#anyway IT ACTUALLY DOES TASTE FINE but she has a hard time making anything that doesnt look like it was made by a witch

[musubiki]

witches brew ???!!

[lesbiansanemi]

I don’t often think I’m upset at not having a good relationship with my parents but sometimes it really fucking hits me that I don’t have a good mom I don’t have a dad I’ll never experience having a good parent and someone I can lean on like that and I get… really upset

[absolutelybifurious]

wip wednesday

tagged by @sibylsleaves thank you so muchhhh for tagging me i get to PARTICIPATE and not feel weird about it

working on a maddieddie crisis fic inspired by @lesbianrobin 's brilliant mind, and this snippet is prob longer than it should be. its like a snippuxe, like deluxe? i am extremely clever. shut up.

Still, once she catches her breath, she says, “I think he’d ask you anything, honestly…” She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t mention that once, when Buck was drunk on her couch, he asked her what she thought Eddie’s lips would taste like. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Maddie says, “I mean, I’ve always enabled his nonsense, but I feel like you’re actually kinda into it.” She half-expects him to go red, to deny it, but instead, he smiles, and it makes the hollow parts of her chest warm. “It’s kinda cute when he rambles, yeah.” The slightest hesitation before, “A little less cute when he asks me out right if I’d let him top me.” “No,” Maddie gasps. “No, he did not put it that way, Eddie – stop. No.” Eddie raises his eyebrows at her. “I swear.” “Eddie!” she shrieks. “What’d you say?” The rain’s coming down harder now. The conversation is all she’s got to keep from panicking. A part of her wants to pull over, to wait it out, but Kira’s waiting on her, and from her own bout with the radar, this storm’s not going anywhere till morning. It’s just driving. Maddie’s outrun Doug. She’s killed him. Maddie’s done so much scarier things than this. All she has to do is pay attention. “I didn’t answer,” Eddie says, and he sets himself against the passenger seat, watching the window as hard as she is. She can’t tell if it’s to soothe himself or her. “I told him he should talk to Tommy about it if he wants to switch or top or whatever.” “Mm,” Maddie says, not quite masking her disappointment. “What’d you think about Tommy, anyway?" Eddie says nothing for way too long. Rain pelts the window, and Maddie can’t risk another glance, but she does grin. “I knew it.” “Knew what?” Eddie asks. “I knew you didn’t like him.” “I like him just fine.” Eddie says. “I just think… he doesn’t necessarily appreciate what he’s got, you know?” “Aww, well, you certainly are the expert on appreciating my brother,” Maddie says, but she can feel Eddie’s panic, so she says, “I agree, though. Tommy’s just kinda there. Half the time I can’t tell if he even likes Buck, or honestly, if Buck likes him.” “Of course Buck likes him,” Eddie says, “he spent like forty-five minutes trying to pick an outfit that made him look like the ideal top.” Forty-five minutes with you, Maddie doesn’t say. She wonders if it’s ever crossed Eddie’s mind. That Buck likes him – likes, really likes, Eddie. In ways that don’t fit into their precariously defined friendship. That maybe he’s the thing that turns Buck’s world. That maybe there’s more to all of it than best friends. Looking at him, she doesn’t think so. But she thinks, maybe, Eddie is well aware Buck turns his.

tagging anyone who wants to, i know it's better to actually tag but i'm kinda just getting into this space and i feel like anyone i could think of is prob already tagged! but please do it!!!!!

[the-oc-lass]

Where's Gregor been? I miss Gregor.

TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE SUCH A SHORT LITTLE THING, BUT OH WELL.

Gregor is a fine piece of man and I miss him, so he gets baby time too. Gregor and a Baby is up on Ao3 (yes, I'm going to name them all "[Clone's Name] and a Baby"). It involves some of Gregor's cooking skills, some of the others are also there, and we have lots of fun.

This is a little fun series, so, in case you missed them:

Crosshair and a Baby

Wrecker and a Baby

More to come soon!

By the way, someone please tell me if it's obvious who Ec's dad is, because I got a comment telling me that the tags gave it away and I have, like no idea what they're talking about?

Anyway, in case you don't want to go to Ao3, the full fic is below the cut. Enjoy!

Gregor is the second best cook in their entire base of operations. He’s only second behind pseudo-General Rayona Yothia, and that makes a lot of sense considering that she was raised on actual food and learned to cook much earlier in her life than Gregor. That being said, Gregor is still a pretty damn good cook, and Rayona herself has said as much. The only one who doesn’t seem to agree with the sentiment is one Ec Yothia, who is just beginning his transition from his mom’s milk to solid foods. He’s apparently inherited both of his parents’ particular palates and that makes him very picky. The only thing he seems to like is fruit, specifically moja. The problem is, fruit is a hard thing to come by these days. Gregor will fight tooth and nail to get some fruit for the kid, but there’s only so much he can do. At the moment, he’s got a bowl of mashed tubbers in front of Ec and a spoonful of it in his hand. He holds it toward the baby, cooing at him to try and coax him into trying it. Ec whines and flails his arms around, pulling a face when Gregor holds the tubbers closer. It makes Gregor sigh, and he lowers the spoon back into the bowl. It’s not like the food goes to waste, at least. It’s pretty plain since he made it for Ec, but it’s still light years better than what they ate during the war and on Kamino. Troopers will fight over Ec’s uneaten meals if Gregor lets them. He sighs, looking away from Ec in defeat. Back to the drawing board. Nearby, Rayona and Hunter are both looking over at him and Ec, clearly abandoning whatever conversation they were having before. They glance at each other and Rayona sighs. 

“I’ll be back,” she says. Hunter nods and briefly sets a hand on her shoulder, perhaps to squeeze it, then Gregor watches as Rayona walks over to him. “It was a good try, Gregor. I’ll make sure he’s fed.” Gregor purses his lips and nods, looking back at Ec with a small frown. His spirit is lifted slightly when the General presses a kiss to his temple before picking up her son. She leaves the room to get Ec fed and Gregor sighs and stands up, glancing over at Hunter as he holds up the mashed tubbers. 

“Hungry?” 

After several more failed attempts at finding something Ec likes other than fruit, Gregor is running out of ideas. To his surprise, the solution comes from Wrecker. Gregor has just finished once again trying and failing to get Ec to eat something he made when the larger clone speaks up. 

“Do you remember that paste stuff they used to feed us on Kamino sometimes? It sort of tasted like fruit, I think…I dunno, I just remember Cross and Hunter used to like it. Tasted better than most of the stuff they gave us,” he says. It puzzles Gregor at first. Paste stuff that tastes like fruit? Since Wrecker mentions that Hunter and Crosshair enjoyed…whatever it was, Gregor asks them about it. 

“Jogansauce,” Crosshair drawls. “The Kaminoans would import crates of the stuff because it was cheap.” When Gregor thinks about it, that does sound familiar. 

“I remember that stuff. Tasted better than anything else they gave us on Kamino,” Hunter says, nodding along. He glances back at Gregor. “If you’re looking for something else to try with Ec, that might be a good place to start.” Gregor hums. He could probably make his own jogansauce, but that would probably be more expensive than just feeding Ec the fruit on its own. He nods after a moment. 

“Thanks. I’ll talk to Rex and Rayona,” he says. The two nod and Crosshair mumbles out a “Good luck” as Gregor walks away. 

Rayona hums, a finger curled around her chin. 

“Jogansauce, huh? They used to give that to us as younglings at the temple. Probably pretty cheap,” she says, before glancing at Rex. “Think Riyo could hook us up with some?” Rex sighs. 

“Senator Chuchi is busy, Rayona,” he says. Rayona raises an eyebrow and tilts her head at him. He sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I can ask in the next transmission.” Rayona grins, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you, Rex,” she all but coos. 

Alright. Moment of truth. Thanks to the kindness of Senator Riyo Chuchi, they have some small jars of jogansauce for Ec. Now, Gregor can only pray to whatever higher power there may be (the Force, maybe? That seemed to work for the Jedi) that Ec will actually eat it. The food won’t go to waste if he doesn’t, but he’s hoping it doesn’t come to that. The entire thing has even drawn a small crowd, consisting of Rayona, the Bad Batch, and Rex. Gregor sits before a hungry Ec, a spoonful of jogansauce poised on a small spoon in his hand. He takes a breath, then lifts the spoon toward Ec’s mouth. The child considers it for a moment, then opens his mouth. Gregor holds his breath and slowly feeds the spoonful to Ec. And the child makes a delighted little noise and giggles, slapping his hands against the little table in front of him. 

“Sweet grace of the Force, he likes it,” Rayona says, sounding relieved. Gregor could cry. He may not have made the food, but at least there’s finally something else they can feed Ec. He’s utterly relieved. He scoots a little closer, scooping up another spoonful and offering it to Ec. The baby eagerly devours it, making happy little gurgling noises. Gregor looks over his shoulder at the group. 

“Wrecker, you’re a genius!” he says. Wrecker blinks. 

“I am?” He looks down at Rayona, who nods, and he grins widely and laughs. “Oh yeah, I am! You hear that, Tech?” Wrecker nudges Tech’s arm, jostling the other man slightly. Tech adjusts his goggles, glancing over at Wrecker. 

“Yes, Wrecker, I heard,” he says. Rayona looks toward Gregor and her smile suddenly drops, changing to wide-eyed surprise. 

“Gregor, watch-” She’s barely finished taking a step toward him when he’s hit in the side of the face. He lifts his hand to wipe his cheek, looking back at Ec, who giggles. The child has jogansauce all over his hands and face. And, Gregor realizes, he threw some at Gregor’s face as well. Gregor blinks at the child, who simply laughs at him. Somewhere behind Gregor, someone snorts in an attempt to hide their laugh. Ec swings his hand at Gregor and a little more jogansauce hits him in the face. Rayona carefully creeps into his peripheral vision, her hands hiding her mouth, and he looks up at her. That’s all it takes for her to start giggling. “Oh, stars, I need a holo of this. Tech!” While Rayona continues to giggle, Gregor looks back at Ec. When the child smiles at him, Gregor can’t help but chuckle and smile back. 

“Little rascal,” he says, poking Ec’s cheek. Ec giggles and Gregor hears the sound of a holo being taken, but his attention is purely on the baby. It may have gotten a bit messy, but at least Ec is happy.

P.S. jogansauce is just space applesauce.

[turtlemagnum]

some facts about me and restaurants:

i always order my drinks without ice because drink almost always comes out cold anyways and now i get more drink per drink and i dont have to worry about my drink getting watered down because of the ice melting

because of this, i couldn't tell you how many times the server brought me with ice anyways and i had to be like "hey, this has ice. dont-wait no, dont take it back, just dont put ice in the refill ok"

i really dont like wasting food, hence why i'm very adamant about them not just dumping the first drink. the rare times i don't finish something and dont bring it home are like when the burger at that chain steakhouse made me puke. pretty much anything less than "literally made me puke" at least gets brought home so at worst, i can remake it to be more edible

back to drinks: i generally dont use straws. a while back i realized that as far as actual restaurant cups go, straws dont really do anything other than add another thing to throw out and just generally slowing down my sippage. from what i understand this is different for physically disabled people, but given how (as far as i'm aware) i'm not physically disabled, i can just lift the cup just fine. this does not apply to things like fast food cups, like you ever break a straw when using one of those? i swear they're designed to be as inconvenient to drink out of without a straw as possible, the mcdonalds one the last time i tried had this little lip on the brim that felt like it was specifically designed to spill shit when drunk without a straw

if it's a place i've been to enough times to know what the menu is right off the top of my head, i usually know exactly what i want before i even sit down. the local bar i'm a regular at, the owner lady who takes my orders when shes there; she knows my order by heart at this point. honestly got a little uncomfortable with how much shit she gave me when i got something else that one time, even if it was joking (i'm pretty sure, anyways)

probably my most controversial opinion: i like my meat well done. crispy, even. the other day i got food with my grandparents and the sausage they gave me tasted about as close to uncooked as you could get while still technically being fully cooked, was wretched. when it comes to burgers and steak, i can definitely tolerate medium or rare stuff, dont get me wrong. i feel like what's probably the Objectively Correct stance to have is that some meats are better suited to some styles of preperation, and that's fine. but honestly when it's done poorly, rare/medium beef tastes like a wet goddamn sock. wretched

so, something about me: despite being whiter than a significant amount of white supremacists, i can handle my spice pretty well. to put this into perspective, my mom's last boyfriend was black (and therefore more used to actually seasoned food), and we got chicken from a local place and i heard him from the other room go "hoo! that's hot!" in a fairly exasperated tone, and while i definitely think the place actually knew how to season their goddamn food it wasn't like, loudly exclaim how spicy it was levels of spice, y'know? at least to me. anyways, this sucks for me because i live in the midwest, where an arguable majority of places don't season for shit, probably because a significant amount of their customer base are like my grandma who eats tacos without seasoning. not fuckin making that up. like it was just cooked ground beef with like, maybe a miniscule amount of salt, put into these nasty ass tortilla bowl things with a texture and taste not too dissimilar to plastic. i remember this one time i asked a place what kinda seasoning they used in their fish, and they just straight up said "none". god i hated that restaurant, it was like if you distilled all of the worst qualities of suburbanite wasps into a physical space

my default food i get at most places is definitely a burger. it's at least partially because it's generally hard to fuck up to the point of inedibility, but also because most places around here don't make any fried chicken at all other than tenders and That's Like My Main Thing, Bro. sometimes i get pizza, which is somehow more common than fried chicken but also i fucking hate noodles for the most part so it's pretty much the only edible thing for me to get at italian restaurants. the exception to not liking noodles is in wonton soup, but ever since the chinese place we always went to closed down we haven't been able to find a place that's nearly as good.

finally, back to drinks. my specific drink of choice tends to change over the years but stay pretty consistent over any given period of time. i've been a mtn dew typea gamer for the past few years but i've been liking cherry coke more and more, which was my favorite circa 2016 or so. i definitely feel like i'm being a bit more mixed about it, though. recently i've been drinking a fair bit of water simply due to the fact that the only other shit in the house is this diet root beer that my grandpa always gets because it's on sale and he insists on buying diet shit. and like, it's objectively good tasting, it's still fucking root beer which i've never tasted actually bad root beer. it's just that he buys so much of it for extended periods of time that i'm so sick of it that i'm probably not gonna be able to drink root beer in any significanf quantities for at least a few years. but yeah i definitely feel like i can get behind any kind of pop. my fallback is standard coke because that's something literally everywhere has, and while there's definitely a tangible difference in taste between coke and pepsi i wouldn't say one's better or worse than another. my preference lays in RC cola anyways, which i've literally never seen served in any restaurant but god dammit it's so fucking good, dude

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Of all the fic ideas I never wrote and likely won't that I have the one I really wanted to wrote/might actually do is the OBD AU were Edward is raised by his mother. Part of it is because all my other ideas have a way higher chance to be actually used by someoene else intencionally or not but this one is seems very unlikely to me at least.

But mostly is because Edward's mom was a characther that really stayed with me after reading One Bad Day. And just like everything on that comic not in a good way. There is just something about her absence. How Edward's abusive father is a real person, he is there on flasbacks and he gets a real actual chance to try to explain himself. We see him by Edward's eyes but also by his own. And in a sense the comic is amost apologetic towards him, like he might done it wrong but he really tried his best with the genius kid he loved or something, that it makes sense that Edward being the son of whore would make him more impure and evil and harder to love and I just have no words for how shitty this all is.

But it gets worse because this abusive asshole gets a voice, he gets a chance to explain his side of the narrative. But Edward's mother doesn't. Not to Edward and not to us. Riddler killed her. He was angry and empty and she slept with his henchman (wich the comic points out as if it matters somehow) and he killed her on first meeting and we don't even see her trying to explain. Edward's mother exists as a blood stain on the wall and a dead body for shock value close to bloodied picture of Mary holding baby Jesus because subetly is too hard and we need to let clear she is the mother from the start and add some religious symbolism even if it's sorta meaningless in these context and in the words of a neighboor that might or not have being her client. Her status as a woman, as a sex worker, as poor all appear to be reasons somewhat that this is fine, that her brutal murder was bound to happen, that while she doesn't deserve her fate she doesn't mean and never meant anything more than a bloodstain in wall anyway.

She has no friends. Or if she has they are never mentioned because her neighboor didn't knew about them and Batman doesn't think she has anything to add so he never digs further. She has no partner or at least none went to the police or visited her house and if they did everyone though they were a client. Her only familly killed her the moment they met. She is insignificant. And one of the first things the neighboor says about her is: "saw her spoting a bruise on her cheek on the form of a cop badge" and "no one can save these pepple" and after he compliments her says her clients had taste and that she was nice and babysat his cat. But the bitter taste is already there and the fact that the neighboor didn't include himself on "these people" shows what he was talking about. Her brutal murder was inevitable. The cops woudn't help. Batman wouldn't notice because she didn't matter. Not even for him.

Edward's mother doesn't matter. She might be the cataclism for his change but even in that she has the same value of an inanimate object. Edward appears, screams with her, doesn't let her explain anythjng at all and just kills her. She has no voice. She has no importance. She doesn't matter even for the only thing she does. And it really angers me. It angers me that his dad got a scene that he deserved a moment. It angers me how misoginistic and anti sex work her treatment is but also how devoid of nothing. How a characther that could have changed the narrative, that in papper has a central role, means nothing because potential is irrelevant.

And between that and the idea that an Eddie that was raised by his mother not only might be closer to cannon Riddler in loving puzzles and riddles and not being the most over the top edgylord to ever edgy but instead follow my idea of a Riddler that learns to be unapologitically himself out of spite (this time a thing he learned copying his mother) this really makes me want to write it.

[impeccablebackside]

Rape/non-con fantasies for the queens?

I will be honest anon, I did willingly omit non-con slightly and also just simply not really consider it. For lack of a descriptive way of explaining it, it is just not for me at all. Even as a role-play where there is actual consent between partners, I cannot appreciate it. Any sort of intimacy always has to be based on love for me or else the enjoyment gets squashed pretty quickly. Rougher fucking is fine (as long as it tame enough not to be painful), but stepping over the imaginary boundaries into something more 'extreme' does not do it for me.

Anyway, here it is by queen anon,

It would break Vic to have something like that happen, even as a fantasy. No matter how much she could prepare for it, the subconscious fear of the non-con sex would affect her in quite the tremendously negative way. On the flip side, Plato would be so upset to 'force' himself onto her, even if she was acting. In fact, if they were role-playing, it would be severely bothersome to both of them and they would end up hugging and apologizing to the other swearing that they love one another.

Rumple would be into it from only one type of perspective. For example, if she were to get caught as a cat burglar, and her discoverer wanted to punish her in some way, then maybe some more non-consensual taking advantage of would be in order. Particularly if the person forcing themselves onto her is taller and stronger than she is (which is not hard at all to accomplish), then it gets to be a dramatically pleasurable experience for the little queen. Each thrust is a tad harder than usual and each movement a bit rougher, and she gets turned on by being fucked like a piece of fuckmeat (I know poor word choice - but for this ask it stands) in her tight holes by someone big and strong.

Tanto would hate it full stop. She would be so uncomfortable with the idea, and the whole experience just would make her enthusiasm (and pussy) dry up in an instant. While she does not explicitly demand respect during sex, she requires her partner to treat her like she is one of the Everlasting Cat's creatures and not do anything rapey (even if agreed upon).

Cass would normally say no, but if someone were to slip it in (not like that, but also like that) while she was already getting railed, it would be a relatively good thing for her. When her and another are really getting into it, harder fucking is always the best. If her tom were to pin her down and really get more forceful, to the point it could be deemed aggressive, she would be on board assuming they had the capability to stop or be attentive to how she is doing. Defiling the goddess is not a game that happens often, but Cass does like it.

Bomba and Deme both have a non-con fantasy for one shared reason, their pasts with Macavity. His fiery love and tendency to be a bit rapey when he was uninhibited ensured they both were fucked to their absolute limits on more than one occasion. The way he was more forceful or how he simply did what pleasured him always made for body shattering orgasms. While they are not as open to admit it, both would still like that feral lust-over-everything kind of dicking down from time to time.

Jenny is not into it. Her encounters, even as they get sometimes get a fair rougher / BDSM-leaning as they progress, always start on a subjectively even ground. She would never be into someone forcing themselves onto her because she is typically dominant as well, and breaking that 'power' in a non-con way does not thrill her much.

Jelly would welcome it as long as it is done in a more tasteful manner while being integrated into her degradation and objectification kinks. Realistically, this already does happen to a degree when sex with her gets a bit more one-sided and she is fucked like a toy of sorts for her tom.

[admirableadmiranda]

Debts and balances: or how much does one man have to pay over the course of his life?

Good morning everyone! Today we’re going to be talking about debts, and why Jiang Cheng needs to shut the fuck up on debts because he is the one in the wrong pretty much the entire time.

Let’s start by acknowledging that I am not of this culture so I may perhaps state a thing or two wrong, but I also have several functioning brain cells to rub together and I pay attention so I will probably be more right than most of the “hot takes” I see on why Jiang Cheng is not actually in the wrong here. Because he is. He so is.

So, debts. First of all, there are multiple levels and layers of debts and to whom do you owe them too. So let’s start with the first one where the story is subtle about it and yet both Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu are in the wrong. We know that Cangse Sanren saved Jiang Fengmian’s life at one point when they were young. Life debts are big. To only be alive because of someone else’s actions is a debt that it is possible you will never be able to pay back. There are multiple stories of otherwise good people protecting the obvious villain because they owe that.

Jiang Fengmian’s only way of being able to pay back that debt after Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze die is to take care of their child and raise him how they would have. I.E, as a cultivator. This is not a debt that Wei Wuxian owes to the Jiangs. It is quite literally, the least of what Jiang Fengmian owes him and his parents to do.

Jiang Cheng cannot claim that Wei Wuxian owes them for his life. He is wrong. 

Next debt that even Jiang Cheng does not try to claim, only his ever so pleasant stans, the fucking dogs. The fucking dogs that he does not actually give a fuck about. 

Wei Wuxian does not ask anyone to do anything about the dogs. He is not in a mental state to. He is in a state of triggered phobia where his brain literally goes into run away screaming mode. This is also not funny and Jiang Cheng is a jackass for making fun of it whenever it happens. Jiang Fengmian is the one who decides that it’s better for the dogs to go. Even though Jiang Cheng is upset, he does not actually hold this as a lingering grudge against Wei Wuxian. He lets it the fuck go. And even if he didn’t, the resentment and anger should be aimed at the person who actually made a decision about it. Not Wei Wuxian. He does not give one singular fuck about his dogs later on. Let the fucking dogs go.

Third off: The Fall of Lotus Pier. There are different levels of blame that we can lay on this. Wei Wuxian is not close to responsible for this. Jiang Cheng knows this and elects to blame him anyway.

The first people we can lay the blame on the fall of Lotus Pier is the Wens, who came with ships, warriors, Wang Lingjiao to rile up the notoriously short tempered asshole Madam Yu, and Wen Zhuliu the Core-Melting Hand. They came prepared for battle and they got what they wanted. Madam Yu is the second one we can lay the blame on, for deciding to attack and demean Wang Lingjiao, not for making her do anything she didn’t want to do, because holy hell did she want to whip Wei Wuxian until he couldn’t move and leapt at the chance to do such a thing, but because Wang Lingjiao is a servant who was elevated by her lover and Madam Yu is a classist asshole. This is the only reason she flips out. Wei Wuxian did nothing wrong. Wei Wuxian does not have the blood of Lotus Pier on his hands, he is tied to Jiang Cheng and told to protect him at the cost of his life, a debt he does not owe. 

The four debt he attempts to claim, the only one that might be considered to have some teeth if it weren’t for how much Wei Wuxian gives him back almost immediately. Jiang Cheng goes to distract the Wens from Wei Wuxian and ends up getting captured and losing his golden core. So first off, in this world a golden core is a lot to lose, I won’t deny that. But, first off, Wei Wuxian is only in danger because after being whipped a lot, then strangled, then having to run after Jiang Cheng multiple times because he would rather go die at Lotus Pier than listen to either of his parents and escape, he still goes into town to get them something to eat because otherwise Jiang Cheng would rather lie on the ground and die. Fucking great sect leadership there, huh Jiang Cheng? But yes, Jiang Cheng sees the Wens, sees them notice Wei Wuxian, goes off to distract them and then gets captured and loses his golden core.

Now we’re getting to some of the debts that Jiang Cheng owes and refuses to pay back, because that’s definitely going to get him far in this world. Wei Wuxian in his panic and attempt to find Jiang Cheng, finds Wen Ning, who after some struggles manages to convince him that he can sneak in and get Jiang Cheng back out. In addition, he also retrieves the bodies of Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian. This is huge. Jiang Cheng now owes him both a life debt for again, saving his life at great cost to his own: Wen Ning is literally committing treason here, and also for restoring the lost honor of not being able to bury his parents properly. Wen Ning gives them a proper burial and later after the war he is able to lie them to rest in the Ancestors Hall so their spirits will be at peace and he will have fulfilled his fillial duties. By all means, the debt he owes Wen Ning in particular is so great that he should have taken in every Wen in those camps and sheltered them because it is as close as he will ever get to repaying that debt. And that’s just Wen Ning!

The next debt he owes and refuses to pay is to Wen Qing, a genius doctor and respected by Wen Ruohan, who uses the prestige and skills she has to protect both him and Wei Wuxian in at this point enemy territory when they are being actively searched for, being the new sect leader and head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. She hides them and then later uses her skills to give him a new golden core so that he can go and fight back against his people, revitalizing his clan and eradicating hers. This is another debt that could only really be paid back by protecting her people if she came to him. He owes her literally his life, his power and his people.

The third debt he owes and refuses to pay is to Wei Wuxian, who more than overbalances the scales back in his favor by giving him his golden core. He pays his chance at immortality, his power, his strength, his cultivation, everything that he has to his name so that Jiang Cheng won’t starve himself to death over losing his core. In addition, he tells Jiang Cheng that this comes from a once in a lifetime favor from his mother’s master so even before when he didn’t know about the core, this is still a massive, massive debt, a limitless one time favor from an immortal that he uses Wei Wuxian’s chance to get and never actually thanks him. So at this point, his own golden core as a debt starts to seem a little hollow. Either way, it’s been repaid. An action you do in service of someone else is not a weapon you get to hold over their heads for multiple lives.

Moving on! The next debt he would like to claim is that Wei Wuxian apparently has no right to do things he does not approve of. Excuse me? Is he now a computer program that crashed? What the fuck Jiang Wanyin? Wei Wuxian has less rank than him, although Jiang Cheng is so high rank in this society that he only shares his rank with three other people and there’s no one above him so it would be very hard for him to not be, but he is still a person, with his own thoughts, wishes, dreams, hopes and beliefs. He is not an extension of your hand, to make your clan look good and stand behind you as a hammer to smash on people. Wen Qing goes to Wei Wuxian to ask for help for finding her brother, her people because they are literally being tortured to death. This is a debt that by all means, Jiang Cheng should be repaying. See that part where Wen Ning committed treason to help him and restore his family’s honor? See that part where Wen Qing literally gave him the ability to go back to war against her family? This is the point where anyone with honor would recognize this is the only thing I can do. I will throw myself on my sword if I must, but I must repay this debt to them. There is nothing less I can do. But Jiang Cheng has only the honor of a mangy cur and ignores this, and when Wei Wuxian goes to fulfill this debt, he tells him to stop. To him, his multiple life debts are an inconvience to shoving his nose so far up Jin Guangshan’s ass that he’s tasting what he had for dinner that day.

The next debt that he would like to claim is the death of his brother in law. This is a debt that Wei Wuxian would owe to specific people. This debt is to Jiang Yanli, Jin Guangshan and Jin Ling, one of whom is wanting to forgive it, one who is too small to decide at the time, and one who straight up does not give a fuck beyond advancing his power. Jiang Cheng is not one of these people. His sister is fine, she’s not his concern anymore, she’s a part of the Jin sect. The only reason why he died is that Jiang Cheng decided the best way to repay his debt to Wei Wuxian was to throw a temper tantrum and declare him an enemy to everyone, ripping out every support from under his feet. Regardless, Jiang Cheng is an asshole and does not get to claim this debt.

The final one of Wei Wuxian’s first life that he keeps hurling at him is the death of his sister...the death of his sister who chose to leap between Wei Wuxian and a sword. The death of his sister at a battle that broke out because Jiang Cheng has been with Jin Guangshan whipping the cultivation world into a frenzy against the Wens and Wei Wuxian because of power and jealousy. The battle that would have not happened if they’d left them alone. Jiang Cheng has been to the burial mounds. He has seen the farmers, he has seen the baby there. He has decided that rather than do anything to repay these various deaths, he will kill them on other people’s swords instead. Because he is also a coward and won’t pick fights he can’t win. In addition he likes to steal Yanli’s agency, she’s the one who chose to come, she’s the one who chose to get in the way and she doesn’t die with regrets. And she is not his debt to claim. Again, the one who actually gets to claim this death that Wei Wuxian is not responsible for is Jin Ling, who actually shapes up and decides that it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t blame Wei Wuxian for it. He forgives him his role in that space and moves the fuck on, unlike a certain sir stabby grape mcwhipinnoencts.

And then Wei Wuxian dies and any debts he may have still owed to Jiang Cheng, not that there were any, die with him. Jiang Cheng has no claim on him, he was not part of his sect, they were not brothers in any way, indeed Jiang Cheng called him his enemy. Even most people with far more real grudges at this point would let it go. Wei Wuxian is so dead that no one can find his soul, no matter how hard they look. He comes back to life and reaps the rewards of his actions, finding new allies, getting the chance to actually interact with Jin Ling and make his apologies, and in the end, settle down to a peaceful life with an adoring husband and nothing left to be repaid. If there is still a debt he owes, it is only to Mo Xuanyu, who gave up his entire cycle of life to let Wei Wuxian reincarnate early with his memories, a sacrifice he only asked for repayment in the death of his family. He may owe more still, but that is all Mo Xuanyu wanted from him in repayment for this great sacrifice. The cultivation world is in the wrong when they’re trying to persecute him again for the actions of his previous life, he owes them nothing anymore. The debts he carries towards Jin Ling are the ones he chooses to take on, feeling guilty that he grew up without his parents due to the world’s general actions and also no one else taking responsibility for how far things fell. 

That is what Jiang Cheng finally realizes in the temple, crouched on the floor and sobbing like a spoiled child over the golden core sacrifice. Is that he is in the wrong and has been in the wrong the whole time. That there is nothing he can hold onto, no debt that Wei Wuxian ever owed him that he could demand to be paid. He built it all up in his head as he left his honor, his family and his dignity in the wake of his arrogance. And it’s a painful thing to realize, the consequences of your decisions, but all he can do is live with his own ruined reputation, his own loneliness and the fact that no one wants to be around him. He’s blacklisted by multiple matchmakers, his disciples are more like thugs, Wei Wuxian chooses every opportunity to get away from him and even Jin Ling likes him less and less over the course of the book, not forgetting that he seems to prefer Jin Guangyao to begin with as he actually talks to him sometimes and doesn’t hit him. Jiang Cheng refusing to pay his debts gives him exactly what a debt deserter deserves. No one has a reason to trust him. The one bit of positive character growth he does is giving up and not trying to reel him back in by telling him of the sacrifice. At this point, all it would be is just him trying to get another debt he cannot hold because it is long since repaid, never quite made up for what they gave him to make up for it, and worthless in the face of Wei Wuxian’s new life. Wei Wuxian owes him nothing and never has.

Also, just to tally up the relationship between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng on things given between the two of them, Jiang Cheng gives him: a lot of whinging on how unfair it is that Wei Wuxian is a prodigy, and a one time immediately regretted and held over his head sacrifice of a golden core. Whereas Wei Wuxian gives him: many lessons on how to be a kinder person that he ignores, the patience and tolerance of his stinkbug attitude, his love, his affection, his fucking golden core, his reputation, his blood, his livelihood, taking over his debts, trying to keep any of his actions from reflecting on the Jiangs even though if Jiang Cheng had repaid any of the debts he owed, there would have been no problems because if the Jin’s did decide to attack, Wei Wuxian would fight back and he can level battle fields on his own, his honor, his relationships, and even his life in the end, because if Wei Wuxian had ever turned on him like he claimed, he would have been a bloody smeared spot on the ground. And Jiang Cheng gobbles this all up and demands more with Wei Wuxian’s blood and tears dribbling from his mouth. 

Would you give that much for someone who doesn’t treat you well? Would you find that a reasonable price to pay for someone who demeans you at every opportunity, who tells you you deserve your misfortunes and that no one likes you? Why are you surprised that in the end Wei Wuxian would rather walk away with people who care about him, why he gives up, leaves any opportunity for anything in Jiang Cheng’s hands. Wei Wuxian has given more than any person should for almost nothing. It is a sign of triumph and victory, of recognizing his own worth and value in the world and who he wants to be with, that he leaves, that he walks away with his head held high. He owes Jiang Cheng nothing, and Jiang Cheng will just have to fucking live with that.

[yinses]

relationship headcanons

gojo satoru x instructor!reader

rating: t

a/n: we all obsess over gojo, now it’s time for him to simp over you

— you’re a teacher over at the sister school and have been rivals with gojo since before your own graduation. you’ve come close but have never bested him, so you’ve put all your frustration into raising the next generation of sorcerers to be stronger than his class ( and ofc to take out curses)

it’s all seriousness for you but fun and games for gojo. not everyone simps for him, believe it or not. the man is challenged on the daily but it’s less of an annoyance when it’s you. maybe because you don’t call him out for it. there is no boisterous demand for a showdown or obsessive rivalry. you bide your time and out your efforts into your students where it matters the most.

he can tell you want to make a bigger point. that the entire jujusu kaisen institution doesn’t need to rely on him to solve their problems. you truly believe that you can bring stronger comrades to the table. the goal of besting him was just a side objective

— you’re attractive. he’s attractive. there is no denying it. maybe under different circumstances he might have already taken you to bed by now but the chase is more thrilling. he’s known you for over a decade now but he doesn’t know the intimacies of your past. it’s a gamble how many people you’ve dated or what your experiences are like, but he does know he definitely has a chance.

the sexual tension is always there. more prominent for gojo because honestly he finds you determination so fucking sexy. the man is dominant but to be pinned down by your thighs ascends him. he has your number and is never not in your inbox. you rarely respond but he knows you read them, especially since he squeezes little updates about his class progress in between romantic poem quotes and blasts from the past.

you never answer his facetime calls but occasionally you’ll indulge a regular call, if only to voice appease him enough to stop him from filling your voicemail box. as you’re preparing dinner in your kitchen, he’s going on and on about little things that shouldn’t matter. but he doesn’t really have anyone else and it shows.

the man is an open book. confessing sprinkles of his frustrations around jesting stories about his cute little students and the bakery he now coined his favorite just two kilometers from his house.

sometimes he reminisces about school. about how visiting the sister school to see you was his favorite part of the semester. but he also delves into his own small class and how he misses the shenanigans the use to raise yaga’s blood pressure frequently. sure shoko is still here but geto- fuck, the guilt cracks in his voice. you don’t say anything still, what could you anyway to a man you shouldn’t adore baring his soul to you? but before a decision can come to head he’s swapped back to his usual self.

‘so that bakery has this delicious tiramisu. why don’t you let me eat it off of you one of these days? i love dessert in bed.’

across the city, gojo smiles so hard his cheeks sting when you hang up on him, shoulders more at ease than they’ve been in days.

— he never shows up for his meetings with yaga, god forbid there be a special invite from the croaking old bastard. but fuck- if you’re there? the man is on time just so he can secure a seat next to you.

you know this guy manspreads. thighs wide enough to align them with yours. you’re not jumpy, reading easily between the lines as you give him a curt glance from the corner of your eye. it’s a useless scold, because you only recieve a cocky grin.

god and does it egg him on. this man feeds on crumbs of your attention. his arm lounging comfortably along the back of the couch, fingertips dancing along the edge of your shoulder and tickling the collar of your neck.

it’s the fact that you’re consensual to it all that keeps him going. sure you bite back and huff with your cute little irritated pout- but you never say no. and that’s all the fuel he needs.

he can hear everyone just fine- like they’re sitting right there. but catch him leaning close, shoulders knocking together while he whispers in your ear. he’ll ask you to repeat things he definitely did not miss. ask you to explain things he obviously comprehends. you roll your eyes but coddle him anyway if only to cure your own boredom.

bonus: off to the side, miwa watches the two adults conspiring, foreheads just a breath away from tapping. she’s rooting for gojo if only for the benefit of seeing him around more. she’s been wanting to ask you to invite gojo-sensei to guest speak for months.

— fighting with you is basically foreplay. he’s never been so intimate with his infinity, absorbing every punch and jab. not enough to hurt terribly , but it’s physical contact from you and he won’t pass it up.

he’s supposed to be showing off for his students. itadori, his biggest fan, front and center as his own personal cheering squad. he can beat you but not demolish. you actually bring a challenge, which is why the two of you are often a treat at the exchange event.

gojo wants nothing more than to pin you down when the two of you grapple close for comfort. he knows he can get away with a nice hard grind or two, even thinks you’ll let him.

but his inner thoughts are his own downfall when you manage to get on top instead. not that he’s complaining. his infinity is strapped tight to his body, just barely keeping you at bay as you try to force your limbs to keep him in place.

this is bad. so bad because you’re leaning close- the hair from your sloppy bun whispering at his cheek. and your face is right there, near enough that he could flinch and you would be touching.

it’s entirely too intimate for a fight between instructors at a public event but damn he’s willing to let his guard down. besides what the fuck is he supposed to do when he can feel your mouth moving against the barrier.

‘is this how our first kiss is going to be? just you, me and the infinity?’

jesus fucking christ if you thought he was strong enough for that. it may as well be ‘pass go’ for gojo. because one second you’re held up by the invisible void and the next you’re tasting something sweet.

he’d just eaten a pack of chocolate covered cherries.

[oreoambitions]

46 for agentreign please

Anon I'm sorry this took me a thousand years, but here you go. This gets wildly NSFW after the cut. Enjoy!

/// The first time it happens, Alex figures it's a fluke.

There are, after all, extenuating circumstances. She's not sure how many glasses of wine she's had because every time she turns around Sam has topped her off again, and maybe she should stop indulging but the wine is good and the company is better and this is the first day off off she's had for so long that it's hard not to let go a little. Kara's been keeping the showtunes coming all afternoon, a little louder than her old bluetooth speaker can really handle but it doesn't matter because Spotify is really just an excuse for Kara and Sam to sing at the top of their lungs. Alex is not participating, but she is appreciating. Appreciating because it's nice to see her sister laugh and smile like maybe things are getting better and maybe things are going to be okay. And also appreciating because, well, Sam. It's hard not to appreciate anything and everything Sam.

The activity of the afternoon is ostensibly the production of baked goods for a fundraiser related to Ruby's soccer team. Alex says 'ostensibly' because the reality is that it's been more than three hours and they haven't gotten the first batch of cookies into the oven yet. There's flour all over the floor, and she's pretty sure Kara got butter stuck to ceiling before Sam took the mixer away, but sometimes that's just the cost of a slightly raucous afternoon well spent, isn't it? And they'll have it all done in time anyway. In fact, Sam is just now finishing up the first batch of cookie dough in the confiscated kitchen aid when Alex, perhaps inebriated or perhaps just feeling emboldened by the domestic comfort of the whole affair, lunges for the beater.

This, it turns out, is either a mistake or the best decision she's ever made in her life. Her hand does contact the beater. She does come within a few seconds of pure raw cookie dough bliss. But Sam is faster, and in a flash Alex finds herself pinned between the counter and Sam's hips, one wrist wrapped up in Sam's fingers, the beater now soundly out of reach in Sam's other hand.

"Mine," Sam growls, but her eyes have dropped to Alex's mouth and for one disorienting moment Alex thinks she might be about to kiss her, thinks maybe the word 'mine' has nothing to do with the beater at all, that maybe they've crossed into some alternate dimension where there's a future for her and Sam that doesn't involve a lot of politely smiling and politely never mentioning one another's romantic entanglements or the absence thereof.

And the thing is, Alex thinks to herself, contemplating the heat of Sam's gaze and the fact that she literally cannot move beneath Sam's hips, this is... attractive. This is very attractive, in an immediate and throbbing sort of way that would be frankly embarrassing approximately half a glass of wine earlier in the afternoon. But that can't be right, because Alex doesn't like to be pushed around. Alex is the one who does the pushing. Isn't she? Sam's grip tightens around her wrist and Alex's lips part of their own accord and-

"Oh for heaven's sake," Kara says, snatching the beater out of Sam's hand. "It's mine, because you two are both being ridiculous." She rolls her eyes. "I hate being the only adult in the room."

It was a fluke. That's what Alex thinks to herself later that night when she wakes with a start from a just-dozing-off dream featuring the immovable nature of Sam's hips. They were drinking and it was a long afternoon and everyone was a little wound up and a little giddy and Alex has been single for a long time. That's it. That's all it was. That's all it has to be.

///

It's harder to write it off as a fluke the second time, but she manages.

James is in town and so it's game night. Not their monthly game night as scheduled, but an extra at-the-last-second game night, and Alex is on call. Which is fine. She can count on her fingers the number of times she's had to handle something in the middle of the night while on call for the DEO, and she's not particularly worried. But it's a problem because she can't be drinking, which means she's sober when Sam corners her in the kitchen.

It's been a long night. Not in a bad way. Just in the sense that things have been a little more risque than usual, what with Nia falling over herself trying to make it clear to Brainy that she'd like to sleep with him without actually making it clear, and Lena shooting those long smoldering looks at a characteristically oblivious Kara, and then there's Sam. Alex can't stop looking at Sam in that shirt where it sits a little too tight across the shoulders, can't stop tracing the line of that necklace to the place where it disappears just below her collar, can't stop following the meaningless movement of her fingers as she absently fiddles with a beer that wouldn't have an effect on her even if she drank the whole case. She wonders idly if it's for the aesthetic or if Sam just likes the taste of a craft IPA.

The trouble is that every time Alex catches herself looking at Sam, she also catches Sam looking at her. And so, upon dragging her eyes up once more from Sam's fingers to find Sam staring back at her, eyes dark and expression unreadable, Alex decides it's time for a drink after all. One beer won't hurt, even if the world decides to consider coming to an abrupt conclusion in the next hour or so and it turns out to be her responsibility. It's just that her mouth is suddenly dry, and the room is suddenly too loud, and she needs something to roll between her fingers the way Sam is rolling that IPA back and forth and back and forth and- Yeah. Just one beer will be fine.

She slips into the kitchen while Nia is yelling about how they should all do a TikTok together. It's quieter here, and a cool breeze through the window over the sink raises goosebumps across her arms. She pops the fridge open, pulls a beer at random, leans up against the counter. Maybe she doesn't want a drink after all. Maybe she just needs a minute.

"Aren't you on call, Ms. Danvers?"

Sam. Alex pouts. "What are you, the party police?"

Sam steps up close, takes the beer from Alex without so much as looking at it. "Aren't you the alien invader police?"

That's a dumb line and it doesn't remotely reflect Alex's actual job description, but she laughs anyway. "It's just one beer. Like 4%. I can handle it."

"I know," Sam murmurs.

Alex thinks she's forgotten how to breathe. Sam's eyes are on her mouth and those hips are pressing into her again and when Sam slips one arm around her waist and one hand into her hair a sound comes out of her that might have been a whimper. There's an inevitability to the way Sam leans in, to the way Alex's lips part as Sam tilts her head back with a firm tug. There's a moment of hesitation, a lingering, an opportunity to say no. Instead, Alex whispers, "Please."

Sam obliges. She kisses her slow, languid almost, holds her firm against the counter as she licks into her mouth and Alex is thinking that maybe she's going to come right here just letting Sam kiss her like this when Sam presses a thigh between her legs and she gasps, grinds down hard without meaning to.

Sam chuckles into her mouth, drags one hand around to her throat, traces feather light kisses along her jaw, tugs on her earlobe with her teeth. "Good girl," she whispers.

Alex isn't sure if it's the heat of Sam's breath, or the praise, or the way she's been casually immobilized, but she shudders, and Sam chuckles again, lips against her ear, and that only makes it worse.

"Fuck," Sam says. "If I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here."

Alex is pretty sure that would kill her. She's pretty sure just the thought of it is going to kill her. Just the pad of Sam's thumb dragging across her throat as she kisses her again, just the roll of those hips, that thigh pressing hard into her, that deep ache coiling tighter as Sam pulls back just far enough to meet her eyes and-

"Hey, Nia wants- Oh!" Lena stops short just inside the kitchen door. "I'll just." She plucks a bottle of wine from the counter. "Take this and tell her that you've uhm. That you're busy."

"We'll be right there," Sam says. She straightens Alex's shirt with a tug and a smirk. "Wouldn't want to miss the TikTok dance."

"Nope," Alex chokes out. "Wouldn't want to miss that."

It's a fluke. Alex takes a long shower when she gets home, and she takes care of the lingering ache that's now outlived not one but two TikTok dances, and she thinks about texting Sam. She falls asleep with her phone in her hand and if she has dreams about a tall, handsome, strong woman railing her against a kitchen counter, well. That happens sometimes. Could happen to anyone. Doesn't mean anything except that Alex has been single for probably too long . She downloads Hinge in the morning and considers explicitly mentioning in her bio that she's the one who wears the strap.

///

The Hinge profile lasts about three days. Alex scrolls through a ridiculous number of women, all of whom are... fine, before she comes to the conclusion that the problem is that none of them are Sam. She's sitting on this stupid app pedaling her stupid profile and all she wants is the woman whose attention prompted her to download a dating app in the first place. And she can't want Sam because it would never work. They're fundamentally incompatible. This bedroom ain't big enough for two tops. It's not going to happen.

But the words if I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here are as stuck in Alex's head as that Lady Gaga song Brainy won't stop playing over the speakers at the DEO. She can't stop thinking about it. Picturing it, even. Dreaming about it when her mind should be anywhere else, on anything else. And she'd just avoid Sam, just look the other way until her hormones sort themselves out, except that Sam is virtually impossible to avoid.

Kara doesn't make it any easier when she calls on Friday night to ask her about a movie night at Sam's apartment.

"Ruby's on a school trip, so it'll be just the four of us," Kara says over the phone. "I'll bring snacks, and we can order whatever you want for dinner. Please? Lena's never seen Star Wars; we have to do something."

Alex doesn't know how to say no. No, I won't come to what feels suspiciously like a double date movie night at Sam's apartment, because Sam's strap is at Sam's apartment, and I'm not sure that she isn't going to try to fuck me on the bathroom floor, and furthermore, I'm not sure that I don't want her to. Instead she says, "Any Star Wars? That's a crime. Which movie are we starting with?"

It's probably a safe bet anyway. Kara and Lena will be there the whole time; Alex and Sam will never be alone. All Alex has to do is make sure that she leaves when everyone else does and they can avoid the awkwardness altogether, and no that is definitely not anticipation she's feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she certainly does not spend an extra half an hour in bed on Saturday morning keeping herself busy with the thought of offering to stay and help clean up, of finding herself pinned against the refrigerator door while Sam takes her from behind. That absolutely does not happen because that would be ridiculous, undignified, untoplike behavior.

Alex is certainly feeling ridiculous, undignified, and untoplike standing outside Sam's door that evening, anxiously smoothing out her shirt with one hand, a case of that IPA from game night in the other. She's arrived a carefully calculated fifteen minutes late just to be absolutely sure Kara and Lena will get here first, but she didn't spot Kara's car outside, and so she isn't particularly surprised when Sam opens the door with a warm smile and welcomes her into an empty apartment.

"Kara and Lena?" she asks as Sam takes the proffered beer.

"Lena got held up at the office," Sam replies, already disappearing into the kitchen. "They're running late. An hour or so. Told them we'd wait. Do you prefer an IPA or a lager? I don't have any stouts in the fridge right now. Might be a decent sour in here somewhere."

Alex lingers in the entryway, that not-anticipation feeling thrumming through her veins. She could follow Sam to the kitchen. Kitchens do seem to be their Thing. But Sam returns with two lagers, her question unanswered, and nods her head towards the living room.

Well, now they're alone together after all and Alex is feeling awkward. She settles onto one end of the couch and tries not to read into it when Sam deposits the lagers on the coffee table and settles in next to her, legs folded under her, almost too close, instead of occupying the perfectly good cushion on the other end.

"Sam," Alex tries. They should talk about this. "We should talk about this."

"Hmm." A hint of a smirk flickers across soft lips before Sam schools her expression. "Talk about what, exactly?"

If Alex had bothered to rehearse this conversation in her mind, she still wouldn't have imagined it going this way. Her eyes drop to Sam's mouth and then she struggles to look elsewhere. The records on the shelf under the window. The blank television screen.

"I-" she starts, but the words don't want to come out. The lager on the coffee table. She doesn't reach for it. "I can't stop thinking about game night," she forces out, and then she looks back up at Sam to gauge her reaction.

Sam is smirking openly now, a hint of laughter in her eyes. She reaches out to tangle long fingers in the hair at Alex's nape, the same grip she used to pull her into a kiss just last week, and Alex's arousal is embarrassingly immediate. "Really?" Sam asks. "Game night, huh? You want to know what I can't stop thinking about?"

It's Alex's gaze that drops first, to Sam's mouth again, and this time she can't look away. "What?"

"Tonight," Sam replies, close enough that Alex's eyes flutter closed, close enough that she can almost feel Sam's answer on her lips. There's probably a coy response for this somewhere in the lesbian handbook but Alex is reaching and coming up empty. She presses a soft kiss to Sam's mouth instead and feels that anticipation - there's no denying now that it's anticipation - thrum again when Sam's tongue immediately presses into her, hot and demanding.

"What's so special about tonight," Alex mumbles as Sam kisses along her jaw to her neck.

"Mmm." Sam nips hard against Alex's pulse point, smiles into her skin when she gasps. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"Take your shirt off."

Alex hesitates. That isn't remotely the answer to her question, but now Sam is sucking on her neck and her capacity for rational thought is rapidly diminishing. She fumbles with the first shirt button, fingers trembling, and then the second. Three undone is enough for Sam to pull the offending garment over her head. The sports bra follows, and then Sam is tugging on Alex's hips to reposition her so that she's lying back on the couch, and Alex suddenly understands what everyone finds so attractive about kryptonians, because it's effortless the way Sam moves her. She has about a half second to be transfixed by the abs peeking out from under Sam's own blouse before Sam is kissing down her collarbone and over her breast, chuckling when Alex's hips jerk underneath her.

"You know," Sam says, "I was expecting more of a fight out of Alex But-I'm-A-Top Danvers."

Alex opens her mouth to let out a retort but Sam's tongue is working a circle around her nipple and rational thought is once again threatening to fail. "Is that what you want?" She manages, struggling to sit up. "You want a fight?"

"No." Sam pushes her back again, pins her arms over her head with one hand, brushes the fingers of the other across her ribs, frowns. "No, I like you better like this."

Alex flushes and has to remind herself not to squirm, not to look away as Sam studies her in silence, drops kisses across her shoulders, traces the lines of her hip and the inside of her thigh. And then Sam reaches under the couch for a box, the implications of which are momentarily as immobilizing as the hand still holding Alex's wrists down, because Sam planned for this, planned far enough in advance to stash supplies where they might be convenient.

Alex swallows hard when Sam's pants exit the scenario, and Sam's eyes flicker over her face as she opens the box.

"How do you feel about being strapped on the couch?" she asks.

It's such a blunt question that Alex flushes again. "Uhm. Okay?"

Sam stops with her harness halfway out. "Just okay? I'm gonna need a clear yes or-"

"Yes. God. Yes please," Alex says, flushing an even darker shade. She's going to let... this... happen, but she's not going to beg. Christ. Consent granted; please let's move on before things get awkward. Sam chuckles a little at her discomfort and presses a kiss to her brow.

"Okay. But if you want me to stop you just say the word."

Alex nods, not trusting herself to speak, eyeing Sam's fingers where they're tightening the harness. And then all at once she blurts out, "Kara and Lena could be here at any moment," which she hadn't realized might be a concern until it came out of her mouth but now she can't stop thinking about it, and how embarrassing that would be, and Kara can see through walls for heaven's sake, and-

Sam chuckles. "Baby," she says, sliding herself between Alex's legs, "You're not going to last long enough to be worried about that."

Sam is embarrassingly, excruciatingly not wrong. By the time the strap is working into her Alex is pretty sure she's wound tighter than she's ever been, and she'd crack some kind of joke about how it's clearly been too long since she's had anyone inside of her but this is really not the time. Sam is pressing inexorably deeper and it's all she can do to hold her breath because otherwise she's going to come altogether undone before they've even gotten started.

Sam gives her a moment when she's all inside, waits for Alex to exhale, waits for her nod before she starts to rock her hips, and the drag of the strap is so intense that Alex loses her breath and her self control in the same instant with a groan that only deepens Sam's smirk. Alex is kind of wishing Sam would give her back the use of her hands, but that's not in the cards. She squirms instead, hips bucking of their own accord, head thrown back hard against the cushion of the couch.

"Thought about this every night," Sam murmurs, and Alex thinks she'll say since game night but she says, "Since the day I met you," which is almost as mindblowing as the pleasure somehow, incredibly, continuing to build between Alex's hips. "Thought about how good you'd be under me."

Alex shivers at that and then comes, bucking hard into Sam to take as much of the strap as she can, half aware of Sam whispering something in her ear that might have been what a good girl you are if Alex had been cognizant enough to comprehend it. She comes back down to soft kisses across her face, and when Sam lets go of her wrists she wraps her arms around her and tries to remember how to breathe, how to pull all the pieces of herself back together, how to be a competent and capable, dignified and toplike partner.

Alex runs a hand absently through Sam's hair and hums. "Do you want me to return the favor?" she asks. She doesn't have a strap with her but, well, it's not like that was ever the best trick up her sleeve anyway. She opens her mouth to make a quip about how a good top is always prepared but Sam reaches out and casually tips an untouched lager onto her discarded shirt.

Alex splutters.

"Too late," Sam says brightly. "You'll have to ask me after dinner. Lena and Kara are here."

"Lena and Kara are what-"

And there's the knock at the door. The door not ten paces from where Alex is lying in a state of naked disarray on the couch where they are supposed to be watching Star Wars. There is a moment of absolute stillness before Alex begins to scramble for her clothes.

"Bedroom is the second door on the left," Sam says, sneaking in a last kiss while Alex reaches for the underpants peeking out from under the coffee table. "Clean shirts in closet. Do pick something nice; I've been dying to see you in my clothes."

Alex scurries down the hall in her socks quietly cursing and thanking every star in the sky. It's going to be a long night. If she's lucky.

[keilemlucent]

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧  (minors do not interact) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating, 

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside. 

It is easier this way. 

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.  

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe. 

Acid stings your throat for hours. 

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.) 

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

 (You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

 You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

 Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward! 

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips. 

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks. 

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting. 

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom. 

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

 You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

[actualbird]

Crawls in here once again since the week is almost over and i thought of another ask that might be fun, what r ur thoughts on nxx team at a haunted house (amusement park or otherwise www) -Marsh

ELLO, MARSH!!!! thank you so much for this ask!! answering this was so much fun :DDDD

okay so i decided to forgo amusement park haunted house bc artem already does that in SSR Loving Memories so we Know how he is in a recreational haunted house (aka rambling about SAFETY REGULATIONS why is this man like this smh) n i dont wanna be redundant SOOOO

nxx team for some reason have to go into an abandoned house that is heavily rumored to be haunted as hell. theyre on....an investigation. and they all have to be there all at once....dont think about it too much, i sure didnt HAHA

in the tradition of scooby doo, somebody suggests "let's split up, gang!" for utmost hilarity and also because a grp of five people goin thru a house like a pack of meerkats is a bit silly KJJSKGSF

so here are my proposed teams: vyn + mc + artem, luke + marius

my rationalization for these teams is because each team needs a "supernatural skeptic/person who isnt scared" to balance out the one in the team thats like "supernatural MAYBE this place is CREEPY n im A BIT SCARED do NOT JUDGE ME/im NOT scared i just HATE THIS"

vyn + mc + artem

vyn and artem are the staunch skeptics who are balancing out mc's jumpiness and mc would like it ON THE RECORD that she doesnt believe in ghosts but she gets jumpy sometimes!!! in her defense this place is CREEPY AS HELLS

so like while theyre going through rooms looking for whatever theyre looking for, vyn and artem are trying to comfort her in their own specific way

artem goes and rambles about the non-spooky explanations for all the rumors of this house, people like to go to the easiest explanation for unexplained things, though the easiest route isnt necessarily the most logical one---

vyn serenely tells mc Well, Actually the perception of supernatural quite often comes not from reality but from the outwards manifestation of a person's personal fears so it's less indicative of a place and more indicative of the person themselves---

and vyn and artem are trying to be the More Rational Person

mc, internally: (guys...i know you guys are trying....but it's NOT EXACTLY....HELPING....)

because honestly what mc needs right now isnt people telling her how her fears are absolutely nothing to worry about. what she needs is just her two friends being there for her even thru her irrational fears

eventually vyn and artem do clue into this and actually start being NOT IDIOTS about being good haunted house exploration partners but they only clue into this AFTERRRR each of them get SPOOKED AS HELL FIRST they gotta get a taste of their own medicine.

it's very funny to me that both vyn and artem have Really Good Aim (vyn with bow and arrow, artem with GUN) so when a sudden creak happens outta nowhere theyre both like O_O and then IMMEDIATELY throwing the first thing they can find at the noise

vyn throws a pen like a frigging javelin and artem just throws his wholeass phone, so much for rationality, huh, fellas?

the noise turns out to be luke and marius, stumbling upon their team, and thanks to vyn and artem's great aim, both those items hit luke hard in the face

well thats one way to get rid of mc's fear, because she bursts into a peal of giggles

but how were luke + marius doing before coming across them?

marius is DEAD FUCKING SILENT the moment the team splits up and luke is like "huh, didnt take marius for somebody who believed in ghosts" but luke doesnt bring it up because this doesnt seem like a light kind of spooked that luke would want make fun of.

like marius is pale, his breathing is shallow, his clenched fists are in his jacket pockets but luke can see that his hands are trembling

so luke fills the silence with investigation talk to get marius' mind of it, and luke is glad it works a little bit, even if marius' replies are monosyllabic. luke glances at marius and sees that the fear in his eyes has been replaced by his Thinking Gaze and great awesome

until they get to a room that is just. wayyyy fucking colder and darker than the rest of the house

and marius' fear slams back into him like a battering ram. he doesnt jerk back through the open doorway though, he just kind of stands there and luke is like "uh. you dont have to go in if youre scared---"

"i am not scared," marius grits out because come on. hes gotten over this, hasnt he? [spoilers for marius ssr in the darkness] fine, whatever, he had a bad time as a kid with cold dark places but mc had helped him get through it, back then, in the cave on nosta. surely one good experience is enough to completely erase a childhood fear that has followed him all the way to adulthood?

(no. it isnt. it helps, but sometimes it's not enough)

[spoilers for marius ssr in the darkness] back in that cave, marius admitted to mc why he was acting the way he was but he sure as hell isnt going to tell LUKE, NO SIREE, MARIUS IS FINE, marius trudges into the horrible room as he valiantly ignores just all the terrible alarm bells going off in and luke just like.

oh it's not ghosts he's scared of it's. the dark

luke doesnt exactly Know Completely what the Best Way is to comfort the other members of the team (theyre all cagey motherfuckers one way or another but hey, hes a cagey motherfucker too) but he cant like...not do anything. marius obviously doesnt want to be called out but luke wants to help anyway so he has to find a way to ground marius while also giving marius an excuse aaaaand----

luke clears his throat, extending his hand towards marius in the darkness of the room. "this place is old, the floor is uneven. i think it'll be better if we uh. held onto each other, so we dont trip up."

thank GOD THIS ROOM IS DARK because marius feels his face go a little warm but fuck it, yes, he would rlly like this, so he's like FINE and then holds luke's hand

ABSOLUTE SILENCE FROM BOTH OF THEM AFTER THIS, THEYRE JUST INVESTIGATING NOW WITH NO WORDS

but luke notices that marius' trembling hand stops shaking for a moment when luke squeezes his hand.

and they get thru their half of the house, hands linked the entire way, and they meet up with the others and luke gets projectiles thrown at his face

mc's laughter and the split second chaos is the perfect distraction to let go of luke's hand and nobody notices. nobody has to know. NOBODY

and of course they find whatever thing they were looking for KJBKJSDKFGS anyway in conclusion: the nxx team would be a disaster in a haunted house but theyve got each other's backs :D

[hargrove-mayfields]

Back when things were still easy, Billy and Max used to have sibling days on the weekends when Neil wouldn’t be home, setting aside their issues to have just one day that was meant for doing something fun together.

The tradition had been dropped after the move to Hawkins, and Max thinks that’s where a lot of the strain on their relationship comes from. Without those designated times to let go of some of the tension building between them, they fall to pieces.

There’s one day in particular where it’s just Max at home all by herself, her mother and Neil having gone on a trip to the city she opted out of, when Billy shows up much earlier than he said he would be back, ruining the calm when he slammed the front door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall.

Neither of them say a word to the other, all she gets is an apologetic and glossy looking glance for the noise as he storms past her like she isn’t even there.

She doesn’t see Billy again for a long time after that, just hears the angry music blaring in his room. By now, she’s wisened up enough to know that meant he was probably crying in there, and though she doesn’t know what happened, she feels bad.

It’d been far too long since they acted anything like real siblings, not that they were actually related, but they used to be just as close, so after her brother’s been brooding for literal hours, she knows she wants to do something.

Her opportunity to bring it up comes when Billy makes his grand appearance at her door, stopping by to ask if she ate dinner just so he, quote ‘wouldn’t get any shit for it.’ She nods in agreement and asks, “Do you know what day it is, Billy?”

He shrugs, “28th of June.”

“Well, doy, but it’s also Friday.” Billy raises an eyebrow, missing the point, and Max rolls her eyes. “Friday. You know, like, the one day we get to hang out.”

Too cool for that stuff anymore apparently, he scoffs and leans against the doorframe, and she just knows he’s going to say something snarky, so she turns the puppy dog eyes up a notch, “Please? It’ll be fun.”

It works, Billy sighs way over dramatic and steps into her room, throwing himself down onto her beanbag chair. She can’t contain the smile on her face when he asks with fake defeat, “What did you want, shitbird?”

“I want a makeover day. Like we used to do.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why?” She crosses her arms, “Just because that’s what I want to do?”

He fixes her with a look that says ‘seriously?’, and explains, an edge of frustration to his voice, “No, because you know what’ll happen if I’m struttin’ around in nail polish and shit when Neil gets back.”

“They’re not supposed to come back until like, Monday though,” in response to her excuses, he mimics her in crossing his arms over his chest, so she tries harder to reason with him, “And we can always just take it off when we’re done.”

“That’s just a waste of your stuff, then.”

“Come on, Billy, please?” she’s out of actual arguments and he’s winning, so she brings out the big guns, the little sister privilege, the one surefire way she knows will always knock her brother off guard, “I miss you.”

He squints at her, seeing through the attempted guilt trip, but he can’t muster a frown, and he must know it wasn’t all fake, because he says, “Whatever.”

She knows that’s his version of a yes and he’s just too proud to admit he caved, so she squeals and claps her hands together, taking off like a shot to dig under her bed for the stowed away beauty kit. It’s a little wicker basket filled to the brim with nail polish and makeup, the same one they’d used years ago before everything went wrong, and it makes her happy, bringing the old thing back out.

She stops to put a record in her player, choosing Queen as the closest thing to a middle ground between their respective music tastes, they at least both weren’t supposed to listen to it, and drops down into the other chair beside Billy.

On the latch-hook rug in front of them, she starts to empty the basket, lining up all her brightly colored bottles of nail polish, slightly dried out after months of not using them. “What color?”

“Why do I have to go first?” Billy asks. All Max has to say in response is a know-it-all “Because I said so.”

“Fine. You pick.” The moment he says it he looks like he regrets it, Max is notoriously bad at making decisions, but she ignores him and starts holding up bottles anyways.

First, after few minutes deliberation, she chooses a pretty dark green, and he scrunches his nose and doesn’t say anything. She picks a purplish color, which he tosses away on the bed, a very firm ‘no’ that makes Max giggle. Then she gives him a bright orange bottle, and he holds in front of his face, studying it before turning that one down too.

“God, if I knew you’d be so annoying I would’ve just painted them all the colors.” She remarks, lining up her polishes so she could do just that.

“That’s actually probably not a very good idea, kiddo.” Looking a little panicked, he digs through the bottles himself, settling on one he pulls away and stares at for a second before handing it to her and telling her, “Just do ‘em red.”

It confuses her, but she agrees regardless, and makes him turn in his seat so he’s facing her and his hands are flat on the floor. His hands are a little shaky, so her paint job isn’t the best, she even drips some on the carpet, which she hopes her mother won’t notice, but Billy doesn’t say anything about the mess.

With his nails done she moves onto his hair, she wants to do double braids like how he taught her to do in her own hair, so she shoves his arm to get him to turn around. “Scoot.”

He lets her push him around until he’s in the right place that she can reach his hair, but once he’s facing the far wall he tells her, “Don’t you dare use that brush on my hair, Maxine.”

“Jeez, relax. I’m not gonna mess up your princess curls.” She mocked, but she still went for the comb to run through his hair instead.

She waited until she could get it through without catching on any tangles before bothering trying to talk to him. When Billy was upset, he tended to clam up, but she didn’t particularly like feeling awkward in the silence, leaving all the talking to the record player. “Can we talk about why you were mad earlier?”

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me if I told you about my day?” She tries, but he shuts it down again with an “Unlikely.”

“I’ll tell you anyways.” Max didn’t know what had happened with Billy, but she knew she hadn’t had the greatest morning herself either. “I had to ask Lucas to bring me home early because me and Mike got in a fight.”

Billy snorted, and spoke with just as much sarcasm as Max had used on him. She learned that from him anyways. “You and Mike? No.”

“Yeah. He was being a total ass about El, trying to like, own her or something, so I told him to lay off ‘cause that’s totally not fair.”

She knew that Billy, having graduated and turned 18 now, was probably getting a little old for this type of drama, but he was a good listener, no matter how much he pretended not to care, always giving little bits of insight and saying things to make her laugh.

She continues, “Well, anyways he like, totally bit my head off for sticking up for her, so then I told him he was just a miserable mouth breather who’s jealous of El being happy, and he tried to kick me out.”

Billy laughed at that, muttering a little ‘ow’ when the action made Max pull his hair, “But you left before he could kick you out right?”

“Duh.” She sighs a little, the fun part of the story over. “Then when we pulled up outside, Lucas said something stupid about it being my fault or whatever, so I dumped him again.”

“Good. I told you not to take any shit from them anymore.” Billy had been less than happy with her friends a lot recently, when she’d come home from school or from hanging out upset over something they said. They never meant to hurt her feelings, but Billy didn’t like it all the same, and made her promise she’d stand up for herself a little more. Like she did to him.

“Yeah, I guess.” It makes her feel light on the inside, to know Billy was proud of her for following his advice, in his own way at least. “So? What happened to you?”

He shrugs again, and blows her off, “It’s nothing.”

“You were crying.”

“Yeah, and it’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not,” she fumbles with the braid and loses it, Billy’s stupid uneven mullet making it way too hard to braid so many different lengths of hair, “But I’m like, an expert now. El says she likes my advice.”

Under his breath, Billy mutters, “‘Course she does.”

Max purses her lips and pretends she didn’t hear that before continuing her offer, “Anyways, I can always try to help.”

“Listen, it’s just stupid dating stuff. Nothin’ you need to be worrying about.”

“But I’m a girl. I can give advice about that.” She thinks about it for a second, “I mean, I know more about being a girlfriend than having one, but it’s probably about the same.”

“Maybe.” Billy mumbles, focusing all his attention on picking at the nail polish that had missed the edges of his nails, and just from the way he tensed up she can tell she’d overstepped Billy’s boundaries in some way or another.

She finishes of the braid she had already started over twice now and puts a blue scrunchie on the end of it, giving him a minute.

When she starts combing out the rest of his hair is when Billy speaks again, not a drop of his distinctly Billy attitude in his words as he admitted softly, “You know, shitbird, I never said anything ‘bout having a girlfriend.”

That’s confusing to her at first, because he had just told her it was a dating thing, but Max’d been hearing all the nasty things Neil said about Billy for years now, and while she might just be a kid, might be the clueless and annoying little sister, she still knew the weight of what he’d just admitted to her.

It had always made her sad, to know Neil didn’t really like Billy, all the mean words he used, ones she wouldn’t dare repeat, to describe Billy and his friends, all the lies he told about him behind his back. But she doesn’t buy it, what her asshole step-dad had to say.

Her brother was cool, and she liked hanging out with him, when he wasn’t being such a jerk. The fact that he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend didn’t change that in the least bit.

She hums, trying to gather words and, her voice strained against the outburst of happiness, says “See? I can totally help with boy stuff.”

[eremiie]

could I....could I request perhaps...stoner Levi?? Or maybe stoner h/c for any of the AOT crew

eren & levi stoner headcanons;

i’m gonna double whammy this! enjoy!

stoner levi

hange probably got levi into smoking tbh, especially if they lived together, they’re smoking buddies and she probably grows her own shit or something

i mean this dude was like “???? no” at first but she was like “come oooon, it’ll relax you!” and he was somewhat sold

he only smokes time to time but if he shared a dorm/apartment with hange then he’d smoke almost every time she does

first time he smoked he probably went home and did his research, then proceeded to text hange a whole bunch of questions

he would never spend money on any kind of drugs, he only smokes when hanji invites him to a sesh

he is really good at rolling for some reason, after the first time hange asked him to roll she kept asking him and he would roll his eyes but do it anyways

as a matter of fact he secretly likes rolling cause he’s the one to lick the blunt, not anyone else, and the way hange licks it looks nasty to him so—

he’s a chill ass smoker but it’s funny because he gets more irritated when he’s high, like hange will talk his head off and he’s ready to backhand her, he’ll just stare at her until she shuts up, and he hates when oluo talks while he’s high it irritates him so much more

he doesn’t like hotboxing, first time was probably in a car and he left cause it was so hot and it made him really uncomfy he prefers to smoke outside most of the time anyways

levi only smokes joints, he wouldn’t vape, use a pipe, none of that, maybe edibles once or twice but they never really did much for him. he might try using a hookah but deem it too complicated or some shit, or it tasted weird or something

he looks so good when he smokes though?? like since he already has narrow eyes his eyes are basically closed and when he’s sitting back and just minding his business he just looks so mfkn good

he gets really uncoordinated i feel like? idk why but i feel like he trips over his own feet literally all the time when he’s high

things he has done while high; one time he started crying cause he got overwhelmed and hange took pictures which he forced her to delete the next day and refused to believe he cried in front of her

that was the only time. that never happened again.

another time he started cooking and made like 3 different quick meals which hange taste tested and applauded him for, he doesn’t even know where he got the recipe from and could barely remember making one of those meals but hange remembers and brings it up every 1-3 business days

and another time he deep cleaned the whole entire apartment while muttering nonsense to himself. hange was almost positive he wasn’t high when he did that but they were both faded

stoner eren

eren is an avid smoker, i mean this dude smokes a lot, every time someone asks the answer is yes

he probably got into smoking because he vaped in the school bathroom in high school and thought that shit was cool asf

he never actually got his own vape but always used a friends when he was with them, a terrible era for him and the first time he smoked weed was probably his senior year 

he usually smokes with connie, sasha, jean, thats his main circle and it was connie who invited him the first time

occasionally armin will join, i can definitely see armin smoking with them a couple times... he probably ended up smoking with them the first time because he happened to be hanging out with them

eren is surprisingly a very chill smoker too, he’s in his own head and nothing bothers him, he’s at peace. i mean this dude isn’t arguing with anybody, not even jean

he gets so touchy when he’s high— whoever is near him is getting touched, whether it be him holding their arm, laying his head on their lap, putting his arm around their shoulders, or keeping his hand on their leg, he needs to make contact with you

he rolls sloppy as fuck but it gets the job done, they usually leave the rolling to jean because A) he’s great at it and B) one time connie dropped the grinder and weed went everywhere

eren has only paid for weed fully once, and never again. mikasa scolded him for it too, it was a terrible investment in her eyes. he always pitches in when they all plan to smoke though so whoever doesn’t have to pay fully

eren likes edibles and will use them, as well as still hit a vape if someone offers. once eren had sour patch edibles and thought they weren’t doing anything but like 30 minutes later it hit him and hit him so hard 

he also gets really uncoordinated while high, i mean this mf will reach for a water bottle and he misses it by 30 feet, he thinks it went through his hand or something

he likes when people play with his hair while high, it feels 10x better and he will actively seek for someone to just brush his hair or run their hands through it. usually armin vouches to do it. once sasha did it while eating chips and eren had crumbs in his hair

he cannot comprehend anything while he’s high. he will “huh?” you to death, i mean words literally scramble in his head and he will stare at you trying his hardest to understand

things he has done while high; he hugged armin for a good thirty minutes and refused to let go. armin was fine with it though because he got to complain to eren about how he felt sad for ants that go into houses to try to find a place to live and end up dying. eren just nodded his head like he understood and told armin he loved his hair every 3 seconds

eren fell asleep for literally like 2 minutes while high and then woke up and went to grab his bag for school. mikasa had to sit him down and reassure him he had no school and it was 11pm

he called his mom, told her he was high then hung up the phone. she yelled at him the next morning and he argued with her trying to tell her he didn’t call her

[sleepysnk]

i decided to write some angsty fluff for you guys because i just really wanted to get this idea off my chest. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

He Missed Out

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: some angst, swearing

"Still no response?"

(Y/N) sat there on Eren's bed staring at her phone. She was waiting for a reply from Jean, the guy she liked. He was lagging again on her for the 5th time and of course, she went to Eren to rant about it.

Eren and (Y/N) had been best friends since they were toddlers. Eren lived right next to her and their mothers were close, they bathed together, played at the playground, celebrated birthdays, went through the shitty four years of high school, and now they are going through the next four years of college.

The two watched each other grow up. They were no longer these children who played tag or rode bikes until the street light came on, but rather adults who had to prepare for their futures.

Eren's brunette hair was now long, it grew past his shoulders and could be tied in a neat man bun. (Y/N) grew into a woman practically overnight, her face showed her growth.

"I don't know why you're wasting your time, isn't this like the 5th time he's ghosted you?"

Eren stepped into the room with a bag of chips, he tossed it onto his bed so she could take it.

"He didn't ghost me! He's just not sure if he wants a relationship," she replied, grabbing the bag of chips off the side of the bed.

Eren rolled his teal eyes. "Yeah okay.. I've heard that one before. He ghosted you (Y/N), just like last time."

She leaned back against the headboard, she hated how Eren could be so pessimistic sometimes. He always looked at the bad in certain situations, it was clearly his toxic trait. He was too stubborn to admit it though.

She never understood his stubbornness, many people in high school questioned how she dealt with Eren and his crazy mood swings. He had a temper, causing him to get into fist fights and arguments with anyone in the student body that pissed him off. She always told those people that she could easily calm Eren down, somewhat like a comforter for him.

"He'll be back tomorrow," she said, opening the bag of chips and shoving a few in her mouth. Her tongue tasting the saltiness.

Eren didn't necessarily believe that. "Whatever you say.." he replied before plopping down next to her.

A sudden ping from her phone made her ears chirp. She grabbed it seeing Jean's name across the screen, a smile forming onto her lips.

Eren grabbed the phone from her. "Don't respond," he said, placing it next to him.

(Y/N) turned her head towards him. "Why not? Eren! Give me back my phone. It's rude to not respond," she said, trying to reach over and grab it.

His eyes narrowed, "What? (Y/N), you've got to be kidding me. He ignored you for a whole day, it's rude of him to not respond." he felt frustration going through him.

She pouted a bit, crossing her arms. "You never know Eren!"

Eren shoved her phone in his pocket. "Yeah okay.. you better provide the same energy. Don't reply to him and I swear if you do I will call your mom," he said and reached for the remote.

She rolled her eyes at Eren's actions. He didn't know why Jean wasn't responding, so why should he be mad?

"Fine, whatever you say." she said, looking at the tv screen.

-

The next day was another dreaded day of classes and homework. (Y/N) was swamped with assignments and so was Eren, he had so much to do he could barely keep count of the amount of essays and other work he had to do.

"We could study together!" Eren said, nodding his head at (Y/N) as they walked through the campus.

She was on her phone, not paying too much attention which bothered Eren.

"Hello?"

Eren grabbed her phone out of her hands.

"Eren! Give it back!" she yelled, trying to grab it from him.

He stared at the screen, seeing Jean's name displayed on the screen. Jealousy rang through Eren, it made his chest feel tight.

"Seriously?" he said. "I told you to give him a rest, (Y/N) he's literally a dick."

She rolled her eyes before taking her phone back. "Eren I get you're trying to be a good best friend, but really, I got this. He told me he was busy, relax." she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Eren was frustrated, why the hell does she keep going back to the guy? He's put her through so much bullshit and it bothered him to the point that he wanted to punch Jean in the face himself. He always bit his tongue on it, but it was like a thorn in his side whenever she talked or ranted about him. Can't she see what's in front of her?

"Yeah.. whatever.. look I gotta go anyway," Eren said before walking away and leaving her there.

She watched as he turned the corner, fading from her vision. Eren was stubborn but he usually got over things like this, what was the problem now?

Eren scoffed making his way to class, his mind was now clouded with negative thoughts. He wished (Y/N) would just listen to him! No matter how much he tried she wouldn't ever give his words a chance, it's like she didn't want to face the actuality that Jean was a lying asshole.

As Eren turned the corner he was faced with a sight that made his vision turn red.

There was Jean.

Leaning in against another girl.

His green eyes grew wide at the sight, what the fuck was he doing? His eye twitched at the sight, Jean was lying to her. It was blatantly obvious, and that explained why he would disappear for hours to days on end. (Y/N) was his second choice. He whipped out his phone, snapping a photo before heading off to class.

-

Two weeks went by and (Y/N) heard nothing from Eren.

No calls, no texts, nothing.

She tried approaching him at school but he ignored her, he avoided going in the same directions she did and whenever she tried texting him the messages were always opened.

She wasn't sure what she did but she needed her best friend right now. Jean stopped talking to her again, and she needed a listening ear. Eren was her usual go to but without him here, she didn't know what to do.

Here she stood outside Eren's apartment. Her heart thumped in her ears, she could feel it throughout her whole body.

She knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

The door opened, Eren's gaze met hers. She could faintly see his jaw tighten up and his face harden from the sight of her.

"Eren.. um, can we talk?"

He didn't say anything but move so she could enter his apartment. She could smell the faint scent of his body wash on his skin.

"Don't you have class?" he asked, plopping down on a chair.

She fidgeted with her fingers. "Um no.. I finished my classes early," she replied, looking at him nervously.

He nodded his head before sipping the water in his cup. "Mm.. I see"

She felt the awkwardness and tension through the air, something was up. She just didn't know exactly what.

"Jean stopped talking to me again.." she said, avoiding his eyes.

A chuckle escaped Eren's throat. "Huh.. doesn't surprise me but what can I say, you let it happen." he stood up, heading towards the sink.

What the hell? Eren has never said shit like this before to her.

"Okay seriously, what the fuck is your problem!? You ignore me for two weeks and now you're being a dick??" she scoffed.

Eren's head snapped towards her. "My problem? You want the honest truth, (Y/N)? You really wanna hear what the fuck is going on?!" he yelled, his voice sounding serious.

"Yes! It'd be good to know!" she replied, crossing her arms.

He laughed before leaning against the counter. "Jean doesn't fucking like you. Okay? I'm so fucking tired of how dense you are."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What? Eren you don't understand how complicated it is!" she replied.

He laughed again before sliding his phone in front of her. "What's complicated about that huh?"

She picked up the phone, her eyes grew wide at the sight of Jean leaning against another girl. She felt hurt, angry, upset. Nothing could pinpoint how she felt.

"I-I'm.." she felt tears burning her eyes.

"It's so hard being your friend.." he mumbled, looking at her.

Her head shot up, "What?! Eren-"

"No let me fucking speak for once. It's so hard being best friends with you, these guys walk all over you! And guess what? I'm the one who has to fix you! Then what do you do (Y/N)? You go back and let them treat you like shit."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, a few sobs escaped her mouth.

"Eren-"

"I'm not finished, do I gotta remind you? Levi Ackerman during your freshman year? Porco Galliard your junior year? I was there for all of that. You kept going back to them and you never once listened to me! I warned you so many times, yet you rather not face the facts. I was always there to pick up the pieces." he said, his voice loud.

She sobbed, Eren was right. She never listened to him, he always was the one to give her warnings and yet she still went for it anyway.

"Eren.. I-I'm s-sorry.." she cried.

He scoffed, "It's just.. you never saw who was in front of you," he said, looking at the floor.

Her head shot up, "What? What do you mean?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

"Don't you get it (Y/N)?" he asked.

She shook her head, "N-No..? I don't even understand why you're yelling at me either!" she replied, wiping a few tears off her cheeks.

"Christ (Y/N), I fucking love you that's why!"

Silence filled the room between them. She felt her heart suddenly swell, deep down she always knew she loved Eren.. she just pushed those feelings away because she thought it was just a best friend kind of love. But it was more.

"B-But.. what about Mikasa? A-And Historia?" she asked.

Eren walked towards her. "(Y/N).. I love you, I never loved Mikasa or Historia.. they were just close friends. I always hung around them to try and push what I felt away," he replied.

"I don't understand.. how long? Why didn't you ever just come clean?" she asked, few tears escaping her eyes.

He looked away from her. "(Y/N) I knew I loved you when we started high school, Armin noticed, so did Mikasa. I wanted to come clean sooner but everytime we got close you found another guy and pushed me out of the picture."

Her eyes went to the floor, she was trying to process this information. She never once thought Eren felt the way she did, she always figured that she'd be only a best friend, nothing more.

"Eren.. I'm sorry, I'm such a horrible best friend." she said, sniffling a bit.

He walked in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Don't apologize.. I don't wanna see you hurt anymore that's all," he used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears on her cheeks.

She looked into his eyes, she noticed how they softened now. "E-Eren.. I-I love you.." she said, curling her fingers around his wrist.

His eyebrows shot up, "What? N-No you don't.. you're just saying that to make me feel better," he replied, looking away.

She used her hand to turn his face towards her again. "Have I ever lied to you? Eren.. I knew I loved you, I thought it was just a best friend type of love, but I knew deep down it was more than that."

His cheeks dusted pink, "I just... I don't want you saying it because I said it. You genuinely mean so much to me and fuck... (Y/N) I wanna be the one to heal you from everything," he said, cupping her cheek. "I want to make you forget all of the hurt you went through."

She felt a smile grow onto her cheeks. "I'd.. love that," she replied, looking into his hues.

Their faces were now inches apart, his lips ghosted over hers before he leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were soft, warm, the kiss was passionate, it felt.. real. Her arms went around his neck, bringing him down closer to her.

His hands found their way to her hips, he pressed her body against his.

Breaking the kiss, she looked up at him. "I love you.." she said.

A smile grew onto his lips. "I love you too.." he replied. "Please.. let me be the one to heal you from all of this, I promise, I'll never hurt you."

Her cheeks grew warm, "You promise?"

"Have I ever lied to you..?" he asked.

She felt a smile grow onto her features. "Well no.." she replied.

He pecked her lips, "There's your answer, now come on, let me take care of you."

He lifted her up, her legs going around his waist. "Eren! Be careful," she said, slapping his shoulder.

"I won't drop you, trust me!" he said, taking her to his room.

-

"I haven't heard from (Y/N) in days," Jean said, looking at Connie.

He shrugged, "I dunno! Maybe she lost her phone," he said.

Jean sighed, maybe she was just busy? He wasn't sure.

"Uh.. Jean?" Connie said, hitting his arm and pointing at someone.

Jean looked up, his jaw dropping.

There she was, but she wasn't by herself. She was with.. Eren??

"Ha! Sucks to be you!" Connie said, chuckling at Jean's expression.

He glared at him, "Shut up! What the hell?! That doesn't make sense.. she was talking to me!" he said.

Eren smirked as he walked past Jean and Connie, his hand around (Y/N)'s waist. He felt enjoyment watching Jean get pissed, he also seemed to take in that Jean noticed the small bite marks around her neck. All provided by Eren of course.

"Stupid Eren.." Jean mumbled.

Eren looked at (Y/N), she smiled up at him. "That was probably the most petty thing I've done," she giggled.

Eren smirked, leaning down to kiss her lips. "He missed out," he replied.

"He certainly did." she said, taking his hand into hers and going to class.

[pillage-and-lute]

(For next time you’re looking for prompts) I really like your writing, and when I thought of this I wondered what you’d do with it: Geralt and Jaskier are together, but agree to pretend not to be for their next stop. Maybe one of them wants to win an old bet, or Jaskier’s not 100% sure his betrothal to a local noble has been officially dissolved, whatever, (not homophobia), fluff and high jinx ensue. Anyway I hope something unexpectedly nice happens to you today.

Hi Dahliavandare! Thanks for the blessing in my inbox  🥰

This ran away from me, tons of backstory about Jaskier’s family. Just, way too much.

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“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “I have an errand we need to run, and I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

Geralt hummed noncommittally. They were resting at their camp outside of Hagge and the warm summer air and the feeling of Jaskier curled against him had lulled him into a warm, fuzzy stupor.

“You see,” Jaskier continued, fiddling with the buttons at his cuffs. “I’m a noble, and you know that of course.” He laughed awkwardly. “And I’ve been lucky enough to pawn most of those responsibilities off onto my much savvier sister, but there are certain niceties that landed families observe that--”

“Spit it out,” Geralt grumbled, although not bad naturedly. 

“I’m betrothed,” Jaskier said. “And we need to go to Gwendeith to break it off.”

Geralt turned to look at his beloved. “You’re engaged?”

“Betrothed!” Jaskier yelped, then saw Geralt’s expression. “Oh, dear heart, there’s a slight difference in meaning, especially to nobles. Engaged implies an intent to marry--”

“And betrothed doesn’t?”

“Well, sort of, but I’ve been betrothed practically since I was born, engaged would imply I’m sort of planning the wedding. It’s a contract, a social contract. My family and my betrothed’s are pretty minor nobles, so really it’s just a way of saying ‘maybe someday our kids could marry’. It isn’t the hard and fast marriage it might be if I were, say, a prince.”

“Then why do it?” Geralt asked. Most of the time he was happy to understand as little of the lives of the gentry as possible, but Jaskier was important.

“Honestly,” Jaskier sighed. “I think Papa arranged it because he cared for me, Mama too.”

“It takes away your choice,” Geralt began.

“It doesn’t. A betrothal like mine and... Iliana, that’s her name, only met her twice, it’s sort of social insurance. Especially for her, but for me as well. Nobles are supposed to marry, so, if at some point neither of us had found love we could marry one another. For Iliana there’s the security of having a husband, although from what I’ve heard she can handle herself fine, and for me its assurance of heirs if that sort of thing concerned me, and companionship for us both.”

It sounded...mostly sort of logical to Geralt.

“But I love you,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone because I love you and, someday, whenever you get over you allergy to the concept of commitment, I’m going to put a ring on you.”

Geralt hummed gruffly but said nothing. There was a slim golden band hidden away in his bags and he be damned if Jaskier got to propose first.

“I will. Anyway, I need to tell Iliana. I’m sure she won’t mind. I met her once when I was seven and again when I was nineteen.”

“Nineteen, when?” Geralt asked. Most of Jaskier’s nineteenth year had been spent at Geralt’s side. Most of every year after that too.

“Just before I met you. I had travelled east to meet her originally, and was going back west when we met.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Illiana? Oh, well, she told me that she was fine leaving the betrothal in place because it’s standard, but that she doesn’t care for men in that way so she’d never give me heirs and would have my balls nailed above her door if I ever told her she had to.”

“Sounds like she’d get along with Yen.”

“I fear they’d take over the world,” Jaskier said. “Anyway, I told her no worries since, honestly, heirs just aren’t important to me. Then we agreed that when either of us found love we’d break the betrothal and that would be that.”

“Hmmm.”

“No, Geralt, tell me what that means. Is that a ‘okay, let’s go to Gwendeith’ hum? A ‘I’m angry that you’re betrothed’ hum?”

Geralt shifted to poke the fire. “It’s a ‘I think there’s more you need to tell me’ hum.”

“Ah,” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. We have to go in person because a letter would be rude, but also...we have to pretend not to be together, while we’re in Gwedeith.”

“Why?”

“It’s politics, dear heart. It would be shaming to Iliana, socially. Personally, I don’t think she’d care, but it’s a courtesy thing.”

“I don’t do a lot of lovey stuff anyway,” Geralt said. 

“You think you don’t,” Jaskier said. He began to unroll their bedroll.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned to him, smiling indulgently and gilded in the firelight. “Our lives have molded around one another, my love. When I stand beside you your hand goes to my back or my shoulder. You order dinner for me because you know just what food I like. When I’m tired you don’t have to ask what’s wrong, you just lift me onto Roach behind you.”

Geralt hadn’t even realized he did, but he knew it was true. Jaskier leaned over and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s slightly furrowed brow.

“When my boots are wearing thin you buy me new ones before I even notice. When I’m cold you give me your cloak. If I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder you’d rather sit like that all night than disturb me.”

Geralt shrugged awkwardly. “You buy me beeswax,” he said. It seemed a fair retort. Jaskier bought him beeswax to put in his ears when cities or sometimes monsters were too loud for Geralt’s senses. “You only buy light scents, even though I know you like bolder perfumes.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, taking one of Geralt’s large, scarred hands. “We love eachother very much, and it’s obvious to people who care to look.”

“That could be dangerous,” Geralt began, his head spiralling towards worry for Jaskier’s safety, but Jaskier cut him off.

“No, dear heart. It’s obvious to those who care to look. The sort of people who would hurt me for loving you, well, most of them think you can’t love, so they don’t look for love, and they don’t see.” 

Geralt sat back. People saw what they expected to see, it was true. 

“We’ll travel to Gwendeith,” he said. “And unbetroth you.”

Jaskier kissed him and his lips tasted like the jerky they’d eaten for supper.

-- -- -- -- -- --

The trip to Gwendeith was long. It was at the very edge of any map, past Posada to the east, tucked into the Blue mountains.  They traveled along the Dyfne river, taking the occasional contract but making good time. This far from anything, there were few people to be troubled by monsters. 

They stopped in Posada one night, eating dinner in the corner of a familiar tavern. This time, however, Jaskier was much better received and the bread ended up on the table rather than down his trousers.

Past Posada, and almost to the end of the Dyfne river, Geralt asked, “Why did your parents pick Iliana? How did they know of her?” Lettenhove was entirely the other side of the continent, a tiny island off the coast of Poviss with two villages and a couple flocks of sheep. 

Geralt only knew of it from Jaskier’s descriptions, which were mostly stories of the ice cold sea and rocky cliffs. He tended toward calling it ‘idyllic’ and ‘picturesque’ altough occassionally ‘the arse end of the world’ and ‘colder than an ice giant’s ballsack.’ The first time Geralt had taken Jaskier to Kaer Morhen he’d feared for his bard’s safety in the cold of the mountains, but Jaskier hadn’t even blinked an eye, merely bundling up in a hugely wooly cloak and mittens. 

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said. “Long story, but Papa was in Temeria, see, since nothing ever happens in Lettenhove, because we have more people than sheep, he get’s sent on diplomatic missions a lot. He’s good at it, and he can be spared. He loves it too, even though he’s sort of retired he still does them. Takes Ma, calls the trips his little “sunshine vacations”. 

“You get your personality from your father, then?” Geralt asked. Jaskier didn’t talk about his family much, and Geralt got the sense that, rather than this being because they were horrible, Jaskier simply missed them too much. 

“Definitely. Ma’s lovely, and brilliant with just everything to do with her hands, but she’s not good with people. I got her looks, though.”

“I should thank her, then,” Geralt said, smiling. 

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, she’s the reason for the long lives, too, fantastic story.”

“Finish the one about your father and Gwendeith first.”

“Right, so Papa was in Temeria, and so was Iliana’s father, sort of the mayor of Gwendeith, as I understand, although not back then. He’d gotten robbed, though, and Papa had won a horse and quite a lot of gold in a card game. It might have been Gwent, I can’t remember. If you ever meet Papa you should ask him. Anyway, he gave the extra horse and gold to Iliana’s father.”

“So your betrothal was a debt?”

“Goodness, no. This was years before I was born, Papa hadn’t even met Ma yet. No, they struck up a friendship, because when Iliana’s father got home he had a mage send a message to Papa to thank him and they struck up a friendship.”

“Sending messages by mage? That’s expensive for a penpal.”

“Ah well, that actually ties in to the story about Ma. Ma’s got magic, just a little, she’s a hedge witch of a sort. The issue is, hedge witches mostly use plants, and Ma couldn’t grow grass, so she mostly works with wood. Anyway, she has a friend, her very best friend, is a mage. They grew up together, and my Auntie Szarlotta sent my Papa’s first few messages back to Iliana’s father.”

Geralt smiled atop Roach. Jaskier’s storytelling pace was as familiar as Roach’s saddle, and it was calming in a way. 

“So, Auntie was sending Papa’s message when Ma came in to visit. That’s how she met Papa, because she’d only just moved to Lettenhove. Auntie says it was love at first sight, but Papa insists that Ma turned up her nose and ignored him for months.”

“Which one is it?”

“Knowing Ma, probably both. She’s a little like you, so the second she realized she liked Papa she ignored him so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Geralt huffed good-naturedly.

“Anyway, Auntie Szarlotta agreed to send Papa’s messages for free, and she even included a way for Iliana’s father to send them back, so long as he wrote his response on the back of the same paper. She always timed it though, so that Ma was over when Papa was there. And I guess the rest is history.”

“Except the immortality.”

“Right, well, Ma got really sick when she was pregnant with my sister, I was little so I barely remember but Papa was so worried, and Ma looked really pale. Well, Auntie got really worried, freaked out a little, and she found all these old spells to try to make Ma well again. I remeber the light, she was working in a room of the old lighthouse and I could see the light of her spells from my window. Anyway, eventually she tries some on Ma, but they don’t work, and she just keeps trying.”

Geralt had an image of a frantic sorceress being watched by a young Jaskier through a crack in a door. 

“But I suppose some of those old spells need a little time to work because nothing at all worked and then they all sort of worked at once. There was this big, bright light and then Ma was well, and she and Papa haven’t aged a day since then.”

Geralt glanced at his lover, who looked the same at fifty as he had at twenty. “And you don’t age? What about your sister?”

“Ksenia hasn’t aged either. She looks like Papa, just so you know, grey eyes, blonde hair. She’s got two kids, now, but I haven’t met them.”

“Do the kids age?”

“Right now they’re very young,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t stop aging until nineteen or twenty, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

“How do you know she has kids?”

“Oh, well, Auntie Szarlotta sends letters to me, but we travel and it’s hard to send them right to me, so I just pick them up at Oxenfurt.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. He needed to go to Lettenhove. Jaskier had met his sort-of-family, he should meet Jaskier’s. 

“I’d love to go see them...” Jaskier said, wistfully. 

“Who?”

“My niece and nephew, they’re almost two and three years old now.”

Geralt picked Jaskier up by the collar of his doublet and placed him onto the back of Roach. 

“We’ll spend the winter in Lettenhove this year,” he said as Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist.

“Really?”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt needed to ask Jaskier’s father for his hand in marriage, anyway.

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

They made it to Gwendeith just after mid summer, riding into the little town at noon. Despite the season, the little mountain valley was shaded and cool. Jaskier shivered slightly and Geralt had to resist the urge to pull his cloak from his pack. From that point forth, they weren’t supposed to be in love.

Fuck.

They had to request a meeting with the mayor, which didn’t surprise Geralt. In a town such as this, logging and mining were the main industries. Trading for food to last over the winter began early and was of the utmost importance. That left Geralt and Jaskier, unfortunately, sitting with a man who introduced himself as Sir Boris.

Apparently he was a retired knight who acted as a sort of captain of the guard, except there wasn’t much of a guard. His wife Lady Olenka joined them and the two of them talked about their grandchildren until Geralt could feel his eyes rolling back in his head. 

At any other time, Jaskier would have placed one gentle hand on his wrist, which would have fortified Geralt, but they couldn’t. 

“But you’re here for Iliana,” Sir Boris was saying. “Dreadfully sorry you can’t see her today, I’m afraid there’s been an issue with the lumber trade to sort out. You’ll just have to have my darling Lenka and I as company until that’s done.”

He sent a huge wink to his wife, a slim, elegant woman, who chuckled and playfully hit him on the shoulder, to which Sir Boris pretended to be wounded before throwing back his head and laughing hugely. Everything the old knight did was huge, he was a large man with a round, red face and large belly and a laugh that could shake walls. 

“It’s no trouble,” Jaskier said. “I’m sure preparing for winter is a year round project here.”

“Oh of course,” Lady Olenka said. “But once it’s here we can all relax, and spend time with family.” She leaned forward as if imparting a delightful secret and said in a stage-whisper, “Boris has been our town’s Father Winter for the last four years.”

Jaskier made impressed ‘ooh’ noises and Geralt tried to at least look like he understood that. 

Boris laughed again. “It’s this lot,” he said, slapping his round stomach. “Better than some old geezer with a pillow down his shirt, eh?”

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

“And you must make a lovely Mother Winter, Lady Olenka,” Jaskier said politely.

She smiled, lines crinkling around her eyes as if drawing a road map. “It’s not as important as Father Winter, of course, but I rather pride myself that I plan a very good Midwinter festival.” Geralt got the sense that behind the modesty she was quite proud, and, he suspected, with good reason.

“But, you must tell me,” she said, modestly changing the subject. “Is there to be a missus Pankratz, now that you’ve come to see Lady Iliana?”

“I am a man in love,” Jaskier said. “And I am hopeful that an engagement will come soon, yes.”

“Oh dearie that’s just lovely,” Lady Olenka said, patting Jaskier’s cheek. “And you’re such a nice boy too, little young looking to be betrothed to our Lady Iliana anyway, although she’s a very dear woman.”

“We just love her,” Sir Boris said. “She’s a great mayor, not keen on marriage, but nobody minds, she just seems to have adopted the whole town as family.”

Lady Olenka patted her husband’s broad shoulder. “It was smart of you not to bring your love here, though. There’s some nobles here from Lyria, that’s who she’s been trading with, and I think they’d like any excuse to disparage here.” She lowered her voice again. “You know how those lot are about having women in charge.”

“I can’t relate,” Sir Boris laughed. “Lenka’s the ruler in our house.” That got a laugh because it had to, and because Sir Boris’s laugh was surprisingly infectious. 

“Good on you bringing a bodyguard too,” he said once the laughter had abated. He slapped Geralt companionably on the back, which was like being hit by a friendly battering ram. “Witcher too, don’t get many up here, but I bet you’re the safest man in a hundred miles.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you know?” Lady Olenka said. “Lord Julian here is a bard as well, he goes by Jaskier and sings all about witchers.”

“Really?” Sir Boris said, looking at Jaskier. “Blimey, imagine that. Good on you, finding a niche in the market.”

Geralt’s ears were beginning to ache. Friendly though Sir Boris might be, he didn’t seem to have a volume level below ‘deafening’. He was tired and overwrought and he just wanted to cuddle up with Jaskier in a bed. It wasn’t even suppertime, though.

They sat through another hour of hearing about Boris and Olenka’s eighteen grandchildren. 

“And three great-grandchildren,” Boris added proudly.

Geralt was thankful Jaskier could carry the conversation. He longed for a kiss, though. Now that he knew he couldn’t have one, his lips fairly ached for one.

Supper was a large affair, with one of Boris and Olenka’s children’s family over for dinner as well. Geralt was seated across from Jaskier between two small children who, apparently, needed to be separated at dinertimes to prevent bickering. They contented themselves instead by asking Geralt every question they could think of, often making him wrack his brain for child appropriate answers.

It wasn’t just witchering questions, either. He answered such questions as “Why is the sky blue?” (Because it’s Melitele’s favorite color). Immediately before answering “How big are dragon scales?” (The small ones are like pebbles and the big ones are like shields.)

Jaskier smiled at him over his bowl of stew, eyes sparkling. Geralt loved children, and Jaskier loved seeing them adore Geralt.

“So, Lord Julian,” Boris and Olenka’s daughter began. “Your lady love, tell us about her?” She smiled Lady Olenka’s warm smile and Jaskier did a good show of seeming bashful. 

“My love is unlike any other,” he began. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, I’m a poet, and so must wax poetic.”

“Wouldn’t settle for anything less, lad!” Boris bellowed cheefully.

“My darling has fair hair, like moonlight,” Jaskier said, and the table oohed appreciatively. Geralt felt his ears get hot.

“And eyes like summer,” the bard continued. “I could get lost in them. No eyes could compare.” Geralt kicked him under the table, but Olenka was sighing sympathetically.

“But of course,” Jaskier said slyly, my heart is best held by my love’s lips.”

Boris chuckled knowingly. “I’ll bet it is, my boy,” he said, winking. Olenka slapped his arm, but she was smiling. Geralt felt hot.

“I’m afraid, however that my lover is quite modest, and won’t appreciate me extolling too many virtues,” Jaskier finished. “So I must finish with, I love them very much, and it is for them alone that my heart beats.”

Therewith leaving every person at the table (those above the age of twelve, at least) with misty eyes, Jaskier helped Lady Olenka clean up supper. Geralt helped put the dishes away.

After dinner they were led back to the mayor’s house. “I’m afraid the negotiations don’t seem to be finished,” Lady Olenka said. “I had hoped they would be quick, but it seems not. If the issue wasn’t resolved today, I wouldn’t bet on them being resolved too early tomorrow, either. You two don’t have pressing business elsewhere?”

“No, my lady,” Jaskier said, although if they lingered too long they wouldn’t make it to Lettenhove for the winter, as it was, it would be close.

“I’m sure she’ll be able to see you soon,” the lady said. “Here’s your room, and Master Witcher, your room is just at the far end of the hall.”

She said goodnight and Geralt hoped she couldn’t see the slump of his shoulders.

Separate rooms.

Jaskier smiled ruefully at him and they parted for the night. Geralt’s bed was large and comfortable, with clean linens and feather pillows, but he barely got a wink of sleep.

-- -- -- -- -- --

The next morning found Jaskier and Geralt breakfasting in the tavern, owned, apparently, by another of Boris and Olenka’s grown children.

“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier whispered over a plate of sausage and eggs.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Jaskier said. “Want my last piece of bacon? I’m stuffed.”

Geralt took it gratefully, slipping Jaskier his fried slice as a trade. No matter how Jaskier protested that he was stuffed, he always had room for a fried slice.”

“Terrible woman,” said a nasal voice at the next table. “Just impossible to do business with.”

“I agree, overemotional, you know how they get,” agreed another voice. Jaskier made eye contact with Geralt. The accent was Lyrian.

“Not even married,” said the first speaker. “What a disgrace. If my daughter got to her age without children I’d just die of shame.”

Geralt pitied his daughter.

“Oh of course,” said the second man. “Attractive, though, for an old maid.”

The first man snickered cruelly. “Thinking a little wooing might soften her up?”

“It always does, women like that, they’re just angry because they haven’t found a man.”

“Won’t your wife mind?”

“Are you going to tell her?” Both men laughed unpleasantly.

A serving girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, came around the tables, presumably one of Sir Boris’ many granddaughters. She took their plates onto a tray and smiled when Jaskier slipped a few coins onto the tray as a tip.

At the next table  one of the Lyrian’s snapped their fingers impatiently. The girl rolled her eyes. Geralt was pleased to see that, although she served him professionally, as she walked away she ‘accidentally’ tread on his foot.

“What pathetic pieces of shit, the pair of them,” Jaskier said as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt agreed. Then he looked around quickly and pulled Jaskier into an alleyway, urging the bard deeper into the shadows. 

“What? Geralt di-”

Geralt smushed his lips gracelessly to Jaskier’s, crowding him up against the wall. Jaskier’s hair between his fingers was so familiar and comforting, as was the little sigh Jaskier let out.

They pulled apart and Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “That’ll tide me over for a while,” he whispered. Jaskier smiled.

“Are you master Julian?”

The pair sprang apart, looking in alarm at the red headed boy at the far end of the alley. 

“Yes...?” Jaskier said.

“Only, Pa said to come find you, and he said you’d be with a big man dressed all in black.”

“And you found us here?” Jaskier asked.

“Didn’t know you’d be here, did I?” Said the boy, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s the shortcut through to the tavern, but then, I figured he’s the only big man in black around.”

Geralt inclined his head, feeling his ears go hot.

“Lady Iliana has time to see you now,” the boy continued, oblivious to the awkwardness. 

“By all means...lead the way,” said Jaskier.

They were led out of the alley and back to the mayor’s house by the messenger boy.

“Out of curiosity,” Jaskier asked. “Is your grandad Sir Boris?” 

“Yeah, that’s him,” said the lad. “He made me a toy sword for my tenth birthday too.” He pointed proudly to the wooden sword tied at his hip with some string.

“It makes you look a proper hero,” Jaskier said. Then he pulled out his coin purse. “A copper for bringing us the message and...another to not tell anyone what you saw.”

The boy looked between the two of them shrewdly.

“Not even my best friend? I tell Mikhail everything.”

“Not until Geralt and I have left.”

“Three coppers total,” the boy said promptly. Jaskier handed them over good naturedly and the boy flashed a gap toothed grin before taking off.

Geralt and Jaskier shrugged at each other, before finding their way to the main room of the mayor’s house. A broad shouldered woman of about fifty poked her head out of a door.

“Julian?”

Geralt and Jaskier went inside.

“You look well,” Iliana said, sitting behind a large desk and gesturing to a couple chairs. “You havent’ aged a day.”

“And you look as lovely as I remember,” Jaskier said.

“Flirt. Come to ask me for heirs?”

Jaskier shuddered. “No, my lady. I remember your threat well. I think you know why I’m here.”

The two Lyrians barged through the door. 

“Did I ask you to enter?” Iliana said, coldly. Geralt felt an unusual curl of fear set up in his stomach, she was a distinctly fearsome woman.

“Well,” said the first Lyrian.

“You were so beautiful, I couldn’t wait on seeing you again,” said the second, slimily.

“Oh I say!,” Iliana said, standing. She placed her hand over her chest in a delicately offended way, which was ill suited to her. “You sir are too bold, and in front of my betrothed too!”

The Lyrians looked, panicked, at the people sat in the chairs. As Geralt was seated in the chair nearest the door, and therefore nearest them, they came to the wrong conclusion. The blood drained from both their faces.

“What an insult!” Iliana continued. “You should be ashamed! What a lack of diplomacy!” 

Beside Geralt, Jaskier snickered. She was laying it on a little thick. 

“Why,” she continued. “I ought to write to your king! I’ve never been so insulted. And I’m sure my beloved will want to sort out this insult too.” She fluttered her lashes at Geralt. 

Geralt nearly jumped out of his seat, but thankfully his brain caught up. He stood, growling a little theatrically and placed one hand on the hilt of his steel sword.

“Our apologies my lady,” the first man said hurriedly.

“Our mistake, we’ll just--” they dissappeared out the door.

“What a fearsome couple,” Geralt heard whispered as the door swung shut.

Iliana sighed satisfactedly and kicked her feet up on her desk. “It seems I should thank you,” she said. “That is going to make negotiations much easier.”

“I’m sure you always get good deals,” Jaskier said.

“Yes. I get the deals I want.”

“You know why I’m here,” Jaskier said.

“Yes.”

“Do you agree?”

“To disolve the betrothal? Of course. Never found a lover for myself so I never bothered but, well, I just don’t do romance.”

“Some people don’t,” Geralt said, thinking of Eskel.”

“Indeed,” Iliana said, smiling warmly at him. “Not all of us have a soulmate to sing us songs.” She laughed at their surprised faces. 

“Oh you fooled them, and you may have fooled Boris and Olenka, but I’ve heard your songs, Julian. It’s written right into everything you do.”

She began rummaging in one of the drawers in the desk. “I don’t mind, of course. So few people know we’re actually betrothed...there it is.” She pulled out an old piece of paper. “I’ll just rip it up if that’s fine by you. You’ll have to do the same to yours of course.”

“We’re going to Lettenhove this winter,” Jaskier said. “I’ll do it as soon as I find it.”

Iliana smiled again. “Father always did say that your dad had a horrible filing system.”

“He filed all his papers on the floor, yes, although I imagine my sister is neater.”

Iliana tore the paper in half without ceremony and placed the contract in the waste paper bin. “Lettenhove is very far away, Julian, will you get there in time?”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. 

“I don’t know,” Geralt said.

“No matter,” said Iliana. She began writing something on a new sheet of paper. “Our logging teams float lumber all down the Dyfne and Pontar rivers. Show this to the dockmaster at the tip of the Dyfne and our riverboat captains can get you to Novigrad.” 

She pulled out another sheet of paper. “Once you’re in Novigrad, show this to the harbormaster and he’ll get you to Lettenhove.” She looked at their shocked faces and smiled. “Our lumber is the best, and it’s used in everything, including ships. I’m willing to cash in a favor in order to get rid of a useless betrothal.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jaskier said bowing deeply. “I’ll have my Aunt Szarlotta send a message once our betrothal is fully extant.”

Iliana stood and shook his hand. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Our fathers were penpals,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps we should keep up the tradition?” 

The mayor inclined her head. “I’d like that. I may be too busy to write often.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I can only pick up messages when I pass through Oxenfurt, but I like to make friends with powerful people.” 

The two of them shared a smile.

“Not to rush you out my door,” Iliana said. “But I do have a lot to do, winter comes early up here, and I know it does as well in Lettenhove. even with my help, you two should leave soon.”

Geralt and Jaskier left that afternoon, just after a hearty meal at the tavern.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Across the continent and some weeks later, Jaskier and Geralt stepped onto the docks in Novigrad.

“I don’t think Roach liked the river boats,” Jaskier said as Geralt led her off. Roach whinnied and shook her mane emphatically.

“Sorry, girl,” Geralt said. “You’ll have another long boat journey, and this time I doubt we’ll stop so you can run about on land.”

“Nah,” Jaskier said, as they walked toward a tavern for supper. “Boats from Novigrad to Lettenhove stop around the coast on the way, she’ll get plenty of exercise. It’s something to do with the currents.”

He petted Roach’s muzzle softly as they stabled her at the inn beside the tavern and Geralt felt his heart go out to his bard. Jaskier cared so much for Roach. Geralt thought again of the gold band in his pack.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

-- -- -- -- -- --

Slightly more than a month later, after a slow, coastal boat journey, and then another between Inis Porhoest and Lettenhove, Geralt, Jaskier, and their faithful horse, stepped off the final boat.

“Welcome home, Master Julian,” said a fisherman on the dock.

“Does everyone here know you?” Geralt asked.

“Pretty much, there’s only about three hundred people here.”

News spread fast among three hundred people and Jaskier and Geralt were greeted enthusiastically at the door to the very small castle. A blonde woman who could only be Ksenia, Jaskier’s sister, flung her arms around him, and withing a moment Geralt was being gathered into the hug by a slightly older looking couple.

“Julek,” said the blonde man, pulling back. “My boy, you’re home, and you brought this stunning man, wow, what a looker.” 

“Papa, don’t be embarrassing,” Jaskier said. Geralt flushed clear to the roots of his hair. Apparently when Jaskier said he had his father’s personality he meant all of his father’s personality.

They had dinner as a family, including Jaskier’s niece and nephew, Cecylia and Prot. They had questions for Geralt, and he was grateful for the practice he’d had in Gwendeith. It was an enjoyable meal over all, and afterward Jaskier was distracted by his Aunt Szarlotta while Geralt slipped away to ask Mr. Pankratz a very important question.

The two of them returned to the main hall to see Jaskier pretending to be a dragon, while Cecylia and Prot bravely fought him with butterknives, but he straightened up when he saw the look on Geralt’s face.

Geralt took his hand and Jaskier squeezed it three times, it was their code, asking if Geralt needed to go somewhere that wasn’t so hard on his senses. Geralt smiled and shook his head, swallowing nervously around the lump in his throat.

He got down on one knee and pulled out the gold band. “I’m...I’m not good with words.” Geralt swallowed again, wishing he could borrow Jaskier’s eloquence for five minutes or so. “Marry me?”

The words were barely out from his mouth before Jaskier was tackling him to the ground, pressing kisses all over his face.

“Oh Geralt!” he said. “Wait--”

Jaskier looked up at his mother, who smiled and was handed a paper by his Aunt Szarlotta. Mrs. Pankratz ripped the betrothal contract in half.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, laughing. “I will marry you!”

Then they kissed on the chilly stone floor.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Dear Lady Iliana, Mayor of Gwendeith

The former contract has been voided. 

Szarlotta of Lettenhove

P.S. Geralt and Jaskier are engaged and send their love.

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Holy Cow. 5603 words. I...I don’t even know what to say. I hope you like it.