#fire devil was not on my bingo card

[shysheeperz]

[death---dealer]

koba x reader pls pls he doesn't get enough love compared to caesar

We love 1 ( One ) Bonobo on this Blog. I really hope this is good, I'm the worst with trying to pick apart new characters to write for AAAA.

Title: End Of Day. Fandom: Planet of the Apes. Pairing: ( Slightly, just a tease haha. ) Implied Koba x Reader. Words: 3K+ ( How? I don't know don't ASK ME. ) Rating: T ( Mentions of aggression, animal abuse. ) Summary: Your favorite thing to do? Annoy Koba. ( I am bread crumbing here. Someone eat my bread crumbs and ask for MORE. )

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Koba was sure to make sure you knew your place. From the moment you stepped into the Colony, with every move you gave, every word you either said or signed, every breath you took was accounted for, almost painstakingly so. It wasn’t your fault you were found by Caesar’s army, half dead and dragged back, nursed to health by some lovely Chimps wearing intricate face masks, that in your heated haze of injury, looked remarkably like medical masks.

It wasn’t your fault that Caesar offered you refuge after you explained the circumstances that left you almost dead; you were turned on by your fellow group of Humans for expressing the opinion that maybe… The Apes were not so bad, maybe they were just trying to survive much like you all were. Bad choice of opinion to have in a group of people who were terrified of the sun. Rather than just letting you out with you opinions, they ended up beating you to a bloody pulp, taking all the things you had scavenged for, and left you in the woods. Fear made Humanity turn against itself, and that was your clear cut example. 

So, that’s how you found yourself where you sat. Perched rather comfortably in front of the fire of the Colony, taking in grace the way that the flames roared in front of you. You could see Caesar and Maurice from your position, signing away without any caution. What were they talking about? You had no idea, the heat from the fire resulted in the warping of the air around you and the signing looked blurred. You had just wrapped dinner up, enjoying the regular assortment of Fall dishes.

Some fish, an Elk caught by Caesar’s hunting party earlier in the day, more nuts than there were berries; just a circumstance of the weather. All things you enjoyed, but not as much as you enjoyed antagonizing your favorite Bonobo. Tilting your head at that thought, you took a moment to glance around the Colony. Speaking of the devil, Koba was nowhere in sight. He usually sat himself along with Caesar and company for meals, taking in some refuge to talk about strategies about the human camps that were too close to the Colony. Koba always suggested just attacking. Caesar always shot him down.

Koba would then look at you like Caesar’s reasoning was solely your fault. You’d stare back at him, unnerved and knowing that if he were to do anything to suggest harm to you, Caesar’s fist would come down on him again. Metaphorically, of course. Apes together are strong, apes do not kill apes. 

If you could record the interactions between Caesar, Koba and yourself, it would make for some good Reality TV. You laughed at that to yourself, knowing that no one else around you was going to understand unless you explained in detail what you were talking about. You had patience for many things, but explaining brain-rotting TV to the Colony was not on your bingo-card, at least this evening.

Shifting your body just a bit, you pulled the sleeves of your shirt down to encase your forearms and let your eyes trail back around so you were looking at Caesar and Maurice again. The Orangutan must have noticed your stare, giving you a slight gesture with the move of his head. Smiling at him, you fell pensively into the flames in front of you and how they moved. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do when you were by yourself, when Koba wasn’t around. He was seated drama for you, and at least you got the pleasure of communicating verbally when with him, even if it was all aggression and arguments. You recalled in almost vivid detail your first spark of aggression from him. It wasn’t the absolute mad-dog stares he gave you when you finally emerged from the medic portion of the Colony. Or when you sat for the first communal dinner, not sure of the etiquettes. You imagined he complained to Caesar the entire dinner about your mere presence. Oh, no no. He avoided you deviously then, and tried his best to do that going forward. Out of sight, out of mind for Koba though he admittedly found himself a bit obsessed with the hatred he had for you. It was all humans, but now it was streamlined to just you for the time being. 

You were placed in a delicate situation of circumstances. The streamline had to have started when you accidentally mistook him for a Chimpanzee. The absolute animosity as he went off the rails, telling Caesar things like how stupid you were to not know the difference, how you didn't belong there, how you were too human for any of them and needed to know your place and that Caesar needed to do something about you before you tore down the Colony with ignorance. 

It was an honest mistake, you tried to explain in the moment. It wasn’t your fault once again that… Chimpanzees and Bonobos looked remarkably similar. The only times you had seen either were in Zoos when your were a child! Koba did not look too kindly on either and absolutely tore into you in broken English and a few signs at the mention of a Zoo falling from your lips. A place, to him in his resolute mind, that meant nothing but torture and was just a means to keep them in cages, away from actually experiencing life, only getting glimpse from the hands of humans. He hated it, he hated how loosely you had talked about it. He hated you. You were tentative to leave the conversation, more offended than anything at the fact that he got angry at your ignorance and didn't even offer the chance for you to explain yourself or apologize. 

You apologized to Caesar later that night after dinner, who took the apology as sincere and who gave you a bit of insight about Koba as a piece of mind; sensing that maybe you needed the information to make your own judgment about his friend and not just ones based on pretenses. The years he spent in facilities after what happened with his mother and caretaker from the TV stunt he did. He was literally being tortured again and again at the expense of Humanity's gross negligence and sadistic curiosities. Caesar explained his scars - all of them against his arms, legs, his face and his eye. 

With each word the Ape King told you, your heart sank a bit more in empathy. No creature, as nefarious as Koba acted or not, deserved such things and it opened a door for you to be a bit more accepting and understanding that his bias towards Humans, towards you, were rooted in deep fear and alienation. Caesar told you to never take what Koba said to heart, Koba was bred to fear, bred to run from any notion that Humans could be good and nothing you were going to do or say would save him from that. You nodded in quite understanding to Caesar. 

And that’s how you fell into your enjoyment of annoying him. You had tried to be kind to him multiple times with no avail, each time mentally beating yourself up at the fact that Caesar had warned you that goodwill was not going to be reciprocated or appreciated. So, you began to give it back to him just as hard as he gave to you. It was a fun game, most of the time. Koba usually got caught by your bitter remarks towards him and he’d stand down before aggression really bubbled to the surface and he’d do something to garner the wrath of Caesar. Instead, you opted into the enjoyment of staring at each other during breakfast, mid-day meals when they happened, and dinner. You found it mildly endearing the way that he complained to Caesar that things around the Colony were starting to smell like humans. Starting to smell like you. 

You chuffed at that and smelled your sleeve. It smelt like the creek you washed it in. You had no idea what that comment was about. You were just as smelly as the rest of them, actually more than you really cared to admit, for your own tastes but that was down to the Simian Flu taking the advantages of showers and soap from you. If he was going to say something mean, he needed to do it about something you had no control over and that’s how you ultimately kept yourself rather level headed in the game you had going with Koba. He took offense to your personal issues without really knowing the deeper meaning, if there even was one.

Every step you took was full of intent to Koba. Every blink you had was full of malice to Koba. Every breath you made was just the worst to Koba. It meant you were still alive. All everyday activities were scrutinized, and you just had to laugh at that. How much he despised you to the point of obsession. You’d joke around with him and imply that maybe he didn't hate you, that maybe he actually really liked you, but that was taking it a bit too far and you wondered if that was going to be the straw to break the camel's back, to get him to actually lurch at you out of defense. The sun had set at least half an hour ago, your back now feeling the chill as the brisk air of the ocean came rolling over the land. Always at the same time of day during the Fall, always right at bed time and you found yourself wrapped in many pelts just to cope. Maybe he got busy, you thought to yourself and began willing your body to get enough energy tohead back to the nest that Caesar was so gracious to offer you for as long as you wanted to stay. A voice absolutely tore you from whatever state of consciousness you were floating around in, reminiscing about when you arrived, thinking longingly about the things you left behind from the Flu… Whatever they said, you made the assumption that they were not talking to you. Why would they? You were just minding your own little--- Ah, the voice spoke again, you noticed the gruff nature, the harshness inflicted into each of the words. Koba. And he was asking you what you were still doing out, sitting by the fire. You really had no excuse and looked over your shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow at wonderment at where he had been for dinner. You had no entertainment.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear what you’re asking me over your loud breathing sounds.” You were referencing the huffing he often had around you, the anger palpable from his body at the release of your comment. He sauntered towards you, your internal primal instinct being that of fear but you just peered up at him when he was right next to you, arms apart in defense, legs holding himself to look larger, more intimidating. It surely worked, the gait he used coming towards you put your heart into a skip and it felt like it was sitting in your throat with realization.

You’d never been alone with Koba- you always had your buffer. Caesar, usually, had the easiest time taking his friend down from the ledge, but Maurice has taken his due diligence, as well as Blue Eyes when Koba said something about you he didn't agree with, who very much like his father, told you not to take anything Koba said about you seriously. “Caesar…” You narrowed your eyes as he began to speak, already aware that his one good eye was more than good enough to see you in impeccable detail despite the only light source being from the bonfire that was slowly dying. “Has you waiting for Koba?” “I’m honored you think I’m waiting for you.” Rolling your eyes at the audacity of his statement, you stood up. He was only an inch or so taller than you when he was bi-pedal, but the fact that he was pure muscle as compared to your very slinky form of human was enough to give you a slight pause as you considered sizing him up teasingly. He’d probably think it was a real threat from you and tear your face off. Quickly, you decided against it and muttered to him, “Move. I want to go to sleep.” He didn't. You sighed, rolling your eyes again and tried to move past him but with every step you took to the side, he followed suit. You didn't have any excuse to wait for him by the fire--- IF!! That was what you were doing, which it definitely was not. You simply lost track of time and didn't move. Good justification, you patted yourself on the back and looked at the Bonobo in front of you.  A part of your heart shifted. You had been close to him plenty of times, usually when he charged at you before Caesar had to tell him to back off. But, now, this close and without any movements, you really got a good look at his face and how… How almost sad he looked. 

The scarring on his face against his natural skin was jarring, so bleak and faded from years, his bad eye was ghosted with white but you swore it was looking right into yours with the intensity of his gaze. The fragment of empathy you always had towards him surfaced. You felt a tiny urge to reach up and lightly trace th--- Oh my GOD what were you thinking? You blinked that thought right out of your mind and stared at him again, focusing on the expression of his face rather than the minute details. It was perpetually as grumpy as ever, his expression. But it was often capsized by a look of anger or annoyance, depending on how he felt that. Anger when you said or did something stupid, annoyance when you were just hanging around for no reason. In this case? A little bit of both, but more annoyance. Swallowing softly, you felt your fingers twitch as Koba’s gaze pierced you like a thousand knives.. “Why are you so late?” You muttered finally, your breath expanding onto his face from the mere proximity. Koba scoffed at you, now returning you the absolute pleasure of having his breath in your face before dropping to all fours and heading to the left to pick some food before bed. Your eyes followed his movements, always mean and hard, but maybe that’s just how he felt he needed to hold himself after what he had been through. “Not… Human business.” That was a fair and valid point, and in most instances, you would leave it alone but you decided to push, having not gotten enough stimulation from him during the day. “Well, we really missed your cheery attitude. I had to eat all by myself, no Koba staring longingly at me.” There was sarcasm leaking through every pore of your being. Koba bit into an apple; his canines shone in the light of the flames of his action. The bite he took was large, chewing just as roughly as he had bitten into the fruit. “Had... things to do.” “Like what? Bring me with you next time so I can start to annoy you on your outings. I get bored here.” Koba growled ever so slightly. He didn't like being questioned by anyone, especially by you. It felt oddly like an interrogation. And the suggestion? He’d rather gouge out his other eye than take you with him, anywhere. Well, not that… He’d take you with him. If it meant he could beat you to an inch of your life, his fists taking relished silence in how they’d crush your ribs, how they’d beat you to submit to him, how he’d bring your face closer by holding your hair and make you admit all your ignorant human mistakes. Submit, submit! That idea lingered in his brain before he forced it back out. No, no. He did not want you to submit like you had submitted to Caesar, a topic of conversation that Koba did not enjoy. A topic of conversation that Caesar denied, being in any sort of advancements with you, being intimate with you. Koba was just making accusations to get you to go away. 

“No.” You tilted your head at his answer, the fact that he didn't give you anything snappy in return like he so often did before he turned, picking a few more pieces of fruit up and trailed away. You watched him in shattered silence. He had to be up to something, you figured as his figure disappeared into the darkness, towards the nest he had made for himself so many years ago. You wanted to follow out of loneliness, now left to your own devices for the rest of the night but you stopped yourself. He’d probably bark at you for following… Tell you to back off, maybe even snarl at you in the typical Koba fashion. But, he wouldn’t do anything, Caesar would make sure of it. He’d sit in petulant aggravation as you bothered him about the details of your day. You thought about that and weighed your options. A few seconds later, your feet were pattering on the ground as you followed him, talking once Koba was in range of your hearing. You could see his shoulder tense, figuring he was out of the woods with your relentless chattering. He never understood that about humans, how absolutely grating the small talk was. In fact, Koba sometimes took solace in the mere idea of ripping your lips off. Then you couldn’t talk back, couldn’t ask him things, couldn’t address him. He liked that idea. He liked that idea a lot. He didn't bother to turn towards you as you trailed next to him, Koba’s feet taking him a few steps ahead of you. He’d refuse to walk side by side with you as he took to leading.

 “Seriously though--- Where were you today?” Koba growled in frustration at the sound of your voice. Yes. Very, very annoying the concept of small talk with humans. With you.

[loquaciousquark]

[Fic] She Dwells with Beauty [1/1]

Rating: T Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Word Count: 6.4k Summary: Faced with an uncertain battle, an exhausted party, and the endless fires of Avernus, Tav considers Haarlep's offer. When Astarion disapproves, Haarlep makes a new, much more violent suggestion—and this one Tav can't refuse. Notes: Written in part for the hurt/comfort @sweetspicybingo, and should get me the rest of the way to a completed row! My bingo card is here and will be updated shortly.

--

Despite the general air of seedy opulence, the heat capable of penetrating down to even his well-chilled bones, and the delightfully imminent threat of bloodshed, Astarion was not enjoying the Hells.

The heat of Avernus was in fact too hot. Neither his nature nor his habits lent themselves to easy perspiration, but perspiring he was, and his armor was chafing badly. The magnificence of the surroundings held much less appeal when peopled by barking, retching, weeping souls, and the deeper Tav led them through the halls to rescue a madwoman, the more certain Astarion became that any blood spilled would be their own. The entire situation had become profoundly annoying, and he was very close to exercising lover’s rights to force Tav back to the matter at hand: namely, ending the soul-binding enslavement of her contract. The current foolish conversation she was currently having with this godsforsaken half-naked incubus, as it happened, was decidedly extracurricular, and he was more than ready for it to end.

Hmph. There was room at Tav’s side for exactly one fiendishly charming fellow of unearthly beauty, and Astarion quite happily occupied the entirety of that position. Besides, the devil—Haarlep—laid on the seduction thick enough he could have spread it on a dinner roll. There was no art, no subtlety; it was a gang of murderous brutes in an alley rather than a single elegant stiletto, and Astarion crossed his arms, unimpressed.

--

Links: FF.net, AO3

[altocat]

In the og FFVII when Sephiroth stabs Cloud at the reactor after he burns down Nibelheim, in the French version he says "Ne tente pas le diable" ("Don't tempt the devil") which is a french expression meaning "Don't play with fire/be reckless or take inconsiderable risks."

Idk, just a fun fact I'm throwing in here. I love comparing translations as a bilingual, lol. XD

Evil French Villain-Roth was not on my bingo card but I dig it.

[a-strange-server]

Strange Tales Of Halloween 2023

Hi everyone! In honor of the spookiest, weirdest, and dare we say, strangest month, we have created a prompt list for Doctor Stephen Strange for every day in October! Last year saw a hord of spooky, ghostly works created for the occasion. We are hoping this year will be as much fun!

This list is open to all forms of creativity. Fill as few or as many prompts as you would like in October and tag it with #strangehalloween2023 so we can reblog! You can also submit your work in the Strange Tales Of Halloween 2023 ao3 collection.

Full written list and the FAQ under the cut.

Strange Tales of Halloween 2023 Prompt List

1. “What was that? Is somebody there?” | Scales

2. “Wait, kids can trick o'treat here?” | Trapped

3. “Sometimes the world tries to end.” | Spirit

4. “Dormammu, I've come to bargain—“ | Alone

5. “There aren't many of us left.” | Cauldron

6. “I thought you were dead!” | Witch

7. “So what do you do for Halloween?” | Cursed

8. “Is that supposed to be a costume, or what?” | Cat

9. “Well, that's strange...” | Moon

10. “They’re not the traitor. I am.” | Mythological creature

11. “No, don’t tell me that.” | Dimensional breach

12. “Something’s happened to you.” | Shroud

13. “Stay with me.” | Nightmare

14. “Huh… that’s new.” | Future

15. “You what?!” | Celebration

16. “Crap. Imps!” “Imps? Crap.” | Ancient

17. “I know everything. That’s my curse.” | Fire & Ice

18. “I have seen a horror movie before.” | Tradition

19. “I know you!” | Cave

20. “Is that a bloody butterfly?” | Fever dream

21. “Strange... what have you done?!” | Scars

22. “The Cauldron of Cosmos is not a bowl for Halloween treats!” | Supernatural entities

23. “You’re a bad demon.” | Candy

24. “Oh, a meeting with the devil? Just when I thought I have a free afternoon... Fine.” | Baking

25. “No. Tell them to get Ghostbusters, or something.” | Pumpkin carving

26. “There was no other way.” | Horror movies

27. “You messed up the ritual.” | Trick or treat

28. “Nightmare has him.” | Will-o’-the-wisp

29. “Don’t be so superstitious.” | Bog

30. “Are you really afraid of a little black cat?” | Crown of thorns

31. “Donna... Is that really you?” | Tam Lin

◇◇◇◇◇

FAQ:

What must be included in the content of a filled prompt? Stephen Strange (any version of him: film, TV, or comics) must be either the main or co-main character. Otherwise, anything goes!

What must be included in the tags of Tumblr and Twitter posts? Please use the hashtag #strangehalloween2023 and the # of the prompt you're filling (i.e. #no6 and/or #witch). On Tumblr, please include additional tags for NSFW and common triggers (see AO3 for examples).

When can I post my prompt fill? In the spirit of the theme, these should be posted in October! We'd prefer if you post prompts the day of or after the day has passed. For example, prompt 10 fills can be posted on or after Oct 10, and preferably not before.

What medium can I use? Anything! Written prose, poetry, gifsets, mood boards, artwork, all is acceptable as a prompt fill. It's all about Stephen Strange in any form he comes in.

Can I combine Strange Tales of Halloween prompts into one submission (i.e. #1 "What was that? Is somebody there?" and #6 witch)? Sure! If you post it on social media, you can use both prompt tags to help us identify it as such.

There are two prompts per day. Do I have to do both? You can use the sentence prompts, the words prompt, or do a mix of them!

Can I use this prompt list with other prompt lists/bingo cards? Absolutely! Combine it with any other event you'd like to use it with.

Are there any limits to how many prompts I can use/have to use? Nope! Participate with one piece or 31 pieces! Do as much as you'd like--we'll love to see it!

Any other questions? Send an ask to @a-strange-server and we'll get back to you soon. We can't wait to start seeing what you come up with come October!

[respectthepetty]

Another day, another ask, but this time, it's about what are some currently airing shows that you're watching and really enjoying and how would you describe what you like about them briefly?

For example, The Warp Effect: Wholesome and sex positive QL, with so much representation and topics brought up weekly. Nothing like what I was expecting - in the best way.

Happy (Belated) Valentine's Day @sliceduplife! I hope it was kind to you because my response is going to be just like me and my favorite characters - problematic and absolute basura!

To begin, I'm actually going to tell you what I'm rewatching instead of currently watching:

Great Men Academy - Much like 3 Will Be Free and The Warp Effect, Great Men Academy isn't a BL, but it doesn't stop it from being queer af. It has a unicorn that grants wishes, a magical lake that requires nudity to activate, a ghost, a school sanctioned Hunger Games, body swapping, and an Elite level moment:

If you don't get the Elite reference, know that this lead-paint-level-toxic hottie, Cruz, delivered the best line ever uttered in the series:

¡No soy gay! Ni bi. Ni tri. ¡Soy futbolista! (I'm not gay! Not bi. Not tri. I'm a footballer!) <- I say "¡Soy futbolista!" all of the time when people ask about my sexuality without clarification and leave them in their confusion.

*moving on to your actual ask*

The Warp Effect - I came for Joy, the cinematographer who also did KinnPorsche, and Jojo, the director who does everything else I love, but stayed to see all the ways people could come... to an understanding about their sexuality. Also, it's very queer.

My Beautiful Man 2 - I do not condone stalking, but when it comes to my idol and his devoted worshiper, I'm trying to invent new ways of stalking, so Hira can always be within a 100 yards of Kiyoi. They should be more red flags than California during fire season, yet they are wholesome and adorable.

Well...in a very kinky way, kinda like these two wild kids from Secretary

Never Let Me Go - It has a teenager becoming the CEO of his family's multi-million dollar company and another teenager being his bodyguard falling in love! How could I not love it?! It's outrageous! And somehow the most unrealistic thing about this plot is there being a genuine good guy who openly talks about bitcoins, and I LOVE HIM! I did not have falling in love with a man who enjoys "investing" on my BINGO card, but then again, look at my very good boy. LOOK AT HIM!

Hit Bite Love - It's so messy. It has stepbrothers in love, open discussions about condom sizes and lubricant, Kinks-R-Us, a bi Burger looking for his King, and so much more. This past episode hid a pivotal scene behind a paywall due to the two characters having sex in the school's locker room, so half of the plot was missing in the edited version. It made NO SENSE, but I didn't care. Give me all the mess, but I draw the line at taking off your sock and putting it in someone's mouth. BAD BOY! VERY BAD BOY!

The End of the World with You - Japanese BLs stress me out. They give me a lot of an anxiety, and I'm constantly preparing for someone to die or for one of them to be a murderer. Even in the "happiest" Japanese BLs, there always exist this undercurrent of malice..and I'm attracted to it. >insert Ritsu aka El Diablo<

Moonlight Chicken - Eff "More than Friends, Less than Lovers!" That's child's play. Give me my HussyVille Gang Gang! Give me the "we've been breaking beds and each other's backs since day one, but I'm not even sure what his name is, and if I'm being honest, I don't really need to know" squad. Then, on top of that, it's EarthMix doing the devil's boogie?! I waited for over a year for this, and I don't say this often when it comes to men, but the anticipation was worth it.

HIStory 5: Love in the Future - I will always show up to a Taiwanese BL. They are like Rihanna at the Super Bowl. They do the bare minimum but are still very entertaining, include all the fan favorites (domestic bliss, high heat, office romances, good side couples, marriage equality), and pop out with a few surprises. Others may be disappointed, but I am ALWAYS pleased.

My School President - Did you read the list before this? There is a common underlying theme. Even if the show isn't messy, I'm going to find the mess and fixate on it, and it doesn't get stranger than Por's obsession with the chinchilla. GMM better get on merchandising this critter ASAP because there is a gold mine behind this, capitalizers.

Bed Friend - It hasn't started yet, but I'll be watching it. It has a Blue Boy and Red Rascal BUT they are not who would normally be coded that way, which means they are clearly going to have to resolve the reasons why they changed their behavior to cover up their obvious colors. Who hurt our Red Rascal that he turned into a nun? Who harmed our Blue Boy to make him the slutty slut he is? I cannot wait to find out!

Chains of Heart - One word: Papi. Wait, sorry. Let me try again: Poppy. The show has a plot, and I care about it, but...Poppy. He is playing a bad guy, which I got a glimpse of in Love Mechanics, so I'm hoping it means we get to see more of him, and I don't mean screen time, although I wouldn't be opposed to that either. Obviously, I have to be interested in the actual plot since he is a supporting character...but POPPY! mmmm, papi!

[writer-in-theory]

All This and Heaven Too — harringrove.

Summary: When Billy is forced into a contract with the devil after becoming a Victor of the Hunger Games, Steve is there, always. Prompt: C3 - Star-Crossed Lovers // C2 - Hidden Injuries Pairing: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove Rating: Mature (due to content matter) Word Count: 6.2k Content Warnings: Mild Language, Implied Forced/Coerced Prostitution, Implied Rape/Noncon, Somewhat Ambiguous Ending Read On AO3: Here A/N: This is another fill for @billyhargrovebingo and @harringroveson-bingo !! This is my final fill on my Harringroveson Bingo card, and I have to say I have had an absolutely wonderful time participating in this event. As for this fic, it references plot points from Catching Fire so it may be helpful to be aware of the general plot of it (particularly for why those content warnings are there) but otherwise can be understood without having read The Hunger Games.

Harringroveson Bingo Masterlist // Billy Hargrove Bingo Masterlist

The lights on the stage were bright, heating up Billy’s face until he was sure Steve’s hard work on his makeup was ruined. The feel of the sun warming his skin was a comfort, but this artificial light now only tensed his shoulders and put him on edge like he was still in the arena. He ached to be back home, to sit on the beach under natural heat and disappear from the public’s eyes. 

“Billy Hargrove,” Caesar crooned, dramatically sweeping his hands out in a large show of himself. The man was decked out in all blue, from hair to shoes, in celebration of the District Four win. It was gaudy and awful, making Billy ache to be home by the sea. On any normal year, he and Max would have sat on the couch making fun of the grotesque outfit. “Did you ever expect to find yourself here, in the Victor’s chair?”

Yes, he did, because like hell he’d die in the arena so far from the ocean, from his home. He refused to return home in a cheap wooden box to be given ceremonial rights by the entire district, another martyr sacrificed and mourned. After eighteen years of fearing the very slip of paper that had been pulled that year, Billy couldn’t imagine going out without proving to everyone, to himself, that he was more of a force than anyone could have predicted.

“No, Caesar,” Billy chuckled, pulling on the charming smile he’d practiced with his mentor team. Put on a show, and give the people what they want no matter how much bile was summoned to his throat by the sickly sweet warmth. “It’s what I’d hoped for, of course, but I have to thank all of the people from the Capitol who sponsored me. I couldn’t have done it without their generosity.”

The wink Billy sent the crowd shot a wave of nausea through his stomach, rising up in his throat and stopping his improv-ed speech. Give them a show, but at what cost? Was this what he was expected to be each time a camera was forced into his face? When would the games be over?

“Did you know, Billy, that you raised the most money out of any tribute in any Games? That’s remarkable! You should be proud, my dear boy!”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask for anything better. It’s a dream come true, honestly.”

The roaring crowd felt a little more like a death sentence than a celebration.

“Oh, Billy, c’mere,” Steve spoke the second he opened his door. The man standing in front of him looked like a ghost—tanned face as pale as he’d ever seen it, lips pressed flat and blue eyes staring unseeingly over Steve’s shoulder. “Come here, Bee, I’ve got you.”

The moment Steve got his arms around Billy it was like his puppet strings had been cut, the man falling forward into the embrace. He tucked his face close into Steve’s neck, holding onto the back of his shirt like a lifeline. He didn’t cry—he hadn’t in years, ever since the first few nights��but he did sniff harshly against Steve’s skin like he was physically fighting back the surge of emotions. 

They fell into a familiar routine then, one designed through trial and error, and far too many nights spent recovering like this. Steve coaxed Billy into the large bathroom connected to his bedroom, carefully stripping away the clothes that Billy had to wear for his ‘appointment’, as President Snow had insisted he calls them. Steve had prepared a bath just before Billy had arrived, still as hot and full of bubbles as the man liked it. These baths were a luxury the man hadn’t experienced until coming to the Capitol, where he was allowed to indulge in the life he and his district mates bled for. 

Steve helped Billy into the tub, sitting on a small chair behind him so he could carefully and gently wash Billy’s hair. Steve took his time, massaging the man’s scalp and brushing soap through each lock of hair. He could see the moment Billy relaxed—knees slipping down away from his chest and head leaning back against the edge of the tub. His eyes remained closed for a while and neither of them spoke, leaving Steve to fill the air with the soft humming of a song his mother used to sing to him at bedtime. He’d long since forgotten the words, only clinging to the feeling of comfort the tune brought.

“We could do it, you know.” Billy’s voice was rough and low, yet still echoed off of the high ceilings of the luxurious bathroom.

It was dangerous, speaking so plainly here. Steve’s hands paused in Billy’s hair, slipping down to rest on either shoulder. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into the skin there as Steve considered the words carefully.

“Have you ever thought about running away?” a much younger Steve asked from the rooftop of the Tributes Center, arms bracing his body against the railing. 

“No,” Billy answered quickly, sternly. 

“They can’t hear us up here. It’s too windy to put cameras or microphones.” It was impossible to miss the sudden relaxation of Billy’s shoulders at the realization that Steve had considered this, that it wasn’t all some elaborate trap. “It’s the one place we can be real.”

“I’ve never thought about running,” Billy insisted, looking to the side so he could watch Steve’s profile. “I’d consider running with you, though.”

“If that’s what you wanted,” Steve told him once he sparked back to the present, hoping their words were vague enough. It would be silly to think they weren’t being watched at every moment, that nothing was getting back to Snow about the youngest Stylist in the history of the Games and one of the most beloved Victors to date. “If you wanted, we could. I would.”

“You really would?” Billy turned in the tub then so he could look at Steve, leaning up and pressing his hands to Steve’s knees, not caring about the way it soaked his pants. “Even with...everything?”

They’d talked about it before. The wealth, the fame, and the apartment that was more extravagant than anything that existed in Billy’s home District. The life of luxury he’d been born into that Billy had never even had the option to have.

“Without a single second thought,” Steve promised, “I’m going where you’re going, Bee.”

Billy nodded once, relaxing into his new position. He crossed his arms over Steve’s lap, letting his head rest sideways on them so Steve could still run his fingers through blond curls. They stayed like that until the water grew cold, neither of them speaking but never really needing to. It was simply enough to have this time together, even when they knew it wouldn’t last. There would always be a sunrise, and they would always have to get out of bed and pretend they weren’t so close. Steve would have to give bright, praising interviews for Games that made him sick to his stomach, and Billy would continue to do the unthinkable if only to protect his sister.

They would always have nights like these, though. The rest of the world would fall away and they weren’t in the Capitol, they weren’t anything more than Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove, two people who loved each other more than they’d ever loved anyone before.

Steve held onto Billy all night, hoping his gentle fingers might erase every harsh grip his body had been forced to endure.

“Hey, good to finally meet you,” Steve spoke the second he entered the room, hands wringing themselves together to keep from messing with his hair habitually. He didn’t dare look at the tribute until he sat in the soft velvet chair waiting for him—blue, because the designers of the building assumed everything on the District 4 floor ought to be ocean-colored. “I’m Steve Harrington, I’ll be your Stylist for the Games.”

“You,” the tribute clarified, pure amusement in his voice. “That’s a good one, pretty boy. You getting school credit for this?”

“I’m 18, asshole,” Steve snapped immediately. This was the attitude he’d dealt with ever since being chosen for the job—the youngest to ever receive the honor. He was aware that all eyes were on him now, either wishing for him to fail or waiting with anticipation to see what the new generation of designers could bring to the annual honored Games. Steve let his eyes lift from his design book to get his first look at the tribute he’d be working for.

Blue. Blue was all Steve saw, so deep he thought he might drown in it. With curls the color of the sand and freckles splashed across his cheeks as evidence of time spent under the sun, Steve is sure this man was the personification of the beach. 

The tribute also looked smug, like he’d won some secret competition with Steve. “What? Become an Avox over there, pretty boy?”

“My name is Steve,” he insisted, forcing himself to look down at his sketchbook the moment he felt his cheeks heat up. “This is my first year styling for the Games but I am not inexperienced. If you were smart, you’d listen to me.”

“That so?” Billy leaned forward in his chair, smirk turning feral enough that it nearly took Steve’s breath away. His brain sparked with the idea to run, to edge away from this man that looked ready to fight. “I don’t make it a habit to listen to people who call me an asshole.”

“And I don’t make it a habit to save the ass of pompous pricks, but maybe we can both try something new,” Steve snapped before he leaned back in his chair, head tilted back long enough that he could close his eyes and compose himself. No one had ever managed to irritate him as quickly as this tribute did. If they couldn’t figure themselves out, Steve was in for a long few weeks trying to make this man appear charming enough to the Capitol. 

It was only once he felt his heart rate coming down that Steve refocused on Billy. “Listen, we don’t have to like each other. But I want to be the youngest Stylist on a Victor team and you want to not die in a month, so I suggest we work together.”

“Not if you’ll dress me up like a fuckin’ fish,” Billy answered, pure annoyance gathered around every word.

Steve winced at the callback to the Stylist who came before him—an aging man who’d reused the same design year after year with only a few slight color modifications. It was overdone and tacky, doing nothing other than to make District 4 and their tributes look like laughingstocks. 

“I’d rather step into the arena myself than have that mess represent my work,” Steve said bitterly, drawing a shocked burst of laughter from Billy. “No, I have a better idea. And seeing you...it’s perfect.”

Billy raised a brow, shoulders relaxing some after a few sentences of less painful conversation. “Like something you see?”

“You’re terrible,” Steve hissed without the same anger from before. “I was sketching out ideas based on some of the ancient stories that came out of District 4. I’m sure you’re familiar with the God called Triton?”

Something in what Steve said both shocked and softened Billy. He watched the process unfold in front of him—first complete astonishment waking up Billy’s face and then something near fondness settling in on his once harsh features.

“You read the stories?” Billy asked.

“I...yes?” Steve questioned, tilting his head to the side as if that might help figure out the situation. “How am I supposed to represent a District if I don’t know your history?”

“Right,” Billy breathed, shaking his head with wide eyes as if the very thought alone was something perfectly unbelievable. “Let’s get to work then.”

Something was wrong.

Billy didn’t show up after his ‘appointment’. After the first time, barely a year after his victory, when Billy showed up crying, crumpling into Steve’s arms talking about duty, responsibility, and protecting Max, it was all to protect Max, he had shown up every night it happened. 

Steve knew the days the Victor was expected to be in the Capitol—it was impossible to miss the buzzing from men and women alike who all wanted a glimpse of the most successful, most popular Victor to date. None of them knew that it didn’t matter how many looks they stole, how many brief touches and paid-for nights they got, it was Steve that Billy would always return home to at the end of the day.

Until this time, when Steve was left sitting in his entryway waiting by a closed door. 

Steve didn’t sleep that night.

Something was wrong.

“How are you feeling?”

It was cold, on the rooftop of the Tribute Center. Still, it was their place, carved out of a dangerous world only meant to harm, a sanctuary they could find peace for a fleeting moment. Billy was still in his interview outfit, all blues meant to pull out the color of his eyes and remind the people of his warmth. He was stood just at the walled railing, bent forward onto his arms resting against the top of the half-wall. The man had pulled his hair down out of the perfectly styled bun Steve had created, leaving golden curls blowing around his shoulders in the wind. He looked perfectly God-like, more reminiscent of Triton than he had been in costume.

Billy shrugged at the question, not taking his eyes off the lights of the Capitol. No one would sleep on a night like this—Steve could remember every all-nighter on Hunger Games Eve, everyone drinking and celebrating, placing bets on who would be a part of the Bloodbath and who would make it out of the first day set up well to win. He could hear the beginnings of said celebrations down below, practically on another planet from how distanced Steve felt from it now. 

There wasn’t much to celebrate, tonight.

“Feelin’ fine,” Billy answered simply.

“Really?” Steve stepped forward next to him, close enough their shoulders were barely brushing. “It’s okay if you’re not. I couldn’t imagine what you’re feeling now, stepping into...this.”

“I know you can’t.” It was said so simply, so matter-of-factly it made Steve wince. There was nothing factually incorrect, nothing particularly cruel or disparaging, just the simple acknowledgment that Steve truly would never understand what Billy was facing, what he would be forced to do in less than 24 hours.

“I’m sorry.”

Billy scoffed then, as though a mere apology were the thing that could make him angry. “What the hell’re you sorry for?”

When Steve didn’t answer right away, he finally turned to face him. His blue eyes were alight with more than just the moon’s reflection, something more powerful lingering underneath. “What. Are you. Sorry for?”

“I—” Steve chuckled with only the barest breath, running his fingers sharply through his hair when the understanding came rushing toward him. “For having what I have, I guess. For...being born where I was. It’s kinda stupid, isn’t it?”

“Not stupid, pretty boy,” Billy answered, eyes narrowing just enough to get his seriousness across. His lips parted to say something, but the words couldn’t escape before the man was turning his head to look out at the city again. “I’ll miss this the most, I think.”

“The view’s gorgeous,” Steve agreed, forcing his eyes away from Billy’s profile and out at the skyline.

“Not the view,” Billy corrected as gently as Steve had ever heard him. “You. I’m gonna miss you.”

“You say that like you won’t make it out.”

Another shrug again, this one sending a sharp spike into Steve’s heart. Billy was saying it so casually, so simply like the thought of his death wasn’t a new one. Steve supposed for the people of the Districts, it wasn’t. 

“One in twenty-four.”

“One in twenty-four,” Steve repeated, daring to reach out a hand to rest on Billy’s arm. “That’s not zero. You have to come back. For Max, for your friends, for...for me.”

“For you?” Billy asked then, turning his head to reveal the soft amusement glittering in his eyes. “Can’t let you go 0-1, right?”

It wasn’t what he meant, and Steve is sure Billy knows it. He can almost see the request in Billy’s features now, though, the reminder that for Billy everything could be over in a few short weeks. Even as soon as tomorrow, they just didn’t know. Don’t leave him yearning for what he might not get, and don’t leave him distracted tomorrow, Steve can practically hear it yelled between them.

So as much as he wants to say the truth, Steve nods. “You better not ruin my record, Billy. I’ll never forgive you.”

If Billy noticed the slight wobble in Steve’s voice, he didn’t say a word.

Steve nearly cried when a knock on the door sounded the next day.

Any other time he might’ve felt embarrassment course through him at the speed with which he yanked the door open, but now all he felt was sheer relief that Billy had come back.

It was a dangerous game they were playing, and at any second Snow could make his checkmate move to end the whole show.

“Billy,” Steve breathed, reaching out for a hug but stopping short at the other man’s wince. “Oh.” He allowed his hands to hover uselessly in the air before his mind sparked to life with the memory of their routine. “Right. Let’s get you a bath, okay?”

“No.” Billy’s voice was tight like he was fighting off either pain or tears or maybe all of the above. “No bath, just need you tonight.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said softly, moving aside so Billy could step into the apartment. Billy moved like he was on auto-pilot, ghosting through the place until he reached the bedroom. All Steve could do was follow helplessly behind, something dark and cold settling uncomfortably in his stomach. It had never been this bad before, and Steve felt the sharp pang of guilt flood him at the realization that he had no idea what to do to fix it. “Billy, what do you need? Please, what can I do?”

“Just need you,” Billy repeated, voice gruff as he barely waited to slip off his shoes before collapsing into the bed. 

There had to be more. There was no way it was only him that Billy needed, that there really was nothing more obvious Steve could do to help than be beside him. And yet, that was what Billy requested and so it would be what he got. So Steve complied, slipping off his shirt and crawling into bed behind Billy. He pressed as close as possible, wrapping his arms around the man’s body and holding tight. Some appointments were worse than others, some with arrogant Capitolites who seemed to want to win over a Victor themselves. It was never like this though, pulling Billy tight like a rope and seemingly sucking every ounce of fight from his body. They didn’t talk for a long time, Steve simply holding on until he felt Billy begin to relax against him, pushing further back into his hold. When Billy’s fingers traced over the hand Steve had pressed to his chest, Steve knew that he’d come back from wherever his mind had been since the previous evening. 

“Who was it?” Steve murmured into the back of Billy’s neck.

“Brenner,” Billy breathed back, a hand squeezing tight to hold onto the one Steve had pressed against Billy’s clothed chest. “Hey, I’m fine, pretty boy, don’t worry about me.”

Steve sucked in a sharp breath at that one. Brenner was known to be nasty and cruel, even before Steve had been enlightened to the true horrors of the Games. He was Head Gamemaker, popular with the Capitolites for coming up with new and disturbing creatures to stick on the tributes each year. Every year they grew more horrific, more deadly until they almost did more damage than the tributes themselves. He didn’t think the man’s reputation could be any more sinister, and yet he’d managed to surpass any and all expectations. 

“I’ll kill him.” Fear lurched in Steve’s chest when he found the sentiment wasn’t entirely false. No, the next time he was in the same room with the Gamemakers he’d have to steer clear of the man lest he makes the news for becoming the first murderer in the Capitol since its creation. He would though, if it meant Billy never had to hurt like this again, if the man only ever knew peace after this night. 

“How was your day?” Billy insisted.

“Terrible and boring, better now that you’re here,” Steve spoke quickly, distractedly. All he wanted was to focus on Billy, to make sure that he was okay. It didn’t matter what tedium his day consisted of, not when something far more disturbing had befallen Billy. “Are you hurt?”

“Why was it terrible?”

“Billy.” Steve wanted to cry. The back of Billy’s neck was wet, so maybe he already was crying. It was hard to be aware of anything beyond the anguished panic setting deep into Steve’s bones. “Please.”

“What made your day so terrible, Steve?”

Steve sighed, defeated. He knew this game too well and knew better than to go toe-to-toe at it with the Victor. “The Quarter Quell announcement is next week. Promotions for the Games have started back up. Having to be in a room with them all, pretending like all of it is just o—”

“Steve.” Billy’s voice was gentle, though the squeeze of his hand was not. A reminder.

“It’s boring, meeting with these men. Worse now that I know what they did to you. I just want to ki—,” Steve finished, knowing Billy was aware of what he’d meant. It was cruel, to pretend that he was still in love with these Games when all they’d done was torture one of the most brilliant men Steve had ever met, the only man who had ever made Steve feel alive. “Wanted to be with you instead.”

“Me too,” Billy said, “Thought about our place.” And that, alone, was enough to account for a million words. There was something to talk about, something that needed to be said away from the prying eyes and ears of the Capitol. In a week, Steve could hear what Billy wanted to say.

Maybe they were really running away together.

Every thought was halted the moment Billy tried to shift in Steve’s arms, though. He moved his hips first, unable to stop the pained whimper that slipped at the movement, exacerbated by the jolt from his abdomen. 

Billy was hurt. He was hurt, maybe had been since yesterday, and he hadn’t told Steve. They’d been laying in bed for ages and all he’d done was let Steve hold on, never minding how much it must have ached.

Billy was hurt.

“Billy,” Steve spoke then, voice more insistent as he lifted himself up to look at him properly. “Please, let me see. I need to take care of you.”

“It’s fine,” Billy grunted out, turning his face to hide it further into the pillow.

“It’s not fine,” Steve insisted. “You’re hurt and you’re hiding it. Fucking Brenner, he hurt you and I almost didn’t—you could’ve—”

Billy at least was ready to put Steve out of his misery. He sat up and pulled his shirt off, revealing miles of tanned skin once perfected by the repair process all victorious tributes go through now mottled harshly with bruises. Around his ribs, across his chest—where Steve’s hand had once dug in, how much that must have ached—all the way down his sides where dark bruises in the shape of fingers were pressed deeply into the skin around Billy’s hips and—

God, Steve thought he might be sick. 

“Billy,” he breathed, fingers reaching out to brush idly over one of the marks, tears clinging to his cheeks as the Victor grabbed his hand and placed it on Billy’s cheek instead. The man’s tears ran over Steve’s thumb, gathering there in the space between thumb and forefinger. “Is this everything? Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he—”

“Steve.” Billy’s voice was pained, tightened with every ounce of emotion coursing through him. “I don’t want you to see that. Let me keep it separate, who I am with you and what I am for them.”

Nothing else would hurt quite like this. Knowing Billy was in pain, knowing deep down what other injuries Billy was begging to keep concealed from him, knowing it was Steve’s people that were doing this to him, and if he were to do anything about it they would both be doomed. Steve had never felt so helpless, so completely and utterly defeated by the world around them.

“Okay,” Steve conceded, wishing the acceptance wasn’t the only thing he could do to help Billy now. “Okay, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Don’t do anything, Steve,” Billy told him as Steve gathered him back up in his arms, now more aware of where his hands rested. “You can’t.”

“I could,” Steve whispered to the darkened room. “They all love you. If they knew what was happening. If they knew that we...they’d put a stop to it for us.”

“I’ll be okay,” Billy told him, turning gingerly so he could face Steve. They were so close Steve couldn’t really see him, could barely focus his eyes on that button nose he loved so much. “Steve, things are...it’s dangerous, talking like that. Things are changing, you can’t...I need you safe.”

Billy was speaking barely over a whisper, barely audible even in the silent bedroom. It was all so strange, too oddly worded to make even a bit of sense. 

“What are you saying? Billy, what are you doing?” This was dangerous. Each move could be their last, every misstep carefully marked down by Snow until enough strikes were gathered to doom them. Even this, allowing themselves the time to hold each other, could be enough and yet there Billy was, talking about danger and change and—oh.

“The girl from Eleven,” Steve mouthed, didn’t even dare to breathe the words to life for all the weight they carried. Jane from District Eleven was barely twelve years old and still, she’d been reaped. Still, she had fought the odds and won, and still, she’d forced the gamemakers to change the rules for her. She’d refused to kill the final boy, refused to be the harbinger of death that Brenner and the rest of the Capitol had demanded she be. She’d changed the rules of the Games—did Billy mean she was meant to change the rules of Panem?

“Our place,” Billy promised instead of answering, reaching out to press gentle lips to Steve’s. “Then.”

The summons from President Snow wasn’t a surprise after the Quarter Quell announcement. 

When Snow had stood at the podium and announced this year’s tributes would be Reaped only from previous Victors, Steve couldn’t help but feel those cold gray eyes had stared directly at him, that every emotionless damnation of the people who’d come out of the gauntlet alive was meant simply to punish him and Billy.

Steve considered not attending, though the thought only lasted a fleeting moment before he considered what his execution might do to Billy’s focus. 

Because Steve knew his love, knew that Billy would sooner volunteer himself for death before he allowed anyone else to take the fall. 

So Steve dressed up in his newest suit—a silver thing, with sparkling accents that screamed the elegance associated with the Harrington name. He accepted the escort car to the President’s manor and composed himself for a full minute before stepping into Snow’s office. This would be the most dangerous game he ever played, stepping directly into the lion’s den and expecting to be let back out at the end.

“Mr. Harrington, I was pleased you accepted my invitation for tea,” the president spoke, standing by a little wooden table set up by the large window in the corner. Already prepared were two cups of tea, waiting like dark omens of what was to come.

Steve wasn’t naive to what this meeting was—he may be young, but he was a Harrington. He’d been involved in these games from the time he could speak, attending meetings with the most influential people in the Capitol and learning every secret they were willing to divulge. He knew what happened to those marked an enemy by Snow, and knew what was expected of him now.

“How could I refuse such a generous offer?” Steve kept to the script, waiting until President Snow sat down until he slid into his own seat. He let his fingers rest on the handle of the cup but didn’t move it to his lips yet, waiting. “Though I have to admit, I’m not sure I should be wasting the president’s precious time.”

“No? The youngest Stylist in Hunger Games history, the youngest Stylist to produce a Victor, I must say, you’ve impressed me, Mr. Harrington.”

“Please, sir, Steve is fine. Mr. Harrington was my father,” Steve said, polite smile cold on his lips. “You’re too kind, I could hardly take credit for being on a Victor’s team. That was all Billy.”

“Yes, Mr. Hargrove. He’s something of a marvel, isn’t he?”

Snow’s words were still polite, and gentle, but his expression was anything but. There was a coldness in his eyes, a hardness that reminded Steve of all the rumors he’d been told about people on this side of the table from him. Snow was a snake, and had the venom to match. 

“He is,” Steve agreed slowly, fingers tightening around his cup of tea. “I imagine we won’t have a Victor quite like him for some time.”

“I’ve heard reports of you becoming close with Mr. Hargrove. Quite unconventional for a Stylist, yes?”

Steve nodded, tongue re-wetting his lips while he stalled for an answer befitting his image. “I don’t tend to stick to normal convention, sir.”

“No, you don’t, do you?” Snow chuckled before his expression dropped, revealing every ounce of danger that Steve had been warned of all at once. “Tell me, Steve, what is it that you and Mr. Hargrove talk about? After all, you can’t have that much in common with the man.”

“That’s exactly what we talk about,” Steve lied. “He tells me about District 4, and I tell him about growing up in the Capitol. It’s fascinating, hearing how different it is.”

Snow hummed, clearly displeased by the answer. “Steve, I must admit I do hate liars. If this conversation is to continue I do ask that you provide me the truth.”

The truth meant certain death. Though, Steve supposed that the opposite was also true now. This was an Execution Trap, meant simply to lure Steve in. No choice would be enough now, he knew it.

It had to be about protecting Billy now, and whatever change he was sure Jane from District Eleven could bring.

“Well, I have to admit I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” Steve answered, allowing his voice to sharpen. “I’m nothing if not honest.”

“What are you willing to do for him, Steve?” Snow asked, shoulders calm and voice relaxed like he did this every day. He likely did. “You could have everything you dreamed of. Your choice of Districts to style for, every interview you could imagine. You would never want for anything if you gave up this silly game now.”

“I’m actually pretty fond of the silliness. I haven’t gotten to experience much of that before.” Steve smirked at the quick flash of anger that cracked Snow’s perfectly constructed mask.

“You know what they’re planning, Steve. You would give up everything for them? For him?”

Steve hummed then too, sitting back in his seat. “I would give all this and more for him. That is your greatest weakness, sir: you can’t understand why I would.”

“Then I believe this conversation is over. You haven’t even touched your tea, you should finish it before you leave.”

Steve understood the demand for what it was. Pride swelled in his chest when his hand didn’t shake as he brought the cup to his lips. The tea tasted bitter on his tongue as he downed the cup in one go.

The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth by the time he set the cup back down.

Checkmate.

“This is your beach?”

Steve had never seen a place quite like District 4. He’d never been outside of the pristine cityscape of the Capitol, never having a reason to before Billy became a Victor.

“This is the one,” Billy said, grabbing onto Steve’s hand to guide him through the sand. The Victory Tour would begin tomorrow, where the near-nineteen-year-old would have to give speeches for all the tributes he killed or who tried to kill him. For this moment, however, all that existed in Steve’s mind was this: the beach, the gentle crash of the waves on the sand, the sun warming Steve’s shoulders and face, the feel of Billy’s large hand over his own with every callous carefully built through years of fishing erased in a moment. “Used to come here every day with my mom, then with Max or a friend. It’s peaceful.”

“It is,” Steve agreed, wishing he’d been able to see the water sooner. “I’d like to live here. You and I, get a little house by the beach. Can you imagine it?”

“Yeah,” Billy breathed. “Yeah, I can. No one knows who we are.”

“No one knows where we are.”

“Just you and I.”

“None of these dangerous games, no careful moves and strategies lies. Just the beach.”

“We’ll have it someday,” Billy spoke, more sure than Steve could ever think to be about it.

“You promise?”

Billy smiled, looking far happier under the sun here than he’d ever looked in the Capitol. He was alive here. 

“I promise, pretty boy. We’ll have this.”

“So tell me, Billy,” Caesar began, shifting in his seat to cross one leg over the other. “You’re twenty-six. You were eighteen when you won your Games, how do you feel about being back in the arena now?”

“You want my honest answer?”

Caesar laughed, clapping his hands dramatically. “Of course! We wouldn’t want to hear any less from the fan favorite.”

“Well,” Billy started, glancing off to the front row of the crowd where Steve was sitting with the other Stylists. Steve knew the Victors had some plan, knew they were trying to get these Games stopped before they had to protect Jane in the arena. He knew whatever it was had to be risky, and could topple down everything that the Victors who’d volunteered were trying to create. “I wish I could say something good, Caesar, but I admit I’m heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken!” Caesar exclaimed, clutching his hand over where his own might have once rested. “What could have our shining star so heartbroken?”

“What else, Caesar? Love. I’m in love and because of these Games I might never get to tell them.”

Oh fuck.

“Love,” Casesar glanced off-screen with an air of nervousness. The other seven tributes before Billy had done much of the same, trying to pit emotions against the Capitol. After all, they’d been taught to fall in love with each of these Victors and now were being forced to watch them kill each other in a few short weeks. No one was quite as successful as Billy yet, though, who was already sparking murmurs throughout the crowd. “I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet, Billy. This lucky girl is waiting for you back home, surely that’s motivation enough to win.”

“Oh no, Caesar,” Billy said, turning to stare directly at Steve with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. We could change everything.

“He isn’t waiting for me back home. He’s been here this whole time. I’m afraid Steve’s going to have to dress me up for slaughter again, right when we thought we had the happy ending promised to us, to me.”

The crowd was nothing less than explosive. Loud shouts of shock, horror, brief elation at the fact that two of the most popular young men in Panem were in love, and screams for the Games to end, rippled through the crowd. It didn’t stop at Billy, either. With each new Victor, another claim was made, another push for the Games to be halted. The crowd was restless around Steve, agitated beyond belief.

They might really do this.

It may not be enough to stop the Games, or even to allow Steve and Billy the peaceful ending they’d wished so hard for. Steve didn’t know if this would be enough to give him and Billy their beach, but it sparked the starter fire that would take over Panem. Finally, finally, the Capitol was beginning to see and could understand the blood that painted their hands with each new year. 

As the crowd raged around him, Steve looked up at President Snow’s viewing box and smirked.

The stage lights went dark.

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[daniwib]

911 Teen Fic Master List

This is a master list of my Teen rated 911 fic. There are separate master lists of my fic with other ratings.

Drag me through hell (if it means I can hold your hand)

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Whump, angst

Chapters / Length: 12 / 56.6k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: season 3

Summary:

Buck and Eddie finally start to work things out on NYE – but because they collectively have the luck of every devil in existence, things are never that easy. When Buck vanishes, Eddie wonders if Buck is ghosting him, and they really feel the same way about each other after all.

Nevermore

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / MCD (Bobby)

Genre: Heavy angst, Hurt no comfort

Length: 630

Main Pairing: Bathena

Set: post season 3

Summary:

Athena is on the phone with Bobby when the unthinkable happens.

 

Better Together

* one of my personal favorites

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Whump

Length: 3.7k

Main Pairing: Buck & Bobby

Set: season 3

Summary:

Sometime after Buck is back at work after the lawsuit, he and Bobby get trapped together and talk. Well sort of. Buck is more slurring, really.

Survivor

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Crack, mild angst

Chapters / Length: 3 / 9.7k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: post season 4

Summary:

Eddie doesn't like his scars. Buck is going to fix that.

 

(United) States of Affection

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Crack

Length: 7.7k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: season 6b

Summary:

Seeing Chris growing up and realizing that Buck didn’t feel the same way about him as he felt about Buck, Eddie decides to start dating again. It does not go well, until it does.

Or: Eddie dates, Buck is jealous, and Hen and Chim need a new hobby.

 

All-In on Hope

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Crack, angst

Chapters / Length: 3 / 17.8k

Main Pairing: Buddie

Set: season 6b

Summary:

Eddie is holding his cards close to his chest when it comes to his feelings for Buck. Will he take a chance and go all-in, or fold and keep his emotions hidden?

Meanwhile, Buck is trying not to reveal his own hand, but a well-timed shove might force him to show his cards. When Eddie finally asks Buck out, the stakes are high, but the rules of the game are unclear.

AKA the obligatory poker game fic

 

Hollywood and the Royal

* WIP, has not been abandoned.

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Crack. Utter, utter crack.

Chapters / Length: 4 of 8 / 19k

Main Pairing: Buddie, Madney

Set: season 6

Summary:

Buck and Maddie have never told anyone that their family is actually minor British royalty. Their secret is revealed when the King of England is to be crowned and they’re invited to the coronation – along with their unsuspecting partners.

After the group travels to London, they find themselves caught up in a whirlwind of regal events and hilarious mishaps.

 

In the Air tonight

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Crack

Chapters / Length: 2 / 8.3k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: season 6

Summary:

Eddie, devastated at Buck’s infatuation with Natalia, goes to a bar and proceeds to become heavily intoxicated. When a persistent admirer won’t leave him alone, he calls Buck on the phone for help and begs him to be his fake boyfriend.

It does not go the way he thought it would.

For the 911 bingo prompt: Help me, I'm being hit on at a bar, please be my fake boyfriend for a second.

 

Buck's Winning Maneuvere

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Crack, whump

Length: 4.6k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: post season 6

Summary:

A long, monotonous shift leads to a fierce Mario Kart tournament at the fire station. As the racing heats up, so too does the way Buck and Eddie play against each other. Events escalate until they learn that true victory lies not in a game, but in real life.

Or: the one in which Mario Kart becomes more than just a game.

 

Buck's Song

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Public love confession

Chapters / Length: 4.4k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: post season 6

Summary:

Eddie has never told anyone, not even Buck, that he can sing and play guitar. No one finds out until they're watching America's Got Talent and see him walk out onto the stage.

Cherish

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / None

Genre: Whump, angst

Chapters / Length: 7 / 21.8k

Main Pairing: Buddie getting together

Set: season 3

Summary:

After surviving the tsunami with Christopher, Buck found himself suffering the consequences of his actions during the lawsuit. Isolated from his loved ones, plagued by nightmares and a deep fear of water, once his most cherished element, he begins a solitary journey to conquer his water-based trauma. Months later, Buck has long ago reconciled with the 118, and he and Eddie have grown closer than they’d ever been.

Then Buck’s plans to unveil his new hobby to his fire family are abruptly thwarted by an unforeseen accident, leaving everyone in a state of shock – and the future of any relationship with Eddie uncertain.

AKA: the Merman! Buck fic.

An Imperfect Man

Rating / Ao3 Warnings: Teen / none

Genre: Whump, angst

Chapters / Length: 2 / 11.2k

Main Pairing: Ravi-centric, Ravi & Bobby

Set: season 6

Summary:

In the aftermath of an off-duty rescue of a man attempting to kill his own children, Ravi is left floundering. As a first responder, he is torn between his duty to save without judgment and the haunting images of what he’d seen that day.

The child he hadn’t been able to save, left behind to drown, alone and terrified. The child he had saved, left to live with the knowledge of what her father had done.

And the man that had tried to kill them both.

Haunted by the event, Ravi questions himself, and his ability to continue as a first responder. The experience leaves an indelible mark on his soul, raising doubts about his future in a profession he once embraced with unwavering commitment. For how can he save anyone, when the fear that they may not be worth saving lurks beneath?

[weaversweek]

"American pie" - Don McLean

1971 Written by Don McLean

"I wanted to write a song about America, but I didn't want to write a song about America like anybody ever wrote before."

Number 6 in Let's Do It, my personal fifty favourite singles from 1954-76.

Don McLean's magnum opus is this 8 minute 42 second classic, by turn mournful and jubilant and celebratory and reflective. The lyric weaves reflections on Don's life with allegories about the American culture from the mid 50s to the early 70s.

The central motif is "the day the music died", that terrible plane crash in 1959 killing Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper in one moment. But then there are literate motifs - the devil, Jack be nimble, Lenin, kings, queens, jesters, an anonymous girl who sang the blues.

"American pie" sprawled over both sides of a 7-inch single, radio liked to cut it off just as it was getting good. Don could have recorded more - he'd written lots of verses, and just kept the best for the record. Some of the other bits came out in concert, just as Leonard Cohen would do with his "Hallelujah" opus. But it's not a complex song, the basic melody is simple, the chorus needs no second bidding to drill itself into one's brain; Paul Griffin's piano parts give the song an extra oomph and turn it into the classic.

"American pie" came out into a society still reeling from the psychic shock of the late 60s: race riots, burning cities, protests against an unpopular war. It's a study of a society in crisis, and set to a chorus anyone can join in with. Ed Freeman, the song's producer, suggested it was an eulogy for a dream that didn't take place, a requiem for the potential of the boomers' generation.

Nostalgia ain't what it used to be. A generation later, Billy Joel made "We didn't start the fire", a bingo card of scattered memories. A generation later, mother-of-one Madonna covered "American Pie" and demonstrated she didn't understand it at all. The millennial pop star Anne-Marie released "2002", remembering her childhood.

[ct-multifandom]

M’kay I’ve watched Ephemeral live and then rewatched the next morning with subs, and now that it’s been over 12 hours I’m ready to move on to the new Gabriel Agreste trailer and synopsis.

Gabriel Agreste trailer breakdown

Ft. me adapting, improvising, and overcoming the tumblr image limit

This opening image is the one that got spoiled a while ago. People thought it might be a flashback but now I’m not so sure. I think it’s just Gabriel scheming about tonight’s plan. The masks are very trope-y. “Evil rich people party with creepy, unique animal masks”. *insert Squid Game reference* Good ol’ horror-fiction human-sacrificing cult vibes.

Ooo someone pointed out that they look like the zodiac animals with the pig, dragon, dog, rabbit, potentially a rooster up there, but maybe they’re based off the miraculous animals beyond the zodiac too because one looks like a fox and another is kinda cat-like. It’s hard to make out what some of them are.

I’ll be honest, this side of the plot was not even remotely on my bingo card. Took me by surprise. Much to talk about, though.

You know this “Marinette likes Adrien but can’t talk to him” bs is getting ridiculous when Marc and Nathaniel feel the need to Intervene. And the whole girl squad plus Zoe is in on it too, like you know this stuff’s getting serious. The entire Counsel (sans Kagami) is here to orchestrate the ship.

It’s hard to remember that this is only episode nine, meaning that Zoe has used a miraculous, but not Mylene, Rose, nor Juleka, and Alya is still a temporary hero. Man how time flies.

It looks like they’re using a fairy tale themed puppet show to represent the plan? Uh, okay. Corny romantic metaphors aside, did Nathaniel draw Gabriel as Maleficent??? That’s amazing. It’s like in Party Crasher when Nino defaced photos of Agreste Manor as a fortress, Gabe as a devil, Nathalie as a witch, and the bodyguard as a gorilla. I wonder who that figure on the left that’s cut off is. Adrien? Mari? Is she little red riding hood or something?

Where did Marc’s hair thing go? His pineapple leaves? Animation error?

It’s neat that they’re kinda repaying the favor they owe to Marinette for getting them together back in season two. This and Gigantitan feel like a sword in the stone type scenario where everyone tries to make Adrienette canon and nobody can lmao. On a deeper note, I’m really glad they’re doing this because I think this is the episode that’s going to justify them getting miraculous in the future. Kim had Syren, Max had Robustus, Alix had Reverser, etc, so most of the others did something heroic or respectable on at least one memorable occasion as civilians to show how they don’t need miraculous to be heroes. Before, I really thought they’d shoehorn some rushed bs reason into the first half of the hero episode(s), so I’m relieved that they will get a bit more development before that, so Ladybug’s decision to choose them is natural.

Lastly, I have to wonder how stupid this plan is gonna be. In all honesty, whenever characters “have a plan” outside of akuma battles, it always goes painfully wrong. From the synopsis it actually sounds like it doesn’t crash and burn, and that Chloe is the only wrench in it, so maybe it actually won’t be a secondhand embarrassment-inducing dumpster fire for once? Or maybe I’m getting my hopes up cause like. Marinette’s disguise is a sticky mustache.

Obviously it won’t make Mari and Adrien start dating or anything, but now I’m thinking... in the episodes before this they don’t interact much, but afterwards we have Adrien taking Mari’s hand in Mega Leech and the bubbles + “I don’t always get what you’re saying but you always have good intentions” in Guiltrip. Idk idk, feels unlikely that the plan might actually be good just based on how these things usually go.

You’ve heard of candy cane Gabe, now get ready for black licorice Gabe.

Why isn’t Adrien following the dress code? I zoomed in and I think Gorilla is playing with his action figures lol. Did someone bribe him again or is he just bored? Glad to see goth NPC girl could make it. I see a mask type with a long bird beak and one with a big nose like a bear or something.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 have arrived. Time to cause troubleee...

90% sure Gabriel is making a sentimonster of himself to turn into The Collector. The synopsis says that Marinette discovers a supervillain has snuck into the party as well, so I’m thinking she finds the real Gabe as Shadowmoth. Speaking of, so does Felix.

Hopping back to “is the plan actually decent?” another thing I noticed is that Sole Crusher and Queen Banana are before this, aka Chloe’s regression into being an exaggerated mean girl. In this ep, she tries to sabotage the plan, and Mari tries to stop her. Whatever happens, Chloe... seems to actually stop? The only episode after this we’ve seen with her being more than a background character is Optigami where she uses Zoe as a human shield, and she’ll be akumatized in Penalteam, but other than that I can’t remember her causing problems. Maybe Mari will help her realize that her actions are selfish and that she’s putting Adrien, one of her only friends who she just betrayed last episode, in danger. The fancy rich people party plus waitress!Mari setup reminds me of their truce in Animaestro, so maybe, just maybe, we’ll get some Chloe being kinda okay for a while.

*Mario voice* Ponytail Marino

Of course Bob Roth is wearing the pig mask.

The party must be a G.A. designer brand thing because there are... chalkboards? With designs on them in the background.

At first I was confused as to why Kagami straight up punched the book and sacrificed herself head-on as opposed to putting up more of a fight, but then I noticed Maristache in the back behind the stairs, so maybe she’s giving her a chance to escape like what she does later in Optigami.

The plates LB and CN are throwing at Collector are probably just normal plates from the event. Idk what that logo is, though. It doesn’t look like T+S nor the Grand Palais so idk.

Aaaaand this. Hooo boy. We know someone’s learning Gabe’s identity, and it looks like it might be Felix. And it looks like Gabe figures him out. We got that spoiler image of Felix stealing the miraculous which is probably why The Collector targeted him, but how will this end? This is just one if allegedly three times Felix shows up this season.

What’s weird is how Felix seems softer this episode than he did in Felix. What’s the truth; is he a manipulative demon child who’s just that good at lying, is he getting development due to a change in circumstance, or was Amelie telling the truth and the events of Felix were just an atypical manic episode? I always thought Felix would be a villain, hence why the s3 ep is named after him, but maybe he’s more of an antihero like the PV suggested. I hope we learn more about his motives and why he stole the ring last time.

Finally, back last spring, I thought this would be a flashback episode, but it’s mostly not. I think there might still be a flashback because of the interview referencing the Agreste kitchen, which I’m honestly very curious about. I think we might still get a glimpse of the past before the events of the show, however far back they take it.

[cyborg-franky]

Phoenix

My first fic for my OC x canon One Piece Bingo Card!

Marco x OC

Prompt: Phoenix

SFW

Word Count: 633

Header Art: @/rosiinante

“Marco? Marco the phoenix?” he laughed as he stared up at the blond.

“I think he hit more than his leg.” Ace said with a brow raised as he peered down on the grey-haired stranger currently sprawled out on the deck, surrounded by grey feathers.

“Yes, it appears that way yoi.” Marco blinked lazy eyes at the other zoan before he knelt, picking Ray up bridal style, Ace in tow to open the door to his office.

Ray was dumbstruck, he wasn’t a pirate, he was literally someone who’d ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. The storm had caught the pigeon zoan and whisked him across the ocean, slamming him against the mast of the Moby Dick. He’d woken up with the Fire Fist Ace and Marco The Phoenix gawking at him like he was roadkill.

He’d heard stories about how strong the pair of them were, he also knew the Whitebeards were a reasonable bunch, as far as pirates go. He just was embarrassed to meet a tori tori no mi who was so strong and powerful when he was simply just a little scabby scavenger bird. He wrapped his arms around Marco’s neck when he was told to.

Little grey feathers sprouted along his arms, giving his frazzled nerves away, he saw a smile tug at Marco’s lips when he noticed. “That’s cute, don’t worry though, you are in safe hands”

Ray couldn’t help sprouting a few more across his arms, something he still didn’t have great control over. He wasn’t in tune with his devil fruit yet. He’d heard of Marco, who hadn’t? Ray had always been envious of his gift, that he’d hit the jackpot when it came to their zoan type.

He’d never expected to meet him though.

“Alright, thank you Ace, yoi.” Marco glanced over his shoulder and gave Ace a nod.

“Call if you need me!”

“I- I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.” Ray mumbled as Marco gently set him down on the bed in his office, he went about the room, grabbing various supplies and watching the pigeon wince as he adjusted.

“A fan?”

“I wouldn’t say a fan, more like…. An envious admirer?” Ray hummed as he watched Marco come back with his arms full. He knelt at Ray’s feet, his hands turning into blue flames.

Marco chuckled when Ray flinched at pleasantly cooling hands running over his leg, the pain slowly ebbed away and he sighed, melting into the wonderful touches, closing his eyes and focusing on the relief.

--

Ray almost knocked over his cup of coffee when he felt arms wrap around his neck, feeling lips kissing behind his ear. He sighed and leaned back into his partners embrace, dropping his pen, abandoning the work set in front of him so he could stroke along Marco’s arms.

“You seemed like you were in deep, deep thought there, Chick.” Marco hummed against his skin.

“I was,”

He felt Marco’s nose nuzzle into his hair, a silent prompting to carry on. Ray sighed and turned to kiss Marco’s stubbled chin. He still couldn’t believe someone like Marco had settled for someone like him. He would always have his insecurities when it came to feeling like Marco’s lesser.

“Just thinking how lucky someone like you… likes me, I’m just a pigeon and your well, you.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“Baby bird, I love you, your perfect to me yoi.” Marco pulled away before turning Ray’s chair around, crouching down, his hands on his partner’s knees, half-lidded eyes gazed up with admiration and love. “Don’t worry though, I’ll keep telling you that until you see how wonderful you are.”

Ray nodded his head, hands reaching for Marco’s, intertwining their fingers together, enjoying this moment, his heart fluttering.  “I love you too.”

[holykillercake]

Piña Coladas 

pairing: Marco x Reader

word count: 2k

summary:  You are loyal to your captain and your team, so you would do everything to win. Even shoot your boyfriend. 

highlight: ¨I don´t like when your tattoo is covered.¨

warning: implied smut

notes: Guys, I really want to thank each and every one of you for the love and support <3 Also, picture this as a crossover between laser tag and paintball!

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

¨Ok, assholes, listen up!¨ your freckled captain uttered loudly due to the music blasting outside of your headquarter. ¨They have Haruta and Speed Jiru, those sneaky bastards, so we´re gonna have to be careful here, ok? They also have an extra person compared to us! So focus the fuck up!¨

The Whitebeard Pirates made a strategic stop at the Sabaody Archipelago for provisions, which meant that it was time for the Division Commanders and Whitebeard´s left-hand and only daughter, you, to engage in your periodic Bubble Laser Tag battle. 

The teams were sorted out, and one would always have an extra member. The team captains were for the first time, Ace and Marco. And despite loving the First Division Commander, you were obliged to take a vow to serve and honor your team and your captain as long as the game ran. 

¨Y/N you´re the faster one here and the smallest, so I´m counting on you.¨ you saluted him ¨Izo, you´re the best sniper we have, so place your freckled butt in a strategic place and shoot the fuck out of those motherf-¨

¨OI, OI, OI, OI!¨ all of you shouted at Ace.

¨Calm down, cowboy! Don´t you think you´re taking this far too seriously?¨ 

¨No! Do you know when was the last time I was captain?! And do you know how many losses in a row I have?! This is my pride, Y/N! You´re with me or against me?!¨

You couldn´t face him without laughing, he was just so stupid sometimes. But you made sure to let him know that you were on his side - not that you had a choice, though. 

The teams were called The Bird Brains and The Freckled Butts. Yes, the captains chose each other´s team's name, and naturally, nothing good could come out of it. The worst part was having to run around with a tag that said ¨Freckled Butt¨ on your gear. 

In Ace´s team, you had, well, you, Thatch, Izo, Fossa, Namur, Blamenco, and Kingdew, and in Marco´s team were Vista, Haruta, Speed Jiru, Atmos, Curiel, Jozu, Blenheim, and Rakuyo. 

¨They will definitely use Jozu and Atmos as sacrificial lambs to get to us.¨ Thatch pointed out. 

¨Ok, so we´re leaving them to you, Izo.¨ Ace spoke.

¨I´m guessing Haruta and Jiru will be doing the same as Izo, hiding somewhere and making surprise attacks.¨

The rules were pretty simple:

1) No Devil Fruit ability could be used. Not after Ace almost burned the entire place to the ground once. 

2) You didn´t have to stay on the ground. You could use whatever you had at your disposal to climb the walls or even the ceiling. 

3) If the captain is out, the team is out. 

¨Ok. So, Thatch, you´ll cover for me; Namur will cover for Blamenco, and Kingdew will cover for Fossa. Izo and Y/N will go solo.¨ you furrowed your eyebrows.

¨Wait, I´m not covering Izo?¨

¨No, Y/N. You are our special pawn.¨ he said in a devilish and malicious tone. ¨I said I want a glorious victory this time. Your job will be to end this game as soon as possible.¨

¨Still not following, Fire-Fist.¨

¨We´ll make sure no one gets to you while you go find your birdie and end him!¨ he burst in a maniac laugh. 

¨You really think Marco is that stupid?!¨

¨No, but he´s a man, Y/N.¨ you gasped, outraged. 

You faced your crewmates, all of them smirking at you.

¨What are you now, a pimp?! Izo, say something, defend my honor!¨ 

¨I would Y/N, but not only he´s my captain today... he´s kinda right.¨

¨Besides, we´re all very familiar with you guys getting business done.¨ Thatch rested his arm on your shoulders. At this point, internal bleeding caused by severe embarrassment was killing you not so softly.

¨You know what? I think I´ll kill you all first!¨ you threatened the commanders.

The entire arena turned red, and a loud 10 seconds countdown began. You put your goggles down and tightened your grip on the gun, comrades doing the same.

¨We´re counting on you, Y/N. Put your freckled butt to work!¨ Ace said and stormed out before you could beat him. 

Still analyzing his request and your options available, you decided to stay hidden in the shadows. Head down, and powder dry - or paint wet. 

The music was so intense you could feel your lungs vibrating with every beat, sometimes knocking the oxygen out. The whole place was dark with colorful light beams flashing in every direction. 

After 5 minutes of resting in the shadows, you opted for what you thought would be the best thing to do, plus you had the benefit of being smaller than those brutes, so you fit in places they didn´t. 

And you just had found yourself the perfect spot right behind the stage lights at the top of the arena. Getting up there was a little tricky, the light rays almost blinded you - plus the risk of you being caught - and you were not sure you could hide there. Technically it was not against the rules.

¨If I were a hot birdie piña colada, where would I be?¨ you tried to channel into your lover´s brain.

That was actually a good hideout, you spot many of the commanders running around the field. You loved how they took it seriously as if their lives depended on it.  

A loud buzz played every time someone was eliminated, although they didn´t say from which team unless it was the captain. You´ve heard zero buzzes so far, showing how inspired and determined they were. 

You finally decided to follow your captain´s order when 10 minutes passed, and no one had gotten eliminated. Your stomach craved for food and you were really bored. 

You´d always choose the biggest arena since guys like Kingdew and Jozu wouldn´t fit in the normal one. So this one was larger, taller, and had more obstacles. Bubbles in all shapes and sizes, picturesque barricades, and tricky mirrors. Finding Marco was going to be tough... if you didn´t have a card in your sleeve. 

Again, it was not against the rules, and you wanted to eat something. Besides, this victory was more meaningful to Ace than to Marco. So you took your lover´s vivre card from your pocket and placed it on your palm, waiting for it to guide you. 

¨Bingo!¨ you spot a fluffy pineapple crown not so far from you. The problem was to reach him before he moved again. 

Your plan was not to shoot him from the distance, you knew better than that. You were going to approach, engage naturally and eliminate the target. Based on the field, the track he took so far, and his usual train of thought, you had a good guess of what he was planning to do.

The path he was taking led you to believe that he was advancing towards a barricade, a good place to hide, but that would offer him no visibility of his opponents. Was he planning to lay low while the rest of you killed each other? That didn´t sound like him. 

 The job that had been entrusted to you within the Whitebeard Pirates was to analyze each mission´s goal, come up with several different plans of approach - or attack - and predict the possible failures or setbacks. And you did all of that alongside Whitebeard himself, and all sixteen commanders. So, to guess the strategy Marco was going for would be easier than steal a child's candy.

Well, actually, you were able to guess his final destination, not his strategy. 

Without losing any more time, you ran and hid behind the barricade, waiting for your boyfriend to arrive. 

¨Whatever.¨ you thought.

¨Don´t shoot!¨ you squealed and threw both hands in the air.

¨Really, Y/N? This is how you play?¨ Marco asked, putting his gun down.

¨When I am hungry, yes!¨ you bent slightly, faking an exhausted state. 

¨What are you doing here, yoi?¨

¨Looking for Izo, I was supposed to cover for him.¨ you struggled with the weird sensation of lying to Marco. 

He hummed and leaned against the wall, wiping a bit of sweat off his forehead. The lightning was awful, but it was enough for you to see his messy hair and those lazy eyes that made you almost forget the mission. 

¨Why are you staring, yoi?¨ he gave you a smirk and a quick nod. 

¨Nothing. Uhm...¨ you bit your lip as the butterflies started to go insane inside of you ¨...it´s so rare to see you carrying a gun...¨

The first commander watched you with a raised eyebrow and a playful grin ¨Yeah, so?¨

The two of you entered a parallel universe, the lights changed according to the muffled beat of the music. And it was hot. Flaming hot, burning hot.

 Your breath was slow but heavy, and your mouth ran dry with adrenaline on your veins. Not because of a stupid plan or stupid game but because he made you lose whatever control you had over your body and mind. 

You let go of the gun and raised your hand until your fingers touched the skin of his face, tracing a slow path to his parted lips. He watched you like you were a rare creature, an angel forgiving his sins or a siren taking his life. His large hand held yours, and he placed kisses on your fingers, the same fingers that would pull the trigger by the end of this. You wondered if he already knew. 

Marco hooked his finger on the belt holders of your jeans and turned you, making you hit the wall, and oxygen left your lungs in a puff. Didn´t take long until he attacked your neck, tasting your salty skin. Your fingers pulled his hair as your body arched involuntarily, cold shivers reaching every part of you. 

His eyes were soaked in lust when he stopped marking your neck and stared at you like a hungry predator. Your teary eyes traveled to his chest looking for his tattoo, but it was covered by the stupid gear. 

¨I don´t like when your tattoo is covered.¨ you spoke. 

He leaned to your ears and said in a whisper ¨Then uncover it.¨

He was teasing you, he knew what you were supposed to do and was torturing you. 

¨I-I can´t...¨ your voice came out weak ¨I... I have to-¨

¨What, yoi?¨ his grin was malicious.

¨I have to shoot you.¨ 

Marco leaned again, getting really close to your lips but never touching them. Instead, he took your paint gun and put it in your hand. You laughed, asking yourself if you truly believed you would be able to fool him. He gave a quick kiss before stepping back so you could end your mission. 

¨You really don´t mind letting Ace win?¨ 

¨Ace can have the victory.¨  he shrugged ¨I have something better, yoi¨

You blushed with his comment, and fireworks exploded in your chest.

¨I love you, bird brain.¨

¨I love you... freckled butt.¨ he laughed, probably embarrassed for the name he chose.

¨This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you.¨ you raised the gun to his gear. 

¨I hope so, yoi.¨

¨Ready?¨

¨You know I´ll make you pay for this later, right, yoi?¨

¨I´d be disappointed if you weren´t planning to.¨

[asweetprologue]

but they will know our bones as lovers

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Sensory deprivation  Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: T Content Warnings: Major Character Death(s) Summary: Geralt and Jaskier get trapped in a cave. They don’t make it out. ao3

It was dark.

Jaskier opened his eyes, or he thought he did. He had to raise a hand to his face to check, running his fingers lightly over his fluttering eyelashes. He could see nothing, not even his own hand before his face. Slowly he moved to sit up, to investigate his surroundings further, but as soon as he turned his head he was met with a stabbing pain lancing through his temple. A soft groan escaped his lips as he winced.

There was a shuffling noise to his right, and his heart accelerated at the sound. He didn’t know where he was or why he couldn’t see, wasn’t sure what might be in here with him. If it was unfriendly he would be in trouble. The thing nearby moved again, a strange scraping sound echoing around the space like metal on rock. A moment later there was a grunt, familiar enough to make Jaskier’s chest release on a relieved exhale.

Geralt shuffled around some more, and Jaskier felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “Well hello there,” he said, or tried to say. The words were caught on a cough halfway through, the dust coating his throat making him choke.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice came gruffly from the darkness. His hand moved from Jaskier’s arm to his chest, moving efficiently around. Checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my head, I think,” Jaskier wheezed, swallowing a few times to clear his throat. Slowly and with Geralt’s help, he levered himself into a sitting position, hissing at the way it made his head spin. After a second a waterskin was pressed against his lips, and he drank greedily.

“It doesn’t look like it broke skin,” Geralt hummed, his fingers probing the sore spot on Jaskier’s scalp. “Are you nauseated or disoriented?”

“Wait, you can see? Damn those witcher senses,” he pouted. Geralt gave him an exceedingly gentle shake. “No, no, I’m alright. A bit dizzy, but it’s settling. What about you? What the devil happened?”

“You followed me into the bloody arachas cave, that’s what happened,” Geralt grunted. He did not sound pleased. “One got close to you and I had to cast aard to blast it away. Caused a cave in.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Well drat.”

“Drat,” Geralt echoed, sounding exhausted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“So, what now?” Jaskier asked, ignoring the waves of exasperation he could sense wafting off of Geralt. Somehow the man managed to convey a glower in total darkness. “Are we going to have to dig our way out?”

“I don’t know if we… can,” Geralt said, slowly. There was a shuffling sound, and he moved away from Jaskier. “There’s a huge slab blocking the way we came in. Even if I could lift it, it’s holding up more of the ceiling. And there’s nowhere to move it.”

Jaskier felt a slow crawl of something like panic begin to creep up the back of his neck. “Can’t you just blast it with aard again?”

Geralt didn’t say anything immediately, which meant he was rolling his eyes. “Likely to bring the rest of the cave down on top of us.”

“So what, we’re trapped?” Jaskier asked, flinging his hands up. Geralt’s silence blanketed the thin echo of the words in the small space, damning. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Shit,” Geralt said grimly.

*

Geralt spent the next hour or two pacing around the tiny space, supposedly looking for ways to tunnel them out. The cave they were stuck in had been home to a small colony of arachas, most of which had thankfully been crushed beneath the falling stones. Jaskier hadn’t gotten a good look at the place before he’d been hit on the head by debris, and now he couldn’t exactly explore the area.

Geralt had helped him over to one of the rock walls of their makeshift cave, and Jaskier sat propped against it staring out into blackness as he listened to Geralt move about. It was hard to tell how much time was passing. He tried to calculate in his head how much air they might have, how much time it would take for them to consume the oxygen left in the space. They weren’t all too deep underground, but Jaskier had walked down the tunnel long enough to know that they were deep enough that an exterior source of air was unlikely. He’d had a torch when he came in, but Geralt refused to let him light it again, stating that it would consume the oxygen even faster. Jaskier had to conceded to his point. Based on the sound of Geralt moving around, the cave couldn’t be much bigger than a typical room at an inn. Jaskier didn’t know how much oxygen two full grown men used per hour, but he guessed it was quite a bit. He wanted to give them a day, maybe two at most, before they started to run low. Surely enough time for Geralt to dig them out.

He had this thought just as there was a curse to his right and a sudden groan in the walls around them. “What is that?” Jaskier asked, nervously scooting away from the side of the cave. His head swam at the sharp movement, but he didn’t want to risk getting hit by even more falling rock.

Geralt’s heavy breathing filled the space for a moment, and based on the lack of any other noise Jaskier had to assume he was standing still, waiting. The creaking groan in the wall shuddered to a stop, and Geralt let out a relieved noise.

“I don’t think I can risk moving any of the stone,” he grunted, his voice coming closer to Jaskier. “The walls aren’t stable. I’m just as likely to crush us as I am to get us out.”

Jaskier wished he could see the witcher’s face. “So we’re stuck here? We’ll die either way if we can’t find a way out eventually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, witcher, but this is likely a sealed space. As you said yourself, we’re going to run out of air.”

Geralt’s silence spoke volumes. Jaskier felt something cold spread through him, and grit his teeth against the panic. He scrambled to his feet, facing what he assumed was Geralt’s approximate direction.

“You can’t just give up after a few tumbling rocks,” he hissed. “We can’t die in this stupid fucking cave. We have to keep trying.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and his voice was far too soft, grating against the irritation that Jaskier felt burning in his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I saw it on you and I just- I just reacted-”

“You’re sorry? We’re in this mess because you saved my life! If I hadn’t come after you like you always tell me fucking not to, none of this would have happened.” Maybe it was a blessing, in a way, that he couldn’t see Geralt’s face. Jaskier wasn’t sure he could handle it at this moment. “I’m the reason we’re here. If we die down here that’s… that’s my-”

Firm hands reached out to take his, pulling them from where they’d been gripping his hair. He hadn’t even noticed. “No, Jask,” Geralt said, his tone as unyielding as stone. “This isn’t your fault. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Agree to disagree,” Jaskier said hotly. “Fuck. We have a day or two before we run out of air, probably. Do you think the villagers will realize we’ve not come back?”

Geralt was quiet for a moment, his thumb smoothing over Jaskier’s knuckles. The contact burned. “Maybe,” he said, and Jaskier decided to believe that they would. Nevermind that they wouldn’t blink an eye at a witcher not returning from a job. Nevermind that the villagers probably didn’t even know exactly where they were. Nevermind the fact that any attempt to rescue them would surely get them killed.

All they could do was wait.

*

Waiting to die (to be rescued, Jaskier reminded himself) was boring.

He’d left his lute back at the camp with Roach. Ah, Roach, he hoped someone would find her and take care of her. She didn’t deserve to get left behind like this. His fingers itched to fill their little space with music; he imagined the acoustics would be phenomenal. It would have been poetic, he thought, to die with his instrument in hand, but instead he was left to wrap his arms around his knees and try to distract himself from the inevitable (rescue, remember? Rescue).

“Do you remember that time we went to Novigrad and stayed in that absolutely abysmal inn, what was it called, something about cats? And they wouldn’t let me play, so you were playing gwent to try and make us some cash, and that one redhead you were playing against was cheating so badly- It was so obvious! I mean I’m not a card cheat, but at least I know better than hiding them literally up my sleeves.”

“Seven Cats Inn,” Geralt said from his seated position on Jaskier’s right. He may have been meditating, but Jaskier couldn’t be sure. “Didn’t you light his hat on fire?”

Jaskier laughed, tipping his head back to rest against the wall behind him. His head throbbed still, but after several hours of sitting fairly still he was starting to feel more evened out. “That was unrelated to the cheating. He said something rude about you, I think. I was providing a public service, regardless.”

“You stood behind him and told me his cards.”

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Jaskier said airily.

“You cheat at cards all the time.”

“Only against you,” Jaskier grinned, turning to look at Geralt and forgetting he would see only darkness. What a letdown.

Geralt huffed out an amused breath. Jaskier sighed, turning back to look into the yawning darkness around him. “Wish I could see,” he groused. “I wish I had my damn lute.”

“The one positive to our situation.”

Jaskier rounded on him, throwing out a wild punch that smacked right into Geralt’s armored shoulder. The studs left his fingers smarting, but he wasn’t about to admit to that. “You take that back, you uncultured swineherder. You would only be so lucky to have my dulcet tones lulling you into that great sleep.”

Geralt was quiet, and Jaskier realized his misstep. They still weren’t admitting to it yet. Geralt seemed to decide to pass the comment over, keeping his tone light. “I’d beg you to put me out of my misery,” he said, and Jaskier let out a relieved breath at the easy banter.

“I’d strangle you with my lute strings if I had them,” he tossed back, and Geralt laughed. The sound of it echoed in the empty black around them.

*

Jaskier slept fitfully, still recovering from his concussion. He didn’t want to. It made him unsure of how much time had passed, even more than before. The hours crawled by, separated by a smattering of chatter between them and Jaskier’s occasional singing, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open with any consistency. He feared at first that he’d been wrong and they were already running out of oxygen, but his head was still cobwebby and throbbing. It was almost hard to tell when he was asleep and when he was awake, with the ever present darkness, except that he was stiffer when he woke up.

He blinked awake from one of his accidental naps, groaning as he stretched out his aching limbs. “Long was I out?” he asked, bleary.

Geralt shifted near him, closer than Jaskier would have expected. Practically on top of him. “Hmm,” he heard. “Maybe a few hours.”

“How long do you think we’ve been down here?” Jaskier asked. He had no earthly idea. It felt like years.

Geralt made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe a day,” he allowed, hesitantly. “You’ve slept through most of it.”

Jaskier felt like crying at that. The idea that someone would find them in time suddenly seemed naïve. He was wasting time sleeping, when they only had a handful of hours left. Suddenly not knowing what else to do, he reached out until his fingers found the resistance of Geralt’s clothed arm. He felt his way down until his hand found Geralt’s, ungloved and warm on the witcher’s thigh. Twisting his fingers into the Geralt’s, Jaskier took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he wasn’t entirely sure what part of all of it he was apologizing for.

Geralt just squeezed his fingers back, and he didn’t let go.

*

Jaskier didn’t fall asleep again, wouldn’t let himself. No one was coming for them. There was no way they had more than a few hours left of air, and he refused to waste a single second that he had left. He curled into Geralt’s side, as close as he could be without sitting in his lap, and felt something in him unclench when he felt Geralt’s head tip to rest against his.

“I’m going to die first, aren’t I,” he said, barely asking.

Geralt was quiet for a long moment. “...Probably. My body doesn’t need as much oxygen. I can slip into meditation and use up even less.” A pause, his breath even and warm between them. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier hummed. “Don’t be. I’m sorry I’ll be leaving you alone.”

Geralt inhaled sharply, and when he exhaled the sound of it stuttered through the cavern. Jaskier squeezed his fingers tightly, their palms warm where they’d been pressed together now for minutes or hours or days. “I’m sorry I fucking killed us both,” Geralt bit out.

“Oh, none of that,” Jaskier admonished, soothing a thumb over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, as Geralt had done earlier that day. Or yesterday. Whenever it had been. “I’m the one that followed you in here. You were trying to protect me. I’m sorry I got us into this mess. I only wish you weren’t stuck in here with me.”

Geralt was silent for so long that Jaskier wasn’t sure he was going to reply at all. He had almost let go of the conversation thread when Geralt said, “I’m glad.”

“Hmm? What’s that?” Jaskier said, confused.

“I’m glad I’m here with you. I’m not glad that we’re doing to fucking die, but I’m glad you aren’t… alone.”

Jaskier was suddenly, pathetically grateful for Geralt’s warm, comforting presence at his side. He imagined what it would have been like, by himself, alone and struggling for breath in the dark. It was not a pleasant idea. He would give anything, pay any price, to have Geralt escape here alive, but he was glad he wasn’t alone. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing Geralt’s hand again tightly. Geralt squeezed back just as hard, their palms molding into each other. At least, Jaskier thought wildly, at least when they died they would still be together. Holding each other for eternity.

“Can I ask you for something?” he asked after a while, hesitantly. Geralt hummed his assent, and Jaskier swallowed. “Would you mind if we lied down? I won’t fall asleep, I promise, I just… I just want…”

He could feel Geralt shift towards him, and Jaskier took a moment to imagine those golden eyes shining at him. It was absurd, how much he missed them. “What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, not demanding. Just asking.

It was stupid to ask. Might make their last moments together - and that’s what these were, their last moments - awkward and stilted. But Jaskier wanted, burned deep in his core. He felt like he would shatter apart if he didn’t at least ask. “Would you mind if I- That is, would you, could you just… hold me? Just for a while?”

Geralt was silent, and Jaskier’s heart slowly crept up into his throat, pounding against the bruise on his skull. “Nevermind,” he said quickly, trying to pull his hand away from Geralt’s. “Sorry, that was overstepping, I don’t want to make you, ah, uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he hoped Geralt couldn’t smell his distress. Bastard could probably see his flushed face anyways. Fuck witchers, he thought vehemently.

Fingers tightened on his own, preventing his escape. He jerked his head up, but the silence emanating from Geralt’s space betrayed nothing. Finally he heard the witcher clear his throat. “I’d… I’d like that,” Geralt rasped, and Jaskier deflated.

“Oh,” he said, “oh, well, good. Yeah. Should we just…?”

In answer Geralt shuffled a bit, pulling away from Jaskier for a moment. His hand felt shockingly cold without Geralt’s palm nestled next to his own. He was confused until he heard the distinct sound of leather clasps coming undone, so familiar to him he knew he could undo them himself even in these conditions. A second later he heard armor hitting the ground, the dull thunk of the leather and the clatter of steel as Geralt shed his outerwear. When the last of it was pushed away, his warm presence returned to Jaskier’s side and urged him down onto the cool stone ground.

It was wildly uncomfortable. The floor was uneven and unforgiving, and Jaskier could feel tiny stones and bits of rubble digging into his shoulders and hips as he lay down. His head throbbed at the movement, making his stomach swoop uncomfortably. They’d had a few pieces of jerky that Geralt had brought with him as a backup on the hunt, but nothing else for food in the last day or so. However long they’d been down here. He felt faint and sore and thirsty, but as Geralt’s arms folded around him Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comforted. He didn’t want to be here - didn’t want either of them to be here, at all - but at least Geralt was here, breath spreading warm over the top of his head. At least they were together.

*

Everything was growing so heavy. His mind was foggy, swimming dizzily from one thought to the next.

He was going to die. How long had it been? It didn’t feel hard to breathe yet, but they must be getting close. Suddenly he was seized by fear, all consuming panic clawing up into his throat and driving away some of the haze. Geralt’s hand tightened against his hip. Probably able to smell his distress. “Jaskier, what -”

He reached out to weakly fist his hand in Geralt’s shirt, suddenly desperate. “I can’t see,” he said, panting between the words.

“I know,” Geralt said, his tone even and soothing, “there’s not enough light in here for you. It’s alright.” He sounded worried, like he thought maybe Jaskier was too far gone to remember where they were.

“No, no,” Jaskier said, feeling too dizzy to really explain. He sat up and started pulling off his doublet, fingers fumbling across the buttons as his head swam sickeningly. Geralt sat up as well, by the sound of it, and more deft fingers took over the process for him. Jaskier wrestled his way out of the garment and pressed it to Geralt’s chest, fumbling. “Burn it, burn it now.”

“You want me to burn your doublet?” Geralt asked, sounding shocked and more than a little concerned.

“I need to see,” Jaskier said. He reached out to grasp Geralt’s shoulder in the darkness, leaning heavily on him.

“I can’t,” Geralt said, a tad impatiently. “It’ll eat up whatever's left of the oxygen in here. Absolutely not.”

Jaskier pushed forward, bending to rest his head on Geralt's shoulder. Fuck he was tired. “I need- Fuck, I can’t, I just need to see you one more time. Please.” He sounded pathetic, but the idea of never seeing Geralt’s face again was so wretched he could barely stomach it. A quicker inevitable death was worth seeing him one last time. “Please, I just want to see you.”

Geralt was still in his arms, still clutching the fabric of Jaskier’s doublet close. “You’ll die,” he choked out, the words brushing over Jaskier’s hair. “You’ll die faster. I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but let a soft sob escape him. The doublet fell between them as Geralt’s arms came up around him, holding him close. A warm palm pressed against the back of his head. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier sobbed, dizzy and heartbroken. Suddenly he laughed a little, though the sound was wet and pained. “This is such shit.”

“It really is,” Geralt agreed, sounding strained himself.

They sat like that for some time, Jaskier leaning his forehead against the line of Geralt’s throat, just letting the feeling of warm palms brushing over his back wash over him. He wished he’d asked for this sooner. Maybe Geralt was only giving it to him because he was literally dying, but maybe it had been this easy all along. Maybe Geralt would have gathered him up at any time, if he’d only asked, and held him close like this. Like he mattered, like Geralt wanted to be here just as much as he did. It made him feel brave for once in his life, too late.

So he said, “You should know.” The world was soupy around him, but he could feel the warm press of Geralt’s body against his as clear as anything. There was a curious hum above him, that Jaskier could feel in Geralt’s throat where his nose was tucked against his Adam’s apple. “You might not want to hear it. I don’t know. You probably won’t, but you should know.”

Geralt’s fingers were still petting through his hair, right at the base of his neck. Jaskier wished that he could see him. He closed his eyes, picturing Geralt’s face as clearly as he could. “What should I know?” Geralt asked.

“You should know that I love you,” Jaskier said, pressing the words to Geralt’s skin in the hopes that there, at least, they might find a warm reception. “I’ve loved you for my entire adult life, as thoroughly as I have known how, as completely as anything I have ever done. Loving you has been my life’s greatest accomplishment. When they sing the songs after I’m gone, I hope that’s how they remember me.” He smiled softly against the line of Geralt’s throat. “As the man who loved you.”

For a long moment Geralt was still around him, a statue chiseled from soft cotton and cool skin. Then suddenly the arms around him were tightening and Geralt was leaning down to press his own face into Jaskier’s shoulder as he took great, shuddering breaths. Jaskier ran a soothing if uncoordinated hand along his back where he could reach. “Fuck,” Geralt said. Jaskier was about to make an offended noise, but then Geralt was pulling them both back, just a bit. Just enough space between them to find Jaskier’s face, cupping his jaw with both hands. Geralt’s lips brushed against his own, a desperately soft press. Jaskier pushed back into it eagerly, wanting to show Geralt that he meant it.

Geralt pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, his nose resting against Jaskier’s. His breathing was labored. “Don’t go,” he said, just a whisper between them.

Jaskier could feel tears on his cheeks, and he wished so much to be able to see Geralt’s face. “Oh dear heart. I would never leave you if I had the choice to stay. After all this, you must know that.”

Geralt gathered him close again, pressing them together everywhere he could. “I don’t want- I can’t- I can’t watch you, fuck, Jask-” His voice was thick and wet, and Jaskier felt warmth flood him alongside a bone deep grief.

“I’m afraid I did get the better end of the bargain,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt made a wounded sound and pressed forward to kiss him again, and again, an unheated and yet urgent clash of mouths. They wouldn’t get anymore chances, Jaskier realized. Their first few kisses would be their last. It belonged in a ballad, really. He hoped someone would write it for them, after.

“Fuck, I wish I could see you,” he gasped, winded partly from the kiss and partly from the lack of air in the room. “I always wanted your face to be the last thing I ever saw. This isn’t fair.”

“I love you,” Geralt grit out, sounding like it cost him but he was still relieved to have it out. Like pulling a knife from a wound. “Fuck,” he said, pressing his nose under Jaskier’s jaw, and then, “Please,” so soft that Jaskier felt it wasn’t even really for him. Just a cry for help from an uncaring universe. “Fuck, I love you. I thought you knew.”

Jaskier laughed breathlessly, a pained sound. “You didn’t exactly act like a man besotted.”

“I tried not to,” Geralt said, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s throat. “Didn’t think you’d want me. But I was. Besotted.”

“Tell me about it?” Jaskier asked. He wouldn’t have normally, but if this was his only chance he would take whatever Geralt was willing to give.

Geralt swallowed. “For years. First I just wanted to bed you. You were so bright, and cocky, and I just wanted to- I just wanted you. But you stuck around, you kept choosing to be on the Path with me, even when you were getting six letters a week asking for you to play in all those fancy noble houses. Nothing I ever did was enough to drive you away. No one- no one has ever-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. His palms were still warm where they were pressed to Jaskier’s jaw. “I don’t even know how to explain it. I used to steal your shirts before winter, just so I could have the smell of you with me at the keep. I wanted to ask you to come with me, but I was afraid you would say no. Was afraid I’d lose you if I asked for too much. But I always wanted.”

“And here I thought you just didn’t like my music,” Jaskier said weakly.

“I hated it at first,” Geralt said. “I’m not all those things you say I am.”

“You are,�� Jaskier said, petting a hand across the back of his head. Silky strand of snow white hair that he wished he could see. “I always believed in those songs. In you.”

“I know,” Geralt muttered. “It fucking terrified me. I’m sorry. I wasted so much time.” He sounded so bitter, so guilty. And Jaskier couldn’t stand it, couldn’t die with Geralt thinking that any of their time together was a waste.

“I cherished every moment of it,” he said, as firmly as he could. He was fading fast, he could tell. His thoughts were coming less rapidly, sluggish to form. “You… Even when you were being a prick. Loved you all the time. I loved you- love you. It was all worth it.”

“You’re here because of me,” Geralt said, mournfully. “This is my fault.”

“Nothing you could have done,” Jaskier said. He could feel his eyes slipping closed against his will. “Would have followed you… Always.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was panicked. “Stay awake.”

“Sorry,” he said, forcing his eyes open. “Sorry. I’m dizzy.”

“It’s alright.” He’d never heard Geralt’s voice so soft, or so full of agony. It made him want to wake up, some kind of fight or flight instinct attempting to kick in. He wanted Geralt to stop hurting. But he was so tired, and his limbs felt like lead. Suddenly they were lying down, and he blinked owlishly into the darkness. Geralt was all around him, one hand still on his face while his other wrapped around Jaskier’s waist to hold him close. They’d never been so close before.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, and a moment later Geralt’s lips found his, just the barest brush. The most honest goodbye he could have asked for.

They pulled apart. “You should sleep too,” Jaskier said, already feeling it dragging him down. “We can… sleep together. It’ll be okay.”

Geralt took a measured breath, a slow inhale and meticulous exhale, almost like meditation. Too wobbly for that though, too watery. Jaskier pressed himself as close as he could, until their heartbeats were lined up perfectly. “Okay,” Geralt agreed. “Okay.”

His arms tightened, and Jaskier lay his head down on Geralt’s chest, and together, they fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[sometimesiwrite]

The Way It Is

Prompt: Fake Dating

Pairing: Lambert & Essi Other Characters: Julian (Jaskier), Eskel/Geralt

Rating: Teen Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings; platonic/queerplatonic dynamics; pressure to engage sexually; coarse language; alcohol/intoxication; modern AU.

Summary: When Essi and Lambert are setup on a blind date, they don’t expect to get along as well as they do. However, when they decide to keep their relationship platonic and non-romantic, they realize they might face some uncomfortable pressure. For the sake of simplicity, they decide to tell people they’re dating, but is it sustainable? 

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

Essi fidgeted with the bent corner of her cafe menu, looking around at the various styles of local artworks hanging on the walls. She was early by about ten minutes, but that didn’t stop her from checking the pearlescent dial of her watch every thirty seconds. Finally, the bell above the door tinkled and a man walked in. Essi could tell from the way he was looking around that he was there to meet someone—her. The only other people sitting alone in the cafe were working on laptops and tablets; no one else waiting for a date. And this man was most certainly looking for one. 

He was handsome in a ruffled sort of way, though he’d clearly put in a bit of effort. His black casual dress shirt and slim light-wash jeans fit his lean frame impeccably, and a subtle quantity of mousse was clearly doing its best to tame his short, scruffy brown hair. Even his bristly beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. Though there was nothing particularly remarkable about his clothing, there was something striking about the way he carried himself, a devil-may-care sort of presence that Essi appreciated. For a blind date, she thought, it certainly could be worse. Allegedly, they knew each other, at least based on his abruptly out-of-the-blue text, and the closer she looked, the more her memory of him crystalized. 

A loud ping! emitted from Essi’s phone and the man looked up from his own cellular device, clearly having just texted. 

“Uh, Essi? Essi Daven, right?” He took a step towards her and leaned in, pointing to his phone screen. 

“Yes,” Essi stood to shake his hand, “hi.”

“Nice to see you again. Lambert.”

They sat down awkwardly, both struggling to find the will for smalltalk. 

“So…” Lambert had become keenly interested in a black-and-white digital photograph behind Essi’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Essi could feel the words start to tumble out of her mouth, and it was too late to do anything about it. Lambert raised an eyebrow,  “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to be honest and probably regret it later: I don’t really do this. Dating. I find it strange and uncomfortable and if I’m perfectly honest I think I’d rather die.” She didn’t cringe apologetically, which would have been the expected behaviour to accompany an outpouring of disinterest. Instead she stared at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly pursed as a muscle in her neck twitched, waiting for his response.

Lambert laughed. Genuinely laughed—a joyful release of tension and dread, “Oh, thank Fuck!” Essi blinked in pleasant surprise and watched as Lambert began to relax.

“Excuse me?” Her startlingly blue eyes widened in amusement. 

“No, no, I just mean—I would absolutely and one-hundred percent, without a doubt, rather die in a hole than date,” Lambert slotted the edge of the menu under his fingernails and let his eyes wander a little more freely around the cafe. 

“So then… why?” 

Hm. Direct, frank, amusing lack of filter… the memories were starting to come back from what limited, heavily inebriated, time they’d spent together.

There was something about the straightforwardness of this endearingly odd woman that made Lambert feel infinitely more comfortable. Usually, any kind of interaction with the potential of building mutual interest made him feel like he was playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. The signals, the code words that never meant what they said: having sex on the first date means you’re a slut; not having sex on the third date means you’re a prude; grabbing coffee means this; having dinner means that; if they your arm but don’t invite you up, it means that they’re actually a KGB operative and need to give you the launch codes for a super secret missile...

Fuck that, we have words for a reason. Say what you mean and don’t waste my time. For that reason alone, Essi was already scoring quite well in Lambert’s books. 

He shrugged, “You somehow remembered me from the KM Christmas party almost six months ago, and still asked for my number. I figure that at least deserves a coffee and a conversation.”

Essi was bewildered, “I didn’t ask for your number, you texted me.”

Lambert shook his head, “Impossible. No offense, but I absolutely guarantee you I did not.” He produced their short text exchange and scrolled to the top of their conversation: 

Hi, is this Lambert? From the KM Christmas party? 

You might not remember me, we got talking about 

the political situation in Kashmir after about…

Too many drinks. Eeep! 

Anyway, I’d love to get a coffee sometime, if 

you’re interested. 

Sorry, this is Essi Daven. 

You called me Goldilocks at one point and 

seemed amused XD 

Hope you’re well! 

Essi snatched Lambert’s phone, shocked and slightly outraged as she reached for her own device, opening her thread with Lambert. The text at the top was not from her, but from the man across from her: 

Yeah, hi, this is 

Lambert-from-the-KM-Christmas-party. 

As it happens, I remember you and our 

conversation quite well. Not many folks 

happily get into drunken political discussions

You know what, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a 

coffee. 

Let me know if you’re free in the next couple 

weeks! 

Lambert gestured emphatically at Essi’s phone screen, “In what world is this an acceptable way to ask someone out?! I wouldn’t have said yes to that!”

“I don’t know,” Essi fired back, “It was straightforward! I found it charming, okay? Is that a crime?”

“No, but I have some serious concerns about your taste in men.”

“Like you’re in such a fine position to judge after the hollow, paltry invitation you accepted—which I absolutely did not write, by the way. I want to make that perfectly clear.”

“Alright, alright, cool your jets, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he passed Essi’s phone back to her, “You didn't fire the first shot, so who texted me from your phone and cleared the history?”

Essi nibbled the inside of her cheek, “I can think of a few.”

“Okay, next question,” Lambert pocketed his phone, “who added you to my contacts before you texted. Because we did not exchange numbers six months ago, but your name was already there when I received it.”

Essi shrugged, “Who has access to your phone?”

“I dunno. Really just Eskel and Geralt and neither of them would—”

“Geralt.”

“Why him?”

Essi’s bright blue eyes turned steely and murderous, “Julian… They’re working together.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that Geralt the-last-thing-I-need Rivia and Julian Alfred these-aren't-my-pants Pankratz think we're so helplessly undateable that they decided to secretly set us up?” 

“Eskel doesn’t know me that well; he wouldn’t try to set you up with someone he hadn’t vetted. Who did you talk to first when you got that text from me?”

Lambert’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, they’re working together.”

Essi nodded, a flood of embarrassment warming her cheeks. “Sorry to waste your time. You’re very nice but, um, I should just…” she got up to leave.

“Wh-hey, hold up. I mean, if you wanna go, go, that's fine, but there's something you might want to know first.”

Essi tossed her yellow bangs out of her eyes, “Oh? What's that?”

“This,” Lambert produced an Amex credit card from his breast pocket, “is Geralt's.” The cheeky glint in his eyes was a very convincing argument.

“Fine then. Coffee and a conversation.” 

The coffee was hot and decent, and the conversation meandered through the usual topics of music, movies, and television, but also dipped into deeper waters as they grew more comfortable with each other’s company. Of course, it didn’t hurt that neither of them had any stakes in the outcome of this “date”. It made it easier to be frank and open, which in turn led to them quickly enjoying their time together. So much so that coffee turned into lunch, which turned into a long walk in the pleasant weather, which finally landed them outside Essi’s apartment, just around dinner time. 

“I have to say, this was actually a pleasant encounter,” she said, turning to face him with a characteristic toss of her bangs. 

“Yeah, who’d’ve thought two people forced together by meddling friends would actually find it enjoyable?” 

“In light of that,” Essi squared her shoulders and found Lambert’s hazel-brown eyes, “I think it’s fair to say I want to see you again.”

He cringed regretfully and scratched the back of his head, “Ahh, yeah, so… I don’t know if that’s really--”

“Oh, relax,” Essi smirked with a casual touch to Lambert’s forearm. “I don't mean like that. I just mean--you're interesting and fun and, well I don't have many close friends and I feel like we connected well today.”

“Well…”

“I'll make it even simpler: I absolutely, one-hundred percent, am not interested in dating you.”

“Easy there, you know I love it when people get all straightforward with me.” 

“I mean it, I just want to be friends,” she toyed back, trying her best to look sultry. It kind of worked.

Lambert bit his lower lip in mock arousal, “Mmm, oh yeah...”

She swayed her shoulders forward and back, doing her best to emulate the seductive actresses and models of the 1950s, “I want to Netflix and chill with a documentary about Soviet propaganda.”

Her last comment prompted a playfully stern look from her companion, “Careful now, you’re wading into actual turn-on territory.” 

“You're such a weirdo,” Essi chuckled, giving him an endeared shove. “Seriously, though, would you like to do this again? Friends?” 

He nodded sincerely, “Yeah, I think I'd really like that. Just one problem, though.”

“If we claim not to be interested in each other but keep hanging out we’ll never hear the end of it?” 

“Bingo.” 

Essi hummed thoughtfully and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip, “Well… we could always… pretend?” 

***

“Sounds like you two are hitting it off. I’m glad. I know Essi’s been feeling a little isolated between work and being new to the city.” Geralt closed the fridge with his foot and headed towards the sofa, popcorn in one hand, three beers in the other. “I’ll take my card back, by the way.” 

Lambert reluctantly handed the Amex back in exchange for a beer and perched on the arm of the sofa. “She’s really something. We’re, uh—yeah, hitting it off is a good word.”

And hitting it off, they were. The last ten days since their first “date” had been more enjoyable than all the dates he’d had in the last year combined. Essi was a fantastic companion: sharp, witty, kind, took no bullshit… They had done absolutely nothing but hang out, and no one had pried them for many details about the nature of their relationship. As far as their friend group was concerned, they were simply dating in the way that most adults dated. This also meant more time to themselves without unwanted interruptions (namely Julian barging in with his spare key to gossip about whatever fires were currently alight on twitter). The first night Lambert had been over, it took Julian all of five minutes to “grab something from the fridge” before parting with a knowing wink. 

To her credit and imagination, Essi had expertly fielded her cousin’s initial barrage of questions when she first announced their “involvement.” It wasn’t that she didn’t like her cousin, Essi adored Julian, but she was also the first to admit that the man had no boundaries. What he lacked in that arena, he certainly made up for with opinions, which he was always more than happy to bestow on his younger cousin—usually dating advice, almost always unsolicited. Lambert had a much easier time convincing his side that he and Essi were taking it easy to see where things went. Between Eskel being a consummate gentleman and Geralt having his own Delicate Sensibilities, neither of them had demanded any details. 

“As long as you’re both happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters,” Geralt’s partner reiterated, reaching into the bowl on Geralt’s lap. 

“Jesus, Eskel, you sound like my Nonna.”

“That's no way to talk to your father,” Geralt smirked into his hand of popcorn

“You're no better,” Lambert took a swig from his beer, lips popping as he lowered the bottle. “I swear, you've turned into a couple of mother hens since you two got together. Quit fussing and watch the game.” 

Geralt put his arm around Eskel’s shoulders, “We have gotten a little soft haven’t we?”

Eskel huffed out a laugh, “Probably. Hey, Lambert, don't fuck it up or I'll kick your ass into next week.” 

“Thank you. See? Was that so hard?” 

“Eh,” Eskel shrugged, helping himself to another handful of popcorn, “I stand by my original statement. Geralt agrees.” 

“It's true,” he said between mouthfuls. “Essi’s a good woman. Smart, talented, kind, attractive.” 

Eskel cleared his throat.

“Eskel, she is, it's just a statement of fact it doesn't mean that she doesn’t have other…”

“I know it doesn't but I still think you could bear to be a little more…”

“Funny thing,” Lambert interrupted, “I still can’t figure out how this smart, talented, kind, attractive woman’s number programmed itself into my phone. Because I may have been drunk the night we first met, but I have never in my life forgotten a successful number grab. Fess up, fellas. Who was it?”

Eskel’s eyes widened, “Geralt, you didn’t.”  

“I… may have… helped Julian gain access to Lambert’s phone.”

“Unbelievable. The betrayal,” Lambert shook his head, eyes still on the game. “If only there was some way to square things up…”

“You charged everything to my company card, didn’t you?”

“First two dates and a fresh pair of pants. Thanks, bud.” Geralt accepted a pat on the back as Eskel began gently but sternly berating him.

Lambert shook his head, smirking as he took another swig of beer, leaving the two lovebirds to bicker amongst themselves. His hip pocket buzzed and he checked his phone: Essi. 

Next Wednesday? Pizza and a movie?  Still can't believe you haven't seen  Ocean’s Eleven. 

Yeah, okay, fine. Jeez :P 7:30 my place? I'll provide beverages. 

If by ‘beverages’ you mean watery beer…

Fuck off, I'll get the good stuff. Unless  you prefer Arbor Mist or some shit. 

*gasps* I am offended! (but also it's delicious)

*sigh* do you want me to get you some?

*turtles into hoodie* ...peach or cherry pls? 

Haha okay, fine, I'll get a bottle. Can't promise  I won't judge you forever, though ;) 

It's okay, I deserve it.  g2g, see you tomorrow! xox 

***

Lambert groaned contentedly, massaging his stomach as he sprawled back on his aging brown sofa, long legs resting habitually on the coffee table. The now-empty pizza box lay abandoned on the far edge, accompanied by four empty beer bottles, and a nearly-empty, unfavourably warm Peach Arbor Mist. The toilet flushed and Essi emerged. Her dark gold hair had long ago been pulled into a messy bun, but her indigo skinny jeans had been replaced by soft-looking grey leggings. 

Lambert shook his head in amusement as she settled back next to him on the couch, "I still can't believe you brought your own lounge pants"

"That's because I'm a genius," she quipped, crossing her legs and adjusting the height of her waistband. "Besides, when else will I have the opportunity to actually be comfortable during a date?" 

"You took your bra off, too, didn't you?" Lambert asked without missing a beat, eyes never leaving the screen. 

"Yup!" Essi confirmed, her sparkling blue eyes glinting with joy as she raised her glass to her lips.

The movie continued as the new friends settled into comfortable silence, their food-drowsy, alcohol-fuzzy states lulling them into a new level of comfortability around each other. Legs fell asleep, positions were adjusted, and shoulders leaned on as the two sought maximum comfort for minimum effort. Soon, an arm was around Essi's shoulder as she settled her cheek on a comfortable spot on Lambert's chest. 

"You good?" Lambert asked, only half-irritated at her seemingly endless search for the perfect angle. 

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd found a good spot, but..." A few more adjustments of her head and Lambert couldn't take it anymore. 

"Jesus, woman, here. Get up for a sec."

Essi sat up as Lambert rearranged himself into a sort of semi-recline with one foot on the floor so his other leg could make room for the tiny pain-in-the-ass that was taking up the rest of the couch space. At his invitation, she wriggled up to the crook of his arm and quickly settled in. Lambert hadn't really thought about what they were doing. Not when Essi had harmlessly leaned against his arm; not when their weight settled into each other; not when Lambert had put his arm around her; not even as he was rearranging to get to where they were now. It had all just... happened. Now, though, with Essi lying still, Lambert felt the weight and warmth of her body shifting gently against his, and it dawned on him that this had the potential to be, well, weird.

But the strange thing was, it didn't feel weird. He'd fucking cuddled before, but there was always a sense of holding back, a tension in his body, being on the lookout for signals from the other person to move onto the Next Step. But now, he actually felt comfortable. There wasn't anything that was supposed to happen after this. Nobody was asking anything of him, no one sending signals he could pick up on but never read properly, no sinking feelings of dread as the other person moved in for a kiss that always felt too soon. Essi was just there, breathing, content. And Lambert was relaxed.

The woman half-on top of him gave a twitch as the credits started to roll, and Lambert let out a private laugh, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, show's over." 

Essi inhaled heavily through her nose and lifted herself up, "Hmmm?" 

"Movie's over." 

"Did I fall asleep? I'm sorry!" she sat and rubbed her eyes, taking a sip of water to rinse the stale taste from her mouth. 

"Eh, only a little." Lambert exited Netflix and tossed the remote back on to the table. "Thought you might wanna start heading home before it gets too late." 

Essi nodded in response as she grabbed the pizza box and brought it to the kitchen trash, leaving Lambert to bring the empties. 

"You going to finish this atrocity of a beverage?" Lambert waggled the near-empty wine bottle at Essi as he passed on his way to the sink. She merely scowled and shook her head, letting him pour it down the drain 'where it belonged anyway'.

Essi gathered her things and met Lambert by his front door, checking her pockets for her phone and keys one last time before putting her shoes on. 

"You okay to walk? Want me to come with?" 

It was only 10:30 on a weeknight, and she appreciated the gesture all the same, but it was fine to walk. "Thanks, though. And thank you for tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I hope, um..." 

She trailed off, not sure how to ask. She didn't have the same physical boundaries that most others seemed to have. She was affectionate—often overly so, and it had led to more than a few misunderstandings in the past. She didn't want Lambert to feel as though she had ulterior motives when the simple fact of the matter was that she hadn't really been thinking. Between the instant relief of not actually being on a date and Lambert's easy manner all evening, she'd forgotten that most friendships didn’t generally involve that much physical contact. Would Lambert be confused now? Thinking they were onto something more than friendship? Had he been wanting more? Had she pushed past a point of no return and doomed their friendship?

She inhaled, "Were you comfortable tonight?" 

For a split second, Lambert flailed, wondering whether he’d made her uncomfortable. Fuck, she'd seemed comfortable, if anything it felt like he’d been following her lead but maybe...

"I—yeah. That was, I enjoyed that. Were... were you not—?" 

Essi smiled and Lambert relaxed again, "No, I was. I wanted to ask in case, that's all. Boundaries and all that. I'll text you when I'm home." 

Lambert opened the door and waved her off toward the elevator, "'Kay. 'Night!" 

The door clicked shut. 

Okay, alright. Fine. Did they cuddle? Yes. Did he enjoy it? Fuck yes. He absolutely didn’t care what anyone might think about how he chose to enjoy his time with other people. However, this didn’t stop him from acknowledging that he was in uncharted friendship territory. More than anything, he was worried about how Essi really felt. Of course, she had no reason not to be honest with him. But the last thing he wanted to do was play fast and loose with someone’s emotions, especially not a friend, and definitely not one as close as Essi. Time would tell. As Lambert’s head hit the pillow, the memory of her warmth and weight settled over him again, and he slept soundly for the first time in months.

***

“Yes Poppet, but have you slept together yet? Honestly, you’ve been dating for almost three weeks now, what could you possibly be waiting for?” 

Oh, I don’t know, hell to freeze over? You to mind your own business? Whichever comes first… 

“I mean, you clearly adore one another, I’ve never seen you happier. What’s there to lose?’”

Essi scoffed. 

Julian placed his hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s been a while for you, but I think you can afford to let yourself go a little, have some fun, hm? Besides, it’s better to find out sooner rather than later if you’re sexually incompatible.”

She took a deep breath, “That’s a very good point, Julian, I’ll think about that.” The dating act was starting to wear a little thin, but it was worth not having to explain to anyone that they weren’t doing exactly what it looked like they were doing. 

Julian took time to give his cousin a scrutinizing look, “Well, by the look of things it won’t be long anyway. If you spend all of your time together as tangled up as you were the other night when I came over, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Just trust your gut, and when in doubt, a little hint never goes awry.”

Needless to say, Essi more or less ignored her cousin’s advice.

As the weeks stretched on, it became evident that they were quickly becoming what most people would consider to be more than friends. The first time they pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, each on their half of the mattress, they were aware that yet another boundary of friendship had been pushed a little farther into the grey zone. But, they woke up the next morning feeling happy, content, and refreshed, and surely there was nothing wrong with two people sharing a comfortable bed. Essi had woken up with crust in her eyes and her nightgown bunched around her waist. Lambert had woken up with morning wood and his hair a mess. Neither of them cared. People wake up in the morning, big deal. 

Still, it didn’t stop the questioning that oscillated in the background of Lambert’s mind. Was he unknowingly leading Essi on by allowing her so much closeness without a clearly defined relationship? She’d made her own disinterest clear enough on their first “date”,  but feelings change over time. What she’d told him three weeks ago might not be true anymore… 

And then there was that soft warm tingle in the middle of his chest every time she lay her head in his lap, every time he ran his fingers through her hair. He knew he wasn't in love. Not that he was an expert, but what was all that "when you know, you know" bullshit if he couldn’t trust his own feelings? He loved her, sure, but more like a... not a sister, that would be weird. He didn't know what like. Whatever. Fuck it. Eskel had said it best three weeks ago: “As long as you're happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters.” Yeah, sure. We’ll stick with that.

As far as Lambert and Essi were concerned, it was what it was, and whatever it was was working… wasn’t it?

***

"Fuckin' finally!" 

The door to Essi's apartment clicked closed as the tenant wilted against it, emitting an exhausted groan, "Two. Hours. It took me two hours to get home!" She toed off her penny loafers and abandoned her purse and jacket in a pile by the front door, ignoring the hook three inches to her left. She flopped heavily onto her living room carpet. 

"I see you found my spare key," she added, not at all surprised that Lambert had managed to let himself in. 

"Yeah, you should probably put that in a less obvious spot," he answered, crossing to the door to hang her things up. "So, I see it's a lying on the floor kind of evening. Can I interest you in a drink to start? Vodka pairs well with the general vibe of Done-With-This-Shit, or we also have tequila if you feel like shouting out the window after a couple shots. Alternatively, there's gin if you want to cry later." 

Essi smiled with her eyes closed, feeling her body slowly relaxing into the spongy throw rug underneath her, "You know me so well." 

"Vodka?" 

"Vodka. Euch, I need to vacuum!," Essi peeled herself to a seated position as clinks and clatters began in the kitchen. She hopped in the shower to rinse the day off, and after a few minutes, there was a knock on the bathroom door. 

"Yeeees?" she called, playfully. 

"Drink delivery!" Lambert hollered back, "you want this now or later?" 

"Why are you so good to me?" 

There was a draught of cool air as Lambert opened the bathroom door, "Because you only marginally annoy me. Here," he passed his hand between the shower wall and the opaque fish-scale-patterned curtain. "What's on the docket for tonight?" 

Essi groaned, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I used all my brain cells trying not to murder people on the streetcar." 

"Okay," Lambert sat on the lidded toilet, "here's the thing. I kinda maybe figured that might be the case so I kinda maybe picked up a few things to make dinner." 

A shampoo-piled head poked out from behind the curtain, "You're kidding." 

"Nuh-uh." 

"I love you." 

Lambert chuckled, "Yeah, you're alright. Come on, hurry up, this bathroom's a fuckin’ sauna, and I don’t want the croutons to get soggy." Essi burbled an answer about conditioner and almost done, and Lambert took that as his cue to leave.

Dinner was simple: pan fried Salmon with crispy skin (delicate and buttery on the inside); wax beans in butter (tender and not overcooked); grilled brussels sprouts (just beginning to brown on the edges); and a fresh caesar salad. Everything done to perfection. Full, content, and ready to take their relaxation to the next step they settled themselves on Essi’s blue-grey sectional to begin the arduous task of deciding what to watch. 

This was proving particularly difficult with the addition of Essi's caveat that whatever they chose not be "too plot-heavy" which so far had included Masterchef, an interior design show, and program about shepherding in the Orkneys. 

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me some slack here. I thought I was on track with the sheep!" 

"I know, I'm sorry!" Essi muffled into his shirt sleeve. "I do like animals..." She gasped loudly. "BLUE PLANET."

Lambert stopped the endless scrolling and pushed play as the soothing voice of David Attenborough filled the small living room.

"Hey! Why'd you pause it?" 

Lambert was standing up, "If we're going to do this, then we're doing it right. Hang on." 

Essi slumped on the sofa as the microwave kicked on. In a few minutes, there was popcorn in their laps and half a bottle of vodka on the table with an ice bucket and lemon wedges in a bowl. Lambert read off his phone screen.

"We will take a drink when: 

-David says 'Extraordinary' -David uses a clear understatement such as 'But then again, living in an active volcano is not without its risks' -An animal is being eaten -An animal is mating -There is sped up footage of a plant growing."

"Oh no," Essi lamented, chewing her popcorn ungracefully, "I'm going to get so drunk." 

"You got it, Goldilocks. Fill up."

And with that, they were off, taking it slow with their vodka twists, but nonetheless feeling the warm buzz start to tingle under their skin. The box of microwave popcorn was empty by halfway through, and the remains of Essi's exhaustion had almost dispersed entirely.

"Ooh! Understatement! Drink!!" 

By ten o’clock, pink-cheeked and feeling boisterous, they had finished with their favourite parts of Blue Planet, or at least the ones they had patience for, and had moved on to Planet Earth II.

“Holy fuck, that’s a lot of snakes—Go, you little fucker! Go!”

The drama on the screen had caused the two to separate from one another while Lambert invested himself in the success of the small lizard. Once the baby Galapagos Iguana had made it to safety, they were once again able to recline without Essi risking an elbow to the face.

She bundled against him, scooting farther between his legs where he leaned in the corner of the sectional. He gathered her hair and draped it over her left shoulder so it wouldn't get caught in his buttons—they'd learned that the hard way. It was still damp, cool to the touch, and smelled like verbena sea salt shampoo. He felt a pulse of affection ripple through him as her weight resettled. He loved that feeling. It had taken some time to get used to it. But now it was high on his list of favourite things. He was happy. And it was healthy. And that really was all that mattered. 

Right?

Eskel’s words turned themselves around again in his mind as he wrapped his arm around the front of Essi’s shoulders. He let himself indulge in the texture of her cotton knit nightshirt under his fingers. He relished in the peace of mind at being able to just be there with someone who meant something to him and made absolutely no demands. He let himself relax. 

Essi felt a kiss land on the top of her head with a playful, "Muwah!" 

She giggled quietly, "Thank you!" Then, upon further thought… Did he want to kiss her? Her mind did a double take as she tried to get on top of the ball.  

It wasn’t impossible. They were close after all, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She’d recently found herself in a balancing act of realizing she could, in theory, have a deeper kind of feeling for Lambert. Only if, for whatever reason, it turned out he felt the same way. These weren’t the helpless uncontrollable feelings of ride-or-die infatuation; they were malleable, translatable, general feelings of affection and fondness that belonged in any number of different relationships and dynamics. 

No sense risking it, she thought. They'd found a liminal space of comfort and safety that she'd never experienced with anyone else before, and if the options were between being a little confused and ruining everything, the choice was an easy one. Then again, if Lambert was developing feelings for her, she didn’t want to miss an opportunity. Shit. Her cheeks burned as she felt the question rise closer to her lips. 

"Lambert?" she sat up abruptly and turned to her friend who was still moulded into the corner of the couch, watching the mating rituals of exotic birds with bewildered skepticism. 

He jolted at Essi’s sudden movement, "Hello, yes." 

Her bright blue eyes were now slightly unfocused, "Do you—? Nevermind." She lay back against him, suddenly skittish..

"Mm, nah, try again," he said, sluggishly. "What’s up, buttercup?" 

She swayed a little when she sat up, "Are you happy with what we are?"

Lambert blinked, caught slightly off-guard. The question was easy enough to answer, "Yeah! I mean I don’t know what the fuck we are, but I’m feeling pretty good about it. Shit, why? Are you not? I can be less… whatever. Or… more?" It wasn’t like he was repulsed by the idea of anything else happening between them—in theory it was a possibility. In practice, however...

Essi put an emphatic hand on Lambert’s knee, her glassy eyes going wide, "Do you want more?" 

"What? No! I dunno, I—maybe. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean…” Lambert searched Essi’s face for any clue that might help him know how to proceed, “I don’t not want anything else. Fuck, I don’t know! I’m used to doing things the other way around. You know the drill: uncomfortable date, smoosh faces together, have sex, hope feelings fall out. Lather-rinse-repeat. I dunno, do we have to… But what if we try something and...? I don’t wanna lose this." 

Essi leaned in close and whispered, “I have an idea.”

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" 

"We should kiss."

Lambert nearly swallowed an ice cube, "What?!"

"Just once. Quickly. Just... in case." 

"You want me, Lambert, to kiss you, Essi Daven, on the lips."

She nodded sincerely, "For science."

There was a brief pause during which Essi felt the beginnings of panic brewing in her stomach, but by the time she'd finished grappling with potential consequences, Lambert was filling their glasses. 

"Alright. Fine. My friend wants me to kiss her for science? Fuck it. I'll drink to that." 

They downed their drinks and squared up, knee to knee on the edge of the sofa as they each prepared for their best form—or as good as they could offer given the circumstances. They counted down, 3-2-1...

The kiss was quick, over as soon as it had begun, and both friends pulled away with questioning looks. Inconclusive. They tried again for a little longer, still returning with the same quizzical expressions. They went in for a third time, committing more thoroughly, and for a brief moment it seemed they might have found the semblance of a spark. But it didn’t build. It felt… fine? But no different than if they were lying together on the sofa. It was just another thing they were doing. They each tried to find the right word for what they were feeling, but were soon distracted by the oddness of it all.   

Essi started to giggle. Less than a second later, Lambert joined her, and they both pulled away, thoroughly satisfied that their experiment had yielded a strong No on the subject of More. There was a dull thud as Essi slid from the couch and onto the floor, still holding her drink in one hand and laughing hysterically. 

Lambert sighed and shook his head, "I think it’s time we got you to bed."

Headaches and dry mouths greeted the two friends the next morning when they blinked awake. Essi’s hair was a cotton-candy mess, having still been slightly damp when Lambert put her to bed. The brunet himself didn’t look much different from his usual scruffy state as he gathered Essi up in an armful of duvet and squeezed tight.

“Gods, Lambert, I still need to breathe,” Essi chuckled, pressing her back into his chest. 

“You’ll get over it,” he teased and self-indulgently nuzzled even closer. “You feeling alright? I mean, aside from the hangover. About last night?” 

“Oh no,” Essi groaned, “I’m so sorry, Lambert. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—you kissed my head and then that got me wondering about whether you might want something else, and then I didn’t really know what was happening and—” 

“Hey, easy on the rambling, okay, I’m running on limited brain cells, here. Look,” Lambert sat up to find those big blue eyes, now shining brightly, “I have no idea what the fuck this is that we’ve got going on, but I like it fine just the way it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we can keep talking about that. Just, you know, maybe next time something’s on your mind, don’t wait ‘til we’re wasted at 2am?”

“Okay, deal. Can we go get bacon now?”

Lambert chuckled, “Yeah, alright, fine. Make me put pants on, I see how it is.”

Their conversation continued over strong coffee and eggs benedicts. Between their check-in that morning and everything that had happened the previous night, it was well-established that they were perfectly happy where they were. Rather, the main topic of conversation was their growing desire to level with their friends about the nature of their relationship. Eskel and Geralt, they both agreed, would be the easiest—Lambert could tell them that evening. Julian and Essi’s friends on the other hand would be a little more difficult. 

Telling Julian together would be best, Essi thought. He was bound to have questions, and if both she and Lambert were there to answer them definitively and explain that no, they didn’t have secret feelings for one another; and yes, they really were just friends and not at all interested in exploring the relationship further thank you very much. Exactly when this discussion with Julian would occur still wasn’t clear. Realistically, they could pick any time, but they decided to wait until Lambert could tell the Old Men. At least then they were assured some less invasive support. 

Their reaction was easy enough to predict: Eskel reassuringly repeated his standby “As long as you’re both happy with things…” and twirled a forkful of pasta; Geralt tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “That sounds very nice. I’m happy for you.” Lambert had expected mild disapproval, concern that they were deviating too far from the norm and into a complex dynamic that would be too messy to manage. Instead, Geralt simply said it ‘sounded very nice.’ Lambert smiled into the open refrigerator on his way to get a beer. 

The following weekend was Julian’s birthday, and, as per their annual tradition, the group all gathered on Friday evening at the birthday boy’s favourite restaurant—Vegelbud’s. The two decided to tell him the week after his birthday so as not to detract from his Big 3-0. Just one more week, and it would all be in the open. Easy breasy.

The afternoon of the dinner, Eskel and Geralt received a group text: Haven’t told Julian the details yet. Keep the beans to yourselves please (I’m looking at you, @Eskel). 

“Why me?” Eskel turned to Geralt over his paperwork, looking a little hurt. 

Geralt chuckled, “You have a slight tendency to overshare when you want to be supportive.”

“I do?” He turned on the bar stool to follow his partner on the way upstairs.

“It’s not a bad thing, but…” Geralt sighed, “Lambert has always needed to feel in control of situations like this. He doesn’t want one of us bringing this up before he’s ready to talk about it, especially in a public place, you know how he gets when he feels cornered. And Julian is Essi’s cousin…”

Eskel raised a hand, “You’re right, you’re right. All points taken. Are you showering?”

Geralt smirked as he headed for the stairs, “Come on then.” 

Four hours later and halfway through dinner, everything had gone swimmingly. The food had been expectedly delicious, the company and conversation excellent, and so far no one had felt the need to bring up Essi and Lambert’s relationship on any level. That is until Julian got a few drinks under his belt, and decided it was time to document the occasion. Geralt and Eskel were the first victims. 

“Aww just look at you two! So in love, so vivacious and full of adoration,” Julian held up his phone as Geralt touched the side of his head to Eskel’s. Beep-Chk! A perfect image of a happy couple was captured and posted to Instagram (#julianturns30 #dinneratvagelbuds #dinnerout #cutiesofinstagram #favoriteotp #gaycouplesofinstagram #livelaughlove…). There were a few more photos of the three of them together, the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake with the candle in it, a group shot taken by the waiter. It was all so close to being over, Essi could practically taste the refuge of the streetcar. 

"Come on, lovebirds, show us a smooch!" Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Essi’s stomach lurched and she felt her cheeks start to warm. Lambert’s hand landed gently on her knee under the table, his fingers pressing firmly into her leg as she desperately tried to think of something to say. 

"Oh, um..." 

Across the table, Geralt and Eskel shared a wordless communication: de-escalate, distract, redirect.

“You’ll want to eat that cheesecake before it gets warm” Geralt offered. “I hear it’s so light it’ll disintegrate in a heartbeat.” Eskel nodded in encouragement, taking a bite of his own. 

“I know, I know,” Julian shrugged, “Just a quick one. Say Cheese!”

"Not right now, Julian," Essi tilted her head, her eyes flashing a little. 

"Oh come on, Poppet! I know you don't like PDA, it's just one little picture--"

“Don’t call me Poppet.”

Eskel cleared his throat loudly, "Doesn't seem they're that keen on it. Maybe let's try for one another time." 

"It's past your one-month-a-versary, let everyone see how in love you are." 

"Julian," Geralt growled, "leave it." 

Julian covered his mouth in alarm, "I’m so sorry, have you not used that word yet? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just want the world to see how happy my beautiful cousin is!" 

“Really Julian, it’s not necessary we—” Essi’s fingernails were starting to dig into Lambert’s palm from the sheer effort of maintaining composure. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or disappear, and with neither of those being an option, it seemed the only possible escape was for them to kiss. They’d done it before. No big deal. It would feel off, but they’d just go back to her place and drink about it after. 

“Essi, what’s the matter with you, it’s just one little picture, and we all know you’re not camera-shy. On three, ready? One, two…”

"For fuck's sake we're not dating!" 

The table all silently turned their attention to Essi whose cheeks had been turning progressively redder. 

“What?” Her cousin laughed incredulously. 

“We’re not a couple, Julian. We’re friends. We have been from the beginning, but we didn’t want to tell you because we knew you wouldn’t fucking leave us alone until you could boast about having set us up.”

Lambert shared a brief look with Eskel before lowering his eyes to the tablecloth, his hand still firmly clutched in Essi’s. 

Julian gaped, “So, it was all… the cuddling, the laughing, that time I came over and you were asleep on the couch, that was all… a ruse?” 

“No, Julian, that was real. I told you, we’re friends.”

“That’s not friends! Since when have friends watched a movie half-on-top of each other?” 

“Two people can enjoy each other's company lying flat, Julian,” Eskel’s rich voice interjected across the table and the discussion ground to a halt. 

Geralt shrugged with his tea at his lips, “It is the twenty-first century after all.”

Julian’s cornflower blue eyes flitted back and forth between the two friends, utterly bewildered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well what with your complete and utter invasion of privacy for the sake of hooking us up, we didn’t necessarily trust you to believe us,” Essi answered curtly, her hand shaking slightly. 

“Poppet, you could have just told me—”

“Stop. Calling me that. And I did tell you, Julian!” she exploded. “I told you the first day I moved here. The first. Day. I said, ‘Julian, I think I want to take a break from dating until I’ve been settled for a year.’ And what did you do? Conspired with my well-meaning former mentor to hook me up with someone I had one good conversation with at a Christmas party. And do you know what? We are happy. But we’re happy in our own way. And maybe our boundaries with each other seem a little strange to you, but we’re not fooling ourselves. We don’t want to kiss each other, we don’t want to have sex, and we don’t want a relationship. And even though it’s absolutely none of your damn business, I’ll tell you anyway: we’ve talked about it. All of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I want to be here anymore.” 

The chair legs scraped against the floor of the restaurant as Essi stood to leave, throwing her purse over her shoulder as she went. Lambert looked hesitantly around the table, “I should probably, you know…” He gestured after Essi with his thumb. Eskel gave Lambert the go ahead and he quickly stood to follow his friend out of the restaurant, leaving a very stunned Julian with the other two. He found her perched on the parking barrier in the small lot to the left of the front doors. He called to her and she looked up. Eyes shining, mascara running... 

“Ah shit, you know I’m no good with this kind of thing.” 

“I’m sorry, Lambert, I just—” she blew her nose, “—he just wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do or say, and it all just came pouring out. I didn’t want it to. The whole time I was begging myself to stop, but I just couldn’t, it’s been bottled up for so long and-and—but it’s his birthday, and—oh, he must feel so awful! I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but—and with Eskel and Geralt there too! They must think I’m horrible! I’m so sorry, Lambert, I didn’t want it to be like this, I wanted to have him over and sit him down and be patient, and instead I’ve just made a complete mess of things. And on his birthday! It’s his birthday, oh God, this is the worst thing I could have done.” Essi choked back bitter tears as she tried desperately to stem the flow with her soggy tissue, “Are you upset with me, Lambert? If you are, I understand. Maybe we should take a break of some kind, you know. Not see each other for a while and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Look, I’m probably not going to say any of the right stuff here, but I am absolutely not upset with you. You got that? And for what it’s worth, I don’t think us taking a break from spending time together is going to do anything. Unless you’re looking to punish yourself by taking away a nice thing which, okay. But the fact that you’re willing to ditch me instead of Arbor Mist says something about our friendship I’m not too pleased with.” 

Essi turned her wide, pleading, bloodshot eyes to Lambert who cracked a smile, “Jesus, I’m kidding! You adorable fucking mess, c’mere.” He pulled his petite friend into a hug and rested his chin on the top of her head until she quieted down. Neither of them was quite sure how much time had gone by, but Essi found herself wishing it had been long enough for everyone to have gone home so she didn’t have to face whatever aftermath she’d left behind. 

Meanwhile, Eskel and Geralt had settled the bill and offered to give Julian a lift back to their place for a night cap, not wanting to leave the evening on such an unsettled note. Essi needed space, and whatever company she needed, Lambert was clearly capable of providing. It was for the best, they suggested, and dissuaded Julian from trying to call her. 

“Best to sleep on things,” Geralt said, tucking his card back into his wallet and giving the waiter a nod in gratitude. “We can meet for coffee this weekend and sort this out. For now, just let her cool down.” 

Eskel clapped Julian encouragingly on the shoulder as they made their way into the damp summer night air. As they turned into the parking lot, they came face-to-face with Essi and Lambert who had clearly just turned to come back inside. Both cousins looked like they had seen better days: Essi’s eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with inky makeup stains; Julian was perhaps less dishevelled, but the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, his boyish features now dejectedly weighted down with remorse and hurt. 

“Juian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” 

Essi’s cousin raised his hand, “Don’t. Please don’t. Essi, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to push you like that, I didn't realize... you both have been so happy this last month and—"

"It's okay, really, we can talk about this all another time. I'm just so sorry I ruined your birthday. We wanted to sit down with you and talk properly but..." Essi's tears welled up again, and Julian smiled weakly. 

"But we both did what we always do?"

She sniffed, nodding emphatically with a tearful, "Yeah.” Julian pulled his cousin into a fond embrace while the other three clumped together to watch the reconciliation. 

“Oh! Here,” Essi reached into her purse and pulled out a small, neatly-wrapped box. “Happy birthday!” 

Julian opened his gift without a second thought, his face brightening instantly. The box contained a set of premium ultra-light guitar strings and a pair of concert tickets. The perfect gift. Overwhelmed with gratitude, and the atmosphere having been recovered, Julian suggested they all attend brunch together that Sunday morning, his treat by way of apology. Geralt offered to split the bill as a peace offering for his part in the initial setup, and the five made a date. 

A fresh start, a promise of spending time together with fewer secrets and, Julian conceded, a few more boundaries. 

[btsghostiewritersnet]

BGW BINGO BASH MASTERLIST ☀️

The following fics were written for the BTSGhostieWriters Bingo Bash 2020. Authors who successfully completed the challenge will be listed down below, as well as those who were unable to finish it but still participated.

Thank you to everyone for joining the network’s first writing challenge! We hope to see you in our upcoming challenges coming soon!

—Black-out Bingo Cards

🏆 @breadoffoxy​

Of Insults and Flowers | Prompt: Florist!AU

The Rule of Fries | Prompt: Stealing food

Prey for Me | Prompt: Sexual tension

Dangerous Distractions | Prompt: Someone gets handcuffed.

The D Box | Prompt: “I’ve made a mistake.”

His Song/Their Song | Prompt: One-sided pining

Takeout | Prompt: Idol!AU

Heart on Fire | Prompt: Demon!AU

Don’t Mind Me | Prompt: Stealing looks

—Completed Bingo Cards

👻 @monggu-eomma​

Don’t Touch That! | Prompt: “Don’t touch that!”

Paper Plate | Prompt: Hanahaki!AU

Give and Take | Prompt: Self-insert your first teen phase

Field Trip | Prompt: Vampire!AU

Found | Prompt: Sun and moon

👻 @jingabitch​

Fluff and Smut | Prompt: One-sided pining

A Deal with the Devil | Prompt: Demon!AU

To Love an Empress | Prompt: Secret admirer

👻 @joopiterjoon​

Crutches and Crushes | Prompt: Hospital!AU

Holy Haughties | Prompt: Magic!AU

Roots | Prompt: Stealing looks

👻 @bangtanloverboys​

what are friends for | Prompt: Friends with benefits

wonderings about holding yoongi’s hands | Prompt: “Hold my hand?”

i’d be home with you | Prompt: Ghost!AU

👻 @vantaenims

daffodil street | Prompt: Unrequited love

bittersweet | Prompt: Idol!AU

anemoia | Prompt: Futuristic!AU

👻 @bangtiddies

Life Worth Lived | Prompt: Major character death

Who Stole the Cookies from the Cookie Jar? | Prompt: Stealing food

CAFE | Prompt: One-sided pining

👻 @princegguk​

a bit about forgetfulness | Prompt: Alien!AU

strawberry blond | Prompt: Jimin takes a lot of photos

dusk till dawn | Prompt: Misunderstandings

👻 @vinterjeon

Deal | Prompt: Include a plot twist

What Money Can Buy | Prompt: “I’m losing my mind!”

Flower Boy | Prompt: Florist!AU

👻 @euphoria-vmin7

lucent | Prompt: “Don’t touch that!”

tiger flower | Prompt: Hanahaki!AU

punny business | Prompt: Include three puns

👻 @hansolmates

black magic | Prompt: Magic!AU

off-league | Prompt: Childhood friends to lovers

angel’s trumpet | Prompt: “I’m losing my mind!”

give me five more minutes (loving you) | Prompt: Established relationship

—Non-completed Bingo Cards

​👻 @dreamystuffers

“pull over. let me drive for awhile.” | Prompt: Namjoon learns to drive

“i believe in you.” | Prompt: Magic!AU

“well, what do you want to do?” | Prompt: Jungkook gets locked in a closet

​​👻 @absoluteyoongit

scream your heart out | Prompt: “I have to tell you something. I’m in love with you.”

in loving memory | Prompt: Ghost!AU

​​👻 @crazy4myself

Burnt Chicken | Prompt: “Is something burning?”

Tear | Prompt: Include a plot twist

👻 @cinnaminsvga​

Sweeter Than Strawberries | Prompt: Strangers to lovers

17 | Prompt: Stealing looks

👻 @alilbihh​

tomorrow (forever) | Prompt: Established relationship

coming home | Prompt: “Don’t touch that!”

👻  @dawndrms​

Night’s Missing Chances | Prompt: Unrequited love

Strawberry Boy | Prompt: Stealing food

👻  @rougebangtan​

it’s better when it feels wrong | Prompt: Jimin takes a lot of photos

until the morning | Prompt: Misunderstandings

👻 @lavenderlattaes​

an extra step closer | Prompt: Established relationship

the night we met. | Prompt: Ghost!AU

👻 @euphoriara​

The Sign to Your Heart | Prompt: Strangers to lovers

👻 @thin-mint-yoongi​

One and Only | Prompt: Domestic!AU

👻 @just-slowly-drifting​

You crashed my car | Prompt: Namjoon learns to drive

[peaky-gray]

Save Yourself

Pt. 6/?

A/N: we've made it to part six, lovelies! I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think and if you want more!

Listen while you read.

TW: Oswald Mosley. He deserves one

PART ONE.    PART TWO.    PART THREE.    PART FOUR.     PART FIVE.

Walking up the stairs to the offices, Tommy was preparing you, Michael, and Arthur for what was to come, Michael asking what the strategy was. It must have been the fifth sentence you’ve heard him speak all day. He didn’t say a word to you the entire trip over to London, only staring out of the train window, not daring to look at you.

Tommy speaks to Michael next to you as you climb the stairs, “ You and Prudence can smile,” Tommy looks at Arthur, “And you, don’t smile.”

The four of you walk into Tommy’s spacious office, Tommy taking his chair behind the desk, Arthur standing by the window, you and Michael sitting with a vacant chair between yourselves as per Tommy’s direction. You didn’t know why the seating arrangement had to be so specific.

Arthur asks the question of the hour, “So, who we meetin’?” 

Tommy answers, “The man we’re about to meet is the minister for the Duchy of Lancaster. He is also deputy to the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Cabinet adviser to the Prime Minister of Great Britain.” Now you knew why the seating arrangement was so important. 

Tommy continues to speak, “You three have met bad men before. The man we’re about to meet is the devil.” 

You glance at Michael while the phone rings, trying to gauge how he was feeling about the encounter that was about to happen. All you find is the cold exterior he always had during business meetings with strangers; a true businessman, Michael was only warm and friendly with clients he knew. He was always stern with new clients so he or the business was never taken advantage of. So far, his strategy has worked. You had seen it first hand. He and you worked together as a team during business meetings, able to work together seamlessly; this was a stark difference.

“Send him in.” Tommy sighed loudly across from you. You never saw Tommy nervous, he always appeared collected even if his mind was in shambles. Today, he looked nervous, and that sat a fire of panic in your stomach. 

Everyone in the room was in suspense, Michael turning to look at the door as it finally opens as a tall man sporting a mustache enters. You and Michael stand to greet him, warm smiles on your faces as you were previously told to do so. 

The man speaks as he sits down between you and Michael, “I never seem to get to meet you without your family.”  Family. You were still a part of the family, never seeming to be able to get out of its clutches. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby.

Tommy speaks sternly, “I understand you know a man called Jimmy McCavern.” At the mention of Jimmy, both you and Michael start to fiddle with your hands, uncomfortable with the meeting already.

The man, Oswald Mosley, doesn’t bother to answer the question right away, asking for a cigarette instead. Taking one and lighting it, he throws the lighter on the desk, the thud echoing through the room. 

“Who on earth is Jimmy McCavern?”

Tommy sharply inhales, “Over the last 12 months, you’ve been making approaches to various men across the country who you think might be able to help you in your cause. McCavern is one of these men. He runs the East Glasgow shipyards. He killed an associate of mine.” Associate, apparently to Tommy that’s all Bonnie was. 

He continues speaking, “I want to know what your strategy is.”

The man ashes his cigarette on the floor, bits of it floating onto your shoes; you roll your eyes, Michael notices. 

Motioning his head over to Arthur, the man speaks, “That one’s your brother, yes?”

Michael speaks to Mosley, “Yes. And I’m his business advisor, next to you is the assistant business advisor. We would like to talk business.” So, it turns out he can acknowledge you. 

“Michael. Michael Gray. You lost all your cousin’s money in America playing the fool. A night club in Detroit called the Gladiator is your regular. You lost the money...and found a wife there.”

You jerk your head towards Michael, needing him to see the expression on your face. Pain, disappointment, and shock are etched into your features as Michael stiffens, looking at the man. Michael catches your eye as Oswald begins to speak again, this time looking at you.

“Prudence Jones. You were once engaged to Michael, then he left you while he was in America. You then ran off with Bonnie Gold before his unfortunate end. Truly heartbreaking.”

You sit shocked, both at how he knows that and at how uninterested he seems with the entire conversation. He really was the devil. You can see Michael look at you sympathetically, confirming for you that he actually still did have a heart. But the expression left as soon as it came. 

“And poor old Arthur Shelby, standing there at the window, - is afraid his wife will never return.”

You can hear the wood chair creaking behind you as Arthur clutches onto it.

“My spies tell me she’s been seen with another man.”

Arthur continues gripping the wood, starting to splinter under the weight, Tommy calming him in Romani. 

Next to you, the man begins to speak again, “And...bingo. Twenty seconds in, and I have them speaking their lingo. Mr. Shelby, I do have plans. I will have need of men like you. Except, of course, there is no other man like you. You, in particular, I need. But please. Don’t imagine I would trouble myself with turf wars. You have many other enemies. Shuffle the pack and pick another card.” 

He stands up, reaching into his inside breast coat-pocket pulling out a letter and tossing onto Tommy’s desk. “That investigation of the dead journalist, I've made that go away. Read it and, uh, come back to me. Next time, bring only an open mind and a cigar to celebrate our union.” At that, Oswald Mosley throws the cigarette onto the floor, stomping it out with his shoe and walking out.

Normally you didn’t smoke, but after that encounter you did today. Reaching for the container of cigarettes in front of you, yours and Michael’s hands brush, him reaching for one too. You pull away first, Michael taking a cigarette out and handing you one before grabbing another for himself. You weren’t going to read too much into it because if you did, you would give yourself a headache and only break your own heart even more than it already was. 

Tommy opens and reads the letter, throwing his glasses onto his desk, sitting down, exasperated.

Michael, who was standing in front of you leaning on the desk, breaks the silence first, “What the fuck was that all about, Tom?”

You hear Tom whisper ‘fuck’ and Arthur shoving the chair over, breaking a small table and the china set sitting atop of it. 

Tommy yells at Arthur, immediately giving you a headache. You hated yelling, as did Michael. He never yelled in front of you, and the rare times he did yell, he asked you to leave the room before doing so. This time you didn’t have a chance to leave as Tommy continued to yell.

“Arthur! Do not let them get inside your head! That’s exactly how these people work.”

Arthur again asks the question everyone was thinking, “Who the fuck are these people? Hmm? Who the fuck are they?!” 

Tommy sighs, “I’ve just been invited...to become the deputy leader of a brand-new political party. These people say they are the future.”

Behind you, Arthur huffs loudly, anger rolling off him in waves, as you and Michael finish off your cigarettes while Tommy was clutching his eyes, trying to think of a way to fix this. All of you were fucked.

Tag list: @multi-fandom-iimagines​ @liviakomtrikru20