what?

Jaskier gets his answer a few moments later when Geralt's bedroom door swings open and he steps out into the main room in only his trousers. Geralt smiles as he lays eyes on the visitor and the other Witcher relaxes, pushing off the wall and spreading his arms to pull Geralt into a hug. A friend, Jaskier realizes, though he had already assumed as much when he's put the man down as a Witcher.

Geralt lets himself be drawn closer and he doesn't move when the other man's arms cinch around his waist. It's only then that Jaskier realizes Geralt's arms are around his neck and that one of his hands is pushing up into the stranger's hair. Ah, so more than just a friend.

"Eskel," Geralt breathes and the man nuzzles against his neck.

"Been a while, Wolf."

"Mm, too long."

Eskel, Jaskier thinks. He knows that name, though Geralt has only mentioned him in passing; one of the few wolves left. He knows Geralt spends the winter with them, but the rest of the year - or most of it - he's with Jaskier. Suddenly, the insistence on town and two rooms make sense: this is a meeting place and Geralt has been eagerly awaiting their reunion if his actions now are anything to go by.

He draws back just a little, letting his palms slide against Eskel's shoulders and he smiles at him, head cocked like he's appraising him. Even in the dim lighting, Jaskier can see how beautiful he is, how his eyes are soft in Eskel's presence, his face free of its usual strain and concern.

There's a faint twitch of jealousy than runs through his as Eskel tips forward and catches Geralt's lips in a soft kiss. It's readily welcomed and Geralt shuts his eyes and presses closer, letting himself be drawn in by Eskel. Jaskier presses down his own emotions, happy enough to see Geralt so serene and he shuts his eyes to catch his breath.

In all the years he's known Geralt, he's only ever known him to have shown affections for Yennefer and that was never with the same warm familiarity. It was soft and loving in its own way, he supposes, until the spell was broken, but when Jaskier stumbled upon Geralt and Yen it wasn't like this. He isn't sure what to compare it to, his own relationships barely lasting outside a couple of hours, but there's a distinct intimacy between the two men that Jaskier could never hope to live up to.

"Fuck, I've missed you," Eskel rumbles, drawing away to kiss Geralt's neck.

"It's barely been four months," Geralt huffs back. He makes no attempt to push Eskel away or take a step back himself. Instead, he pulls one of Eskel's hands from his waist, tangling their fingers together. When Eskel stops and looks up at him, Geralt smiles. "I've missed you, too." Geralt leads and Eskel follows him into his room, disappearing with a click of the door.

Jaskier is disappointed, though he knows he shouldn't be. He shouldn't pry into Geralt's life, though as he crosses back to his bed and crawls back under his blanket, he can't get the image of the two men out of his head. Next door, there's a thud against the wall and a low chuckle and Jaskier closes his eyes, pretending like he doesn't know what's going on. If he acknowledges it, he'll either be overcome with jealousy or arousal and neither is preferable to the other in this situation.

He rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow and hopes that sleep will take him soon. But it doesn't.

As Jaskier turns once again onto his side, Geralt groans from the other side of the wall, and Jaskier's mind is flooded with images of all the things Eskel could be doing to draw those sounds from him. It certainly doesn't aid his inability to sleep. Perhaps he could write about it - with the names changed, of course - to distract himself from the event itself. But it doesn't work, as it turns out.

Jaskier sits up and retrieves his notebook, but now that he's awake, the sounds from the other side of the wall only seem more prominent. And Jaskier isn't immune to the sounds of sex, though he tries not to be. He tamps down the coil of heat in his gut, occupies his twitching fingers with his quill, even if it means sketching mindlessly instead of writing when his mind won't focus. He wonders if Geralt has to put up with this all the time. They stay in many inns and Jaskier has firsthand experience as to Geralt's sensitive hearing; there must be times when he can hear others fucking.

What if he's heard him? Another wave of arousal crashes over him and next door, someone moans softly. Jaskier's attention is immediately diverted and he tangles his fingers in the sheets to keep from touching himself. The sounds get louder and Jaskier pries himself out of his bed, grabs his cloak from the back of the chair and drapes it over his shoulders as he leaves the room. He doesn't even make it to the door before he hears a creak of hinges behind him.

"Jaskier," Geralt hisses and Jaskier sighs and wraps his cloak around him before turning to face him. Geralt's leaning halfway out the door and he looks... gods, he looks well-fucked for lack of a better word. And words seem to be escaping Jaskier right now.

Geralt is shirtless, his hair mussed and sticking out all over the place and Jaskier's cock gives a twitch of interest and he has to swallow back a groan. His fingers itch to run through Geralt's hair, to run down his chest and tangle in the hair there. He doesn't answer for fear of blurting his thoughts out loud.

"Come here," Geralt demands and Jaskier's feet obey before he can stop himself. Thankfully, he has the wherewithal to stop before he's too close and Geralt gives him a look. "Where do you think you're going? Do you know how late it is?"

"I was just-" he says but finds he doesn't know what he was just about to do "-going for a walk."

"Do you know how late it is?"

"I, er- yes, but-"

"Jaskier, go back to bed."

"I'd rather not." He says, looking down at the floor as heat rises in his cheeks. His brain races with something to say that's not just I can't listen to you fucking him any longer but nothing comes to mind. Just then, Eskel appears over Geralt's shoulder, pulling the door open a little further. He looks at Jaskier, taking him in and leaning in against Geralt's back.

"Why don't you ask him to stay?" he breathes and it's so quiet that at first Jaskier thinks he's mistaken until he sees the look on Geralt's face. Geralt turns to look at him, and Eskel leans in closer but his eyes remain on Jaskier. "I know you want him," Eskel hums, "and I can never deny you anything you want."

"I-" Geralt starts - and so far as Jaskier is concerned, this is the most important thing - he doesn't deny it. He turns back to face Jaskier looking more lost and helpless than Jaskier thought a Witcher could. He lifts his eyes but doesn't quite meet Jaskier's. "You're welcome to join us," he breathes, quietly like he's afraid Jaskier might hear him, "if you like."

Jaskier's entire body prickles with arousal and he shifts his stance. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, afraid that if he tries to speak this will all be a dream and he'll wake alone in his bed. He nods lightly and Geralt's expression brightens immediately.

"Come on then," Eskel says and Jaskier takes a step forward, watching the way they both watch him, how Geralt especially can't keep his eyes off of him.

It's equal parts exciting a nerve-wracking, but he doesn't let himself think too much about it as he approaches the door. When he's close enough, Geralt slips an arm around his waist and Jaskier allows himself to be drawn into the room. The door shuts behind them and as Geralt rounds on him, another pair of hands slide up his back, curling around his shoulders before moving down again. Jaskier presses into the touch, physically leaning back and taking in the image in front of him. At first, Geralt seems concerned about his distance, but when he realizes Jaskier is (staring), his lips twitch into a vague smile and he brings his hands to Jaskier's hips.

Geralt is fully naked now as he suspects, Eskel is behind him. Jaskier takes in the firm lines of his chest, reaching out to slip his fingers through the hair there and he follows it down. Geralt shudders as Jaskier's fingers slip below his navel, but Jaskier hesitates a moment before continuing his journey down. His fingertips barely brush against Geralt's cock, but he can feel how hard he is and Jaskier wants more. His fingers twitch against his skin and when Geralt doesn't stop him, Jaskier slips lower, curling a hand around the base of Geralt's cock. Jaskier doesn't have a chance to think anything past, fuck, he's big, before Geralt presses into his space, capturing Jaskier's lips in a heated kiss.

Behind him, Eskel presses closer, sliding his hands down Jaskier's thighs. His hands are rough, calloused like Geralt's, but despite the way Eskel's fingertips press into his skin, all Jaskier can focus on his Geralt's mouth against his own. He moans softly against him and Geralt's hands rise to his neck, unclasping his cloak and letting it drop. Eskel collects it, tossing it toward a chair at the edge of the room. His hands shortly return to Jaskier, slipping around to his front and fumbling with the ties on Jaskier's shirt.

Geralt huffs a soft laugh, breaking away from Jaskier to take Eskel's hands. He presses them to Jaskier's hips and goes about untying JAskier's shirt himself. He's gentle about it, and Jaskier appreciates the care he takes with his clothes, but right now he'd rather just have it torn off of him and repaired in the morning if need be. But he waits patiently as Geralt's fingers work at the ties.

"Do you like that?" Geralt breathes, pressing his forehead to Jaskier's. Jaskier nods softly, a small sigh slipping between them as Geralt finishes with the ties and drops his hands to his trousers. Eskel takes care of his shirt, lifting it above his head and discarding it.

Without the hindrance of clothing, Jaskier can feel the heat of Eske's body pressing up against him and he leans into it, pushing his hips forward to ease Geralt's work. He drops his head back, pressing his nose under Eskel's chin and kissing him experimentally. Eskel hums softly and tips Jaskier's chin up to look at him.

"You really are beautiful," he whispers and Jaskier flourishes under the praise. Immediately, he likes Eskel; like the touch of his hands and the low timbre of his voice. "Can I kiss you?" he asks and Jaskier surges forward before he's even finished speaking.

Eskel is warm and receptive and Jaskier lets himself sink into the kiss as Geralt gets his trousers undone and shoves them down his hips. When they drop to the floor, Jaskier steps out of them, kicking them to the side. He reaches out for Geralt, sliding a hand around his hip and pulling him forward.

Warm lips press against his skin, moving from his shoulder down to wrap around a nipple and Jaskier moans between Eskel's lips as Geralt's tongue slides against his skin. Pleasure zips through him, straight to his cock and Jaskier's hips twitch with it, aching and needy. Geralt pushes up against him and his cock slides against Jaskier's hip before Geralt wraps a hand around them both, stroking them as well as he can in the tight space.

Eskel's lips slip from his mouth, brushing down his jaw to kiss his neck and Jaskier rolls his head back with a groan. After a moment, Eskel draws away and Jaskier looks up to follow him. He watches as Eskel climbs up onto the bed, leaning back against the wall and taking himself in hand as his eyes settle on Geralt and Jaskier. Jaskier watches for a minute before turning back to Geralt, pressing in next to his ear.

"Would you like to join him?" he asks and Geralt draws back a little to look at him.

"Am I not enough for you?" he smiles. Jaskier huffs a laugh, moving to kiss his lips and for a second, he loses himself in the slide of Geralt's lips against his own, the press of his tongue between them. But he remembers himself, breaking away.

"More than enough, my darling. But you can have me any day you want me. How often do you get to see him?"

"Jas," Geralt whispers. He kisses him hard, a distraction, Jaskier learns as Geralt bends and hauls him into his arms. He carries him to the bed, depositing him next to Eskel. He kisses him softly, lingering like before turning away and kissing Eskel.

Immediately, Geralt is hauled up into his lap and Jaskier watches as Eskel's hands slide down his back, cupping his ass and pulling him forward. They move easily together and Jaskier realizes this is nothing new for them; whatever they share, it's old, lingering. He doesn't know what he did to be welcomed into it, but he's certainly thankful for it.

Geralt rocks forward, groaning as his cock slides against Eskel's and Jaskier's breath catches. He sits in silence, watching the way they move so fluidly together, the way Eskel seems to be the one to lead, the way he knows just where to touch and kiss and lick to make Geralt moan. He's so lost in the give and take that he doesn't realize Geralt is speaking to him until a hand rests on his thigh.

His eyes snap up to find Geralt looking at him and he tips up to kiss him, letting Geralt guide him closer. He settles himself against Gerlalt's back, sliding one arm around his waist and leaving the other free to touch as he pleases.

He slides a hand up his spine, fingertips brushing against the back of his neck and Geralt groans softly with every touch. He drops his head back onto Jaskier's shoulder, nuzzling against his neck and Eskel takes the chance to follow him, cupping Jaskier's jaw with one hand and pulling him into a kiss. When he draws away, he keeps Jaskier close, hips still rocking forward slowly.

"When we heard you," he breathes, "I was about to fuck him. Though," he pauses, pressing a kiss to Jaskier's jaw, "I suspect you'd both prefer if you fucked him." Jaskier's breath catches at the suggestion and Geralt lifts his head to speak but Eskel silences him with a well-timed kiss.

"I know you love me," Eskel hums, reaching up to trace the line of Geralt's jaw, "but I also know you have love enough to spare. And I know you've thought about it, having him inside you." He breathes against Geralt's ear, lifting his eyes to meet Jaskier's. "Do you want him, love?"

"Yes," Geralt whispers and he turns to look at Jaskier. "I want you, I-" he stammers, dropping his chin and Jaskier is quick to tip it back up, two fingers beneath it. He kisses him softly, slowly bringing his hand up to press against Geralt's cheek.

"Anything, darling." Jaskier traces a line down his back, following his spine and slips between his cheeks. He's pleasantly surprised to find him already slick and one finger pushes into him easily.

Geralt groans and Eskel holds him, pulling him closer so that Jaskier has to shuffle up behind him. He shifts onto his knees, relishing the warmth of Eskel's legs on either side of him as he presses into Geralt's body. Geralt shudders as he adds a second finger and Jaskier kisses his back, runs his free hand down his thigh.

As he's sliding a third finger into Geralt, Eskel reaches around, pressing a bottle of oil into his hand and Jaskier is quick to slick his cock. The touch feels incredible, but he holds off from touching himself, instead shifting to press his cock against Geralt's hole. He presses in slowly, gripping Geralt's hip and thigh as he sinks into him. Geralt rocks back onto him almost immediately and Jaskier whimpers softly, dropping his forehead against Geralt's back.

"Fuck," he whispers, "gods, Geralt you're incredible." He fucks into him slowly, pressing kisses into Geralt's skin. He keeps his pace steady, even as Geralt sits back on him, dropping his head to Jaskier's shoulder.

When Jaskier looks up, Eskel still has a hand wrapped around his own cock and Geralt's, stroking them quickly in time with Jaskier's thrusts. He tips forward when he catches Jaskier watching him, and leans forward to kiss him. Jaskier reaches around to touch him, jerking Eskel with smooth strokes as he kisses him, nipping at his bottom lip before drawing away.

"Eskel," Geralt breathes and Jaskier is hit with just how wrecked he sounds, his voice rougher and lower than usual. "I want you both," he groans, wrapping a hand around the back of Eskel's neck and pulling him in close.

"Fuck," Jaskier sighs, "are you sure, darling?"

Eskel tips his head up and Geralt meets his eyes, nodding certainly. Jaskier curses softly under his breath and he pulls out slowly. Geralt moves quickly, straddling Eskel's hips and Jaskier watches intently, squeezing the base of his cock as Geralt shifts. Eskel's cock slips between his cheeks and Jaskier groans at the sight of it. His own cock throbs watching them and when Eskel pushes into him Jaskier nearly doubles over. He strokes himself quickly as he readjusts his position and when he presses up against Geralt, he almost forgets to breathe.

As he presses into him, Geralt moans long and low and it's the sweetest sound Jaskier's ever heard. When he settles, he can barely breathe because Geralt is so tight around him and he can feel every time Eskel shifts and it's overwhelming. He rolls his hips slowly and Geralt reaches back, slipping his fingers between Jaskier's and bringing his hand up to rest on his thigh.

Jaskier buries his face in Geralt's neck, thrusting into him quick and hard and he's so overwhelmed by the intensity of it. As they move together, Eskel's hips shift, sliding his cock against him and Jaskier can't hold on.

He buries himself deep, breathing against Geralt's skin and kissing him desperately as he comes. Geralt twists, wrapping an arm around Jaskier's neck and kisses him with urgency, biting his bottom lip and moaning into his mouth. He continues even as Jaskier slips from his body and Eskel thrusts up into him.

Geralt comes with a soft groan, pressing his head against Eskel's shoulder. It doesn't take long for Eskel to follow and he tugs Gerlt against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt's shoulders and kissing his neck. Jaskier shifts to the side, out of the way, detangling his fingers from Geralt's as he moves to the far side of the bed. He settles on his back to keep out of the way, but it's barely a second before a hand slips into his hair, brushing it gently out of his face.

When he looks up, he finds Eskel looking down at him thought he's shortly interrupted as Geralt shifts out of Eskel's lap and settles between them. He presses back against Eskel, slipping an arm around Jaskier's waist to pull him against him. He nuzzles against the back of his neck and Jaskier smiles to himself as he feels Eskel shift on Geralt's other side.

"'M sorry," Geralt mumbles, "should've told you." Jaskier twists to face him.

"About Eskel?"

"And you," Geralt hums. He leans up, kissing Jaskier briefly before lying back down and bringing him close again. Jaskier settles back against him and smiles. There are things they will definitely have to discuss tomorrow, but for now, he's happy to sleep, especially warm and safe with two Witchers to protect him.

It's quiet for some time and Jaskier is nearly asleep, focusing on the rise and fall of Geralt's chest against him when Eskel speaks.

"You could've just told me he was with you," he says and Geralt shifts to look back at him.

"I didn't want you to change your mind.

"Geralt, you know nothing could keep me from you. Nothing." There's silence again and then, "you should bring him in the winter."

"I don't know if he'd want to," Geralt whispers and Jaskier can hear the smile in Eskel's voice when he speaks again.

"I don't think there's any need to worry about that," he breathes, "ask him. And bring him next time we meet."

Jaskier doesn't know what to do with this information, but they both seem to think he's asleep, so he continues pretending. He rolls over, draping an arm over Geralt's side, fingers brushing against Eskel's stomach. As he drifts off, he's sure of one thing; if Geralt asks him to join him - to join them - for the winter, nothing could keep him away.