#i was supposed to go on shades of death road with a friend once but he wanted to go at 3a and i was like dude that's too late for me

[voidthewanderer]

For the paranormal asks:

1,6 and 9 for Crow, Ripper and Arsenic ?

(01) Is your OC superstitious?

Ripper: Not particularly. He doesn't shun other people for being superstitious, however. His grandparents used to tell the superstition of Writing Love Letters To Juliet Capulet, which is most likely why he's not; given the story of Romeo and Juliet ended very tragically. Why would writing love letters to Juliet would grant potential love.

Crow: To an extent. They play on some of the more common ones, such as walking under a ladder is bad luck, throwing a pinch of salt over your shoulder toward off evil, knock on wood, etc. They very heavily believe in the strength of nazars.

Arsenic: Absolutely not. He finds that most superstitions come true because they're generally mentions of 'bad luck'; so people overreact and the bad thing does actually happen.

(06) What is your OC's favorite cryptid?

Ripper: He loves the story of the thunderbird. While not necessarily a cryptid, it's the first thing that comes to his mind when asked the question.

Crow: They're a Jersey Devil fan. There's a magazine that releases semi-annually called Weird NJ, which highlights many different types of haunts in New Jersey, which uses the Jersey Devil as one of their mascots. They fell in love with the design of it.

Arsenic: He likes anything sea serpent or aquatic. It's a hard time choosing between the Loch Ness Monster, Ogopogo, and Champ. However, if he's being a tease or just a brat, he'll say the kraken. For reasons.

(09) Has your OC ever seen a ghost?

Ripper: He hasn't; or rather, he believes he hasn't. Since he is a bit of a skeptic when it comes to ghosts, so he tries to find logical explanations for certain things. While he hasn't actually seen a ghost (at least in his canon), he has experienced them. Gotta face it, New Jersey's pretty damn haunted. He's seen what happens when you disrespect The Devil's Tree (ex friend of his took a dare to carve something into the tree; they wound up with their car broken down not even ten minutes after they left). He's driven along Shades Of Death Road (which is right next to Jenny Jump State Forest and Ghost Lake); his headlights kept failing despite having recently replaced them and they were fine once he'd left the area. He's still a thrill seeker with paranormal stuff, even if he is a skeptic. Not to mention as well, he took refuge in Sterling Hill Mine when the bombs fell; which is allegedly one of the most haunted places on the east coast.

Crow: Yes. They truly believe they've seen the ghost of their family multiple times when living in Caine. Not to mention as well, they've also been to some of the New Jersey haunts as well (with Rips on Shades Of Death Road; saw something on the side of the road). They've also visited Boldt Castle in Alexandria Bay, New York, which they've experienced disembodied footsteps through quieter parts of the castle.

Arsenic: He has not. Arsen's generally not the same type of paranormal thrill seeker like Crow and Ripper are, a non-believer; and even he knows that even if they were real, ghosts wouldn't be active during peak tourist hours and most haunts are tourist spots.

[ahaura]

(Dec. 12) [Article] by Hind Khoudary

Article title:

Diary from Gaza: 'If death doesn’t come from airstrikes, it will come from starvation

Article subtitle:

Hind Khoudary, with the World Food Programme in Gaza, recounts hard days in the strip during and after a brief humanitarian pause

Article text:

After seven weeks of relentless bombardment that left 80 percent of Gaza's population – 1.8 million people – displaced, trapped and acutely hungry, a week-long humanitarian pause came into effect offering a temporary respite and allowing some aid into the small, decimated and fully-deprived enclave where food, water, medicine and any of life's necessities are dangerously low. 

Hind, a native of Gaza, has made it her life's mission to share the stories of her people. In this account, she bears witness to the suffering befalling Gaza and how she and others are surviving. For weeks, Hind reported on life in Gaza. Below, she shares her story of displacement, the loss of her home, days without food, losing hope and finding it again.

Caption: A displaced Palestinian family now living in a makeshift camp in southern Gaza without water, electricity, or enough food. Photo: WFP/Ali Jadallah

24 November I woke up today to an unfamiliar silence. The absence of warplanes, drones and bombs. The uncertainty that it would last felt uneasy.

On the first day of the temporary pause, our footsteps led us to the Al Aqsa Martyrs hospital, where ambulances were transporting civilians wounded by gunshots on a road that was supposed to be safe. “We wanted to go back home,” a man with an injury in his right leg screamed.

People were shouting, doctors were in a rush trying to save those injured in their lower limbs from amputation. The hospital’s floors, once pristine, were now painted in the shades of spilled blood. As I looked around at the blood-soaked ground, I couldn't help but question, “Where is the ceasefire?”

Caption: Non-stop bombardment has decimated homes and buildings in Gaza, with families now living amid the rubble and searching for debris to make a fire to cook. Photo: WFP/Ali Jadallah

On that day at least 17 Palestinians were injured. Yet, as the day unfolded, an unsettling normalcy settled in – a silence that didn’t seem to care for the ruthless acts that left dozens of Palestinians dead or injured on the supposed respite's very first day.

In the midst of the heart-wrenching scenes, I decided to seek solace at the shore of Gaza, yearning for the calm sight of the sea and the soothing rhythm of the waves. The shore that I had been a stranger to for six weeks. Barefoot on the sand, I took a deep breath. All I hope for is an end to the violence.

Caption: The author and Palestinian families enjoy some respite on the shore of Gaza on the first day of the humanitarian pause (24 November). Photo courtesy of the author

Children were swimming in the sea, laughing and playing – seemingly oblivious to the war. Gazans used to gather at the sea for picnics with friends and family, but today there were none. The absence of any food underscored the stark contrast between the ordinary joys of life and the grim reality of conflict.

25 November

The humanitarian pause agreement was meant to allow aid into the Gaza Strip. And yet, the supermarket shelves were empty. People were searching for salt, yeast and wheat flour to make bread. Everyone was desperately searching for ways to bring bread back into their lives, in supermarkets or on the streets – but no one can find.

A sign stapled on a supermarket entrance read: “WE DO NOT HAVE YEAST OR SALT”.

We went to Deir El Balah’s marketplace searching for food, but we could not find any. Tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, eggplant and oranges are all you can find. We even searched for winter clothes and blankets; we also did not find any.

If some supermarkets had anything at all on their shelves, it was soap and shampoo. 

People are still going to shops, navigating aisles in the hope of finding anything they can return with to their children yearning for sweets. But how do you soothe a child crying for chocolate when you cannot even make them bread?

There is not enough food or aid reaching all of the people in the Gaza Strip.

Caption: In in Deir El Balah people crowd a market searching for food, while shop shelves are empty. Photo: WFP/Ali Jadallah

6:00 pm: I found out my home was  bombed from a video shared by someone on Instagram. I am still in denial. I won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes. But I can’t.

Home is a couple of minutes away, but I cannot even go search for my belongings because people are restricted from going there. Gaza has been a besieged enclave since 2007 and Palestinians have had to deal with the lack of freedom in moving within the Strip or leaving it.  

A temporary ceasefire without going back home was cruel.  It is not only me. “Can we go back to our homes?”, is the only question everyone is asking. Not being able to go back home made me sad and depressed. But not being able to mobilize from the north to the south of Gaza has been suffocating more than bombardment.

During the seven-day humanitarian pause, WFP and partners managed to scale-up assistance and reach people in areas that were cut off from aid for weeks. Hundreds of humanitarian aid trucks crossed into Gaza, but this was not enough in the face of the catastrophe unfolding. 

Then the fighting resumed once again, and with it, more displacement, the risk of famine, and disease.

1 December

On 7am on Friday morning, we woke up to the sound of explosions and drones buzzing in the sky.

We knew it was coming, but no one was ready for all of that to start again after seven days of calmness without the buzzing noise of drones.

Israeli warplanes started launching multiple air raids across Gaza, targeting residential areas everywhere in Gaza. Explosions have not stopped since the resumption of the fighting. Artillery shelling, drones, warplanes, gunboats fire have not stopped.

In the first 24 hours reports say at least 200 Palestinians were killed. Thousands remain under the rubble where the civil defence teams can’t rescue all of these people.

However, the Israeli forces published a map with block numbers. Every area was given a block number, where they will start giving each block instructions to evacuate. But no one knows which block their home has been assigned and no one knows where to go. They run from one area being bombed to another. 

People were frustrated and terrified, they were already displaced from their homes to areas in Gaza that they were told would be safe. But the reality is this: in Gaza no place is safe. People are fleeing from one death to another.

Caption: Relentless bombardment on Gaza has displaced more than 85 percent of the population. Photo: WFP/Ali Jadallah

If death doesn’t come from airstrikes, it will come from starvation.

Today, we were sharing a bottle of juice that a friend managed to find. We were rationing it among ourselves when a massive explosion unexpectedly occurred close to where we are staying, we ran into each other fearing another explosion. This was the last bottle of juice we had in stock. I hadn’t managed to take a sip. 

Today, I was intensely hungry. The only thing I could find was zaatar (thyme) and some bread that my friend’s mother made over firewood. To secure some wheat flour to bake bread, families can pay astronomical amounts of money. In one area inside Gaza, a bag of wheat flour – a rare find these days – was 400 NIS (US$ 107).

Food options are now a thing of the past. We no longer have a choice of what to eat, we eat what is available.

I yearned for something sweet. It has been so long without anything that I have forgotten the taste of pancakes with bananas.

4 December 

We have officially run out of food.  We went to the market to look for something to to eat and returned with cucumbers. We are drained, dehydrated, starving and cold. 

People in Gaza city do not even have the freedom to search for food. Anyone who moves would be risking their lives. Neighbours have opened their doors to share whatever they have between them. 

Now that the middle area of Gaza has been cut off, no aid has entered. People were asking to move but we have no way to leave and nowhere to go. The situation has been devastating more than ever.

We are starving. We are trapped. We are under non-stop explosions, airstrikes, artillery shelling, gunboat fire. Everything, everywhere, all at once. 

We have no access to water - even dirty water - electricity, food, nothing. 

Caption: Gazans forced to live in makeshift camps in southern Gaza line up to fill water in jerry cans. Photo: WFP/Ali Jadallah

Yesterday the first meal we had was at 8 pm. I was hungry all day long but I didn’t tell anyone because everyone was hungry too. 

Today, in the morning, we had some bread for breakfast. But I cannot help but think  “When will this end? When will we go home?“- despite our homes being bombed. Nothing exists. Nothing feels the same. It’s raining now, I just heard an airstrike. 

People are tense, fragile and cold.  They don’t have winter clothes, when they evacuated, they did not have time to take any of their clothes, belongings, loved things. 

Me too. When I went out of the house, I went as if I was going to work and coming back. I ended up never coming back again.

Everything is heart-breaking and overwhelming. All of these babies, and children and dead bodies.

I hate the sirens of the ambulance. I hate seeing it rain because I know everyone is shivering, it is very cold. 

Caption: The food brought in during the humanitarian pause was not enough to meet the soaring needs of the people of Gaza. Photo: WFP/Ali Jadallah

We haven't had electricity since the first couple of days. I forgot what electricity means. 

I miss sleeping on my bed. I miss my mom. I miss my family. I didn’t get to see them for more than two hours in the past 60 days.

The violence is increasing day after day. More people are being killed, starved. We are witnessing all of this and we can’t do anything.

It’s heart-breaking to live through this with no end in sight.  It is hard for me to accept that I cannot do anything but witness this carnage with everyone else in the Gaza Strip. 

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life part 31

Warnings: hospitals, death sentence carried out on Villain, death drug, sad character death

"...Thank you," Zack mumbled, and a second later his eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp with a shudder.

Amber disconnected the heart monitor pad on Zack's chest so the reading flatlined as the doctors came in. She felt oddly numb, disconnected from reality. Zack's face was slack now, his head rolled to the side, unmoving. Still and lifeless.

After speaking with authorities, Amber got exclusive permission to take Zack's body for private burial. She'd insisted on doing it alone, learning that Zack had no living family or relatives to contact about his passing. He hadn't lied about having no friends, either. He was the definition of a lone wolf, reclusive and withdrawn from society.

And so now she found herself driving in one of her spare vans, going out of the city a ways and off the main roads into a shaded forest area. It was peaceful here, and quiet. She glanced in her rear view mirror as the large van came to a smooth stop, seeing Zack's limp form sprawled across the backseats.

She got out and opened the back door, climbing in to sit next to where Zack was. She'd timed everything perfectly. She gently rolled Zack onto his back and rubbed his sternum hard, something that would be excruciatingly painful for most people. But he didn't react.

Amber's brow creased with worry. Had she miscalculated the dose? She'd secretly swapped the syringes at the hospital, giving him some heavy sedatives instead of the lethal injection meant to serve as his death sentence. It was enough to slow his heart rate enough that it could no longer be detected, giving the appearance of death. She was saving the life of her enemy, just like Zack had once saved hers, even if he'd had ulterior motives at the time.

It was a terribly risky gamble though. Zack was a powerful villain, and if she'd misinterpreted his intentions, it could prove to be a deadly mistake. But she'd sensed something in him, some form of hurt buried as deep as it could go that made him this way. Bitter and cruel. But maybe getting a second chance could change him.

IF she could even get him to wake up. She shook him roughly and continued with sternum rubs to try and jolt him to consciousness, but nothing was working. It took a full half hour of trying, before finally -- finally, Zack showed some signs of life. He let out a low moan of pain, fingers twitching weakly.

"Zack, can you hear me?" Amber asked gently, pressing her fingers to the inside of his wrist. His pulse was steadying, getting stronger.

"...Just give me... five more minutes..." Zack's voice mumbled deliriously, barely coherent.

"No can do, so wake up," Amber commanded firmly.

Zack's brow furrowed, and after an eternity his eyes finally cracked open, dazed and disoriented as they drifted around the van in confusion, eventually landing on Amber.

"...I'm dead," he slurred, confusion deepening.

"No, you're not," Amber responded. Why did she feel so relieved that her enemy was still alive? She wasn't supposed to feel this way... right? "You're not the only one who can master manipulation," she added. "To the world, you are now officially dead. You can start over, get yourself a new life -- a good one, no more being a villain."

Zack gaped at her in disbelief, sitting up with a groan. "But... why?" His voice cracked. "You know I don't deserve that."

"And yet, here we are. Because... a part of me believes you can change," Amber confessed. "I may be a fool for thinking that, but I'm hoping you can prove me right. Because right at the end, you chose to do good, which proves you're capable of it, at the very least."

Zack shivered, eyes falling to the floor of the van. "I really thought I was going to die..." He whispered, half to himself.

"Yeah, sorry for making it so convincing, I miiiiight have taken the opportunity for revenge by scaring you," Amber admitted, laughing at the horrified look that twisted Zack's flawless features.

"That was pretty mean, for a hero," he grumbled.

"If the roles were reversed, wouldn't you do the same?"

"Absolutely."

"Then you can't complain. Period."

A smile quirked the corners of Zack's mouth at that. "You know, you've got some serious bite all of a sudden. Is my bad influence rubbing off on you?"

"That, or I just discovered my teeth are for biting and am trying it out."

That earned another chuckle from him.

"So... what do you say? A fresh start for you?" Amber tilted her head to the side.

"Normally this would be the part where I scoff and say something snarky, but... after the stunt you just pulled by faking my death... you now have my full respect, which isn't something I say lightly." Zack swallowed hard, throat bobbing. "I... think I could manage that. Starting over. Though I'm not sure how to be 'normal', after everything I've done."

"I'm sure you can figure it out. You're supposed to be a brilliant mastermind, remember?" Amber climbed out of the van, and Zack followed, standing in front of her.

"Hey, um... do you have a paper and pen handy?" He asked abruptly.

Confused, Amber still went and riffled through a bag in the van until she'd located paper and pen, handing him both.

Zack scribbled something down, tore off a piece of the paper, and handed it to her, a tint of red creeping into his face.

Amber raised an eyebrow. It was a sequence of numbers.

"That's my personal number," Zack explained sheepishly. "In case... you ever want to get ahold of me. Or whatever."

"'Or whatever', huh?" Amber teased, and bumped her shoulder against his in such a casually friendly manner, surprising even herself.

Zack stiffened, then relaxed a second later at the lack of threat, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Who knows, maybe we could... go out to dinner sometime, or something. Pretend we're just two regular civilians, not Hero and Villain. Teach me what 'normal' looks like."

"Oh?" Amber's eyebrows arched. This time it didn't feel like Zack's typical flirty nature. Far from it. It felt like something more sincere, something that made her stomach flip.

"Well... I might take you up on that," she said, then gestured to the van. "You can take that. It's got some basic supplies in it for you to survive and some cash to buy food as well as a full tank of gas. Consider it a parting gift."

Zack raised a single elegant eyebrow. "Won't your nosy hero friends question why your van mysteriously disappeared?"

"As far as they will be concerned, I accidently drove it off a bridge and sank it in the river."

"Clever."

Amber couldn't help blushing slightly at the genuine compliment.

Zack visibly hesitated, before suddenly stepping closer to Amber, who was too surprised to move as he leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to her cheek, one that opened a lot of unexpected doorways. "Thanks, for, uh... giving me this chance, when no one else would ever consider it. I'll try to make the most of it."

"Uh-huh, you're welcome," Amber croaked, and it came out a little raspy. Her face was flushed with heat. This softer side of him was something she'd never seen before. It caught her off-guard, and it was so… un-Zack-like.

Zack turned and climbed into the driver's seat of the van, turning the key so that the engine came to life. "And thanks for the ride," he threw out the window as he peeled away, driving away.

Amber watched him leave, and once he'd disappeared into the distance, the first thing she did was pull out her phone and add Zack's number to her contacts. Who knew, maybe he'd be a powerful ally in the future.

Or possibly something more, her mind added. Something more she could possibly explore on a day off, see where it got her. But a dangerous game it would be, if she decided to play. To play with fire, one of the deadliest villains to ever live. But she couldn't help wondering...

Amber shook her head with a smile, before calling up a taxi to take her back to the hero headquarters.

⏪️ Back (Part 1 of bonus story here)

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

[rainypebble07]

That airport wait sounds like death i’m sorry 😭

You wanted asks so:

lava lamps or conch shells?

horror movies or romcoms?

real color or dyed color hair?

lemonade or tea?

mario and luigi or princesses peach and daisy?

crossword puzzles or word searches?

warm or cold colors?

rain or snow?

Woah. Okay, so right after I made that post, things started picking up at the airport so I totally didn’t get to answer this there, but I did write an answer in my notes instead of sleeping on the plane.

(And death is a very good word to describe it, thank you)

Okokok I’m kind of excited bc these are such random asks. Like, I guess I didn’t specify what kind of asks I wanted, so anything goes. But still, this is exciting. I’m excited.

1. Lava lamps or conch shells? This question is very silly to me. They seem like very random things to compare, but perhaps in terms of room decor, it makes sense? I will, for sentimental purposes, have to go with lava lamps. I always wanted one of those things as a kid bc I thought they were so cool (I still do, I mean seriously, it’s so mesmerizing), but my mom never let me have one because she didn’t trust me with it.

2. Horror movies or romcoms? Easy peasy. Horror movies 100%. Every time I watch a romcom, I simply can’t care less (with a few exceptions, I guess). And I know that sounds strange coming from a fanfic author, but I can’t deal with them- at least the cliché ones. Horror movies, on the other hand, have always played a big part in my life bc I watch them with so many people and I have so many happy memories stemming from them.

3. Real color or dyed color hair? Hmmmm… this one’s hard. I think I’d realistically have to go with real color bc I’m too scared to dye my hair bc I occasionally act and you’ve got a better chance in the business if you look boring. But, I’ve always wanted to try dying my hair a crazy color but it kinda freaks me out.

4. Lemonade or tea? I cannot stand tea. I have a friend who is a tea enthusiast and I don’t know how they do it. Lemonade isn’t my favorite either since it makes your throat feel dry, but a cold lemonade on a hot day sounds much better than tea.

5. Mario and Luigi or Princess Peach and Daisy? These are such fun questions, they make me laugh. This one’s actually a hard one. Luigi is my go-to in Mario Party because I feel bad since he’s the less-loved brother, but the princesses are awesome too. I guess I have to go with Mario and Luigi in the end, but that doesn’t make daisy and peach any less cool.

6. Crossword puzzle or word search? I’m too dumb and uncultured to do crosswords. Word searches, on the other hand, I can do very fast and I love to brag about it.

7. Warm or cold colors? I love these questions so much! This one is very very hard, but I’ve always been a fan of cool colors. Blue is my favorite color and green is a close second. All the different shades of cool colors are just so stunning, especially together and warm colors are beautiful, but cool colors definitely take the win.

8. Warm or cold showers? I always try to take cold showers bc I know it’s better for you (maybe? Someone told me that once), but I can’t resist a warm shower. I live in a petty cold place too, so a warm shower at the end of the day feels amazing. I’ll take a cold one when I want to go fast, though.

9. Rain or snow? I already said I lived in a cold place, so you can guess I hate snow. I hate it with my entire being, I hate shoveling, I hate puffy jackets, I hate Icy roads, and I hate frostbite. Rain makes everything look so nice and I love it so much and it’s my favorite weather type, on the other hand.

Well, there you go. Idk if I was supposed to explain, but I’m so tired that I don’t even care. I just typed stuff. Hopefully you enjoyed this little dip into my life. Or perhaps you didn’t care. Oh well, either way. Thank you so much for the ask bc (as you can see) I love to talk. Have an amazing, amazing day!

[morningsunandnightsky]

Fated to be yours | Kim Jungwoo

Cupid au

pairing: cupid!Jungwoo x reader

warnings: death, mention of bullying, bus accident, I think there's one swear word (While none of the warnings I mentioned are explicitly described, I advise you not to read this if any of them trigger you.)

word count: 6.1 k

genre: angst, fantasy, fluff

synopsis: When a tragic ending makes room for a new beginning, it only makes sense for everything to fall into place. But sometimes second chances are even harder than the first. Especially when time and fate have their own way of things.

an: I finally got done with this. It took forever and It's still far from being perfect but I thought it would only be right to give you something on my birthday. I hope you enjoy and if anyone waited for this, I'm sorry I took so long. Please let me know what you think!

This is a continuation of this [03:23 pm] timestamp. You could read this on its own, but it would make more sense if you read both.

Taglist: @gangsta-dragon, @thelilyshope, @donkey-hyuck, @doeilovr

You shift uncomfortably in your seat,  

“What are you talking about?” 

Voice barely audible.  

Something about him makes you stay in your seat even when your senses tell you to run. 

“I’m not visible to you” he says once more. 

This time his tone irritates you, he isn’t even trying to make you understand. 

His cold eyes also have something else in them but you can’t quite make out what that is, it seems locked away. Only visible when you search for it. 

The sun makes his skin glow, so much that it almost looks see-through. Your eyes go down to his lips, they have the same shade of pink as his hair.  

For a split second, you see your surroundings lose colour and everything moves in slow motion. The people sitting around you look like frozen statues, none of them even blinks. Even the vehicles outside are standing still on the road. All the noise from the busy city has completely vanished. Whilst the clouds seem to be frozen in place. 

But you can still see Jungwoo, you can feel him closer to you than ever before and you hear him. You hear him so clearly even though he is not talking to you.  

Before you can even process what is happening, the sudden halt of the bus takes you out of your trance. The force almost makes you fall over. 

You grab onto the seat in front of you to balance yourself and you hear the voice of the bus driver shouting something out of his window. Everyone gets up to see what is going on, they start whispering to each other and you hear someone calling the emergency number. 

No one else seems to have felt what you just did as if you and everyone else were in two different places. 

You turn to Jungwoo, but the seat is empty.  

The gush of cold air hitting the side of your face makes you look over at the door, it’s wide open but nobody else seems to notice it.  

-- 

Jungwoo takes a deep breath to calm himself down. 

Something definitely happened, something that was not supposed to happen. 

Like a glitch almost, a spilt second where the universe was out of balance.  

The look he had seen in your eyes tells him that you experienced it too.  

How could you see him in the first place? Did he mess up somewhere?  

He takes out the small piece of rolled-up parchment from his pocket, not noticing his watch that has stopped running. 

“A step in the right direction after great hesitation. 

A twist of fate, On the destined date. 

The appointed hour, a blessing and curse combined,  

Your journey of one, six and eight.” 

No matter how much he tries to understand, none of the words make any sense to him.  

But he had to be quick because time was running out, that was the one thing he was sure of. 

-- 

Lost in your thoughts you don’t notice the message you had received from your friend asking you why you weren’t at work yet. 

It’s only when you see the name of your boss displayed on your screen, indicating that he is calling you, that you realise how much time has passed. 

Your eyes glide past the name to see what time it is.  

09:45 

You were supposed to start your shift almost an hour ago. And it doesn’t seem like you will be moving any time soon so you grab your bag and get off the bus.  

Luckily you weren’t too far away from your stop so you get there relatively fast. And after explaining the situation, your boss didn’t go into it any further. Which you were very thankful for. 

As the day goes by your thoughts drift off to Jungwoo, you keep thinking about his weird behaviour. 

The more you think about it, the more you understand that he wasn’t interested in you. He didn’t even care to have a chat with you out of courtesy. 

If only you hadn’t taken the bus that day, no if only you hadn’t gone up to him. No, you should’ve never invested your time in him or even let him into your head. 

A deep sigh leaves your mouth. 

No matter how much you try to forget it, a feeling of disappointment still settles in the pit of your stomach. He felt so different to you, you were almost sure he was like no other human being. 

But of course, that wasn’t the case. He was far from what you thought of him. Maybe it was your own fault for making up this “perfect façade” about someone you didn’t even know.  

And you were hoping to fall in love during the first snowfall of the year, “what a joke” you think to yourself. 

Maybe love just wasn’t for you. 

-- 

Snowflakes are falling softly on the ground, white and glistening, almost erasing all the troubles in the world. 

Jungwoo puts his hand out to catch one, even when he knows he can’t. He looks at it while it goes straight through him. But for the first time in a while, it makes him smile. 

Because a newfound hope has started to blossom in his chest. 

It had been a good day; he managed to bring together two couples and even healed a broken heart. His list was getting shorter and the possibility of regaining his life seemed to come a step closer each day. 

From the edge of the building, he is sitting on, he looks down the streets of the city that was once home to him. It had only been a couple of years since he left but a lot had changed. 

He spots a child holding onto the hand of his father, trying to keep up with his little feet. Wrapped in a big scarf and wearing little mittens on his hands, he looked absolutely adorable. Anyone could tell how much the father adored him, by the gentle smile grazing his face whilst holding his little hand tightly.  

Parental love, a love set deep in the heart but one that is very complex at the same time. 

He can’t even remember a time his own parents ever looked at him like that. Because they never did, not even once. He tried so hard for them, to make them like him, to please them and to love them. Hoping he would be loved in return. 

A couple walks in the opposite direction, holding hands and giggling slightly. The blush on their faces is evident even from all the way where he was sitting. 

First love, the overwhelming feeling of holding someone so close to your heart for the first time, one that he recognises all too well. 

Her bright eyes are still engraved in his brain, they were his favourite. Because they made his days bearable. The very last time he looked into her eyes she smiled at him. He felt happy, for once he genuinely felt happy. 

He spots a group of friends enjoying the evening in a little coffee shop at the end of the road. Chatting away about their day, sharing laughs and enjoying their youth.  

Friendship, a different kind of love, one that is easy to obtain and hard to let go of, one that is easier overlooked but a love destined for everyone. 

The only person in the world who accepted him for who he was and who loved him because of that. He was the only person that reached out his hand to him and held it until the very end. His one and only friend, Doyoung. 

At the thought of him, Jungwoo feels a sting in his chest. Something like an arrow being shot into his heart. 

He takes a few deep breaths before he takes out the parchment again. 

“This is the final thing you have to accomplish. If you find the right people and bring them together before your time is up, your second chance at life will be granted. You must be on time, even a minute plays a crucial role. Everything you need to know is writing on here.” 

The words keep playing in his head. 

One thing he did not understand is why this was delivered separately, and why this one was different to all his other cases. 

The sound of the opening door takes him by surprise. He didn’t expect anyone to be here at this hour or on a day like this.  

But he couldn’t care less because they wouldn’t know he was there anyway. 

“A twist of fate, on the destined date.” 

Something about this sentence makes him uncomfortable, it provokes worry. Because fate doesn’t have twists. It’s something that is meant to be, right? 

“Oh, you’re here too...” he hears a familiar voice say. 

He sees you standing by the door when he turns around and then he gets up and walks up to you. 

You start walking backwards but he is faster than you and before you know it you are standing with your back against the door. 

“I don’t know who you are and I don’t care who you are but if you are here to ruin things for me, spare your energy and go back to where you came from” 

You scoff at his words. 

“Listen here you prick, I got the memo this morning already! You don’t need to go on about that. But just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean you can treat me like this.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“Do I have to tell you about what I do with my life now too? Just get out of my way, I’m really not in the mood to argue” 

“Can you really see me?” 

“Then do you think I'm just talking to the air?" you answer, sighing heavily. 

Something doesn’t add up. 

You walk past him and go to sit on the other side. 

Jungwoo searches for a sign but there is nothing out of the ordinary. Even though he doesn’t trust you, he somehow knows you aren’t a threat to him. Which confuses him even more. 

“Could this be part of the assignment?” he thinks to himself. 

All he can do now is observe the situation so he decides to sit down too. 

For a while you both just sit there not saying anything, it’s strangely peaceful. Neither of you feeling anything. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungwoo says. 

“You are very rude, you know?” 

“I know, that’s why I’m apologising” 

When you turn to look at him, he is already facing you. The soft apologetic smile on his face makes your heart skip a beat.  

“It’s fine...” you say trying not to give away how much he affects you. 

“It’s not that I dislike you, I just thought- you were someone else” 

You nod at him not really knowing what to say, hearing his words makes you feel slightly better. 

As the misunderstanding is somewhat settled you slowly fall into a conversation, which goes on for hours into the night without either of you realising. 

Just like the time that is ticking away. 

The following days you still wait for him each morning but now he sits next to you and you spend your mornings with him before starting your day. And most evenings are spent on the rooftop, you meet practically every day but even so, there is never a dull moment between you two. 

You find out that you two had lived on the same road when growing up and even crossed paths when you still were in school. 

He understood your sense of humour that most people found lame. And there was always something to talk about. It just was so easy with him. Which made it even easier to fall for him. 

Jungwoo felt it too, he knew something changed. It was exciting and new to him...you felt different to him. 

-- 

He looks up to the publishing company in front of him. It was weird for him to be led to a specific place but he was sure he needed to be here for his next case. Not too long after entering, he finds the man he came for and he sees you sitting behind one of the many desks too. 

A rush of anxiety goes through his body at the thought of it being you he has to set up with him. So, he turns around and begins to walk out. But he knows can’t let personal feelings get in the way, no matter how much he dislikes it.  

He gets the little sachet filled with love and returns to the office. He looks at every move of the man after he has done what he needs to do. He can feel his heartbeat increasing with each passing minute. 

He sees him walk over to the row where you are sitting at. His fists have become white from how hard he is clenching them. But the man walks pasts your chair and goes up to a woman a couple of desks further.  

One thing leads to another and before you know it, he is down on his knee asking her to marry him. Jungwoo lets out the breath he was holding in this whole time. 

He feels selfish for being so happy that it wasn’t you, but at the same time, he can’t contain it.  

When you step out of the company that evening, you immediately spot your favourite smile across the street. Your heart does a little twirl when he tells you he has been waiting for you.  

“Can I take you somewhere?” he asks 

“Huh? Isn’t almost everything closed by now?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

You don’t even have to think about it, which confuses you. But at the same time, the question brings you peace as if it’s the most normal thing ever to trust him. 

You look at him and smile, “I do” 

He leads you all the way to the other side of the city. The further you get, the lesser the bustling of the evening gets. Almost as if you aren’t even in the same city anymore. 

Jungwoo leads you into a park. A look of recognition settles on your face when memories from high school come floating back. It had been ages since you last visited this place and you almost forget about it. 

After a while of walking in silence, Jungwoo turns to you with a huge grin on his face. 

“Close your eyes, please” 

You look at him with raised eyebrows and a playful smile but do as he asks. A couple of moments and warily steps later he tells you that you can look. 

A surprised gasp leaves your mouth as you look around. Endless bushes full of pink roses covered with a layer of thin ice come into view. 

“You like it?” you hear him ask 

“Yes, they are so beautiful” you answer as you carefully trace the icy petals of the flowers. 

You’re taking pictures when you look over at Jungwoo. He is standing surrounded by all the flowers. A soft smile is grazing his face and an unusual yet alluring energy is radiating off of him. You can’t take your eyes off of him so you decide to take a photo. 

What you don’t notice is how Jungwoo is slowly fading away on your phone. 

-- 

The pure joy on the elderly couple’s faces fills Jungwoo’s heart. Two people who had been searching for one another for more than 20 years while never giving up on their love for each other, could finally be together again. It was such an authentic form of love; one he was envious of.  

Maybe if the circumstances were different, he could have experienced it too. Spending a lifetime with one person... 

You enter his mind. 

Your curious eyes and the way you laughed at his jokes, or how cute you looked with your huge scarf that covered most of your face. He wouldn’t mind experiencing more moments like that, he wouldn’t mind at all if it was you. 

When he crosses out the elderly couple’s names, he notices he only has one more pair left. For some reason whoever, it does not make him happy. 

He was a step closer to his goal each day but something felt off, it seemed too good to be true. It was almost too easy. 

He puts the list away and strolls down the street, maybe he could see you again. 

And not much later, as if his heart led him to you, he sees you walking down the street. He hurries to catch up but then decides to stay a couple of steps behind you.   

Just as you reach the bus stop, you abruptly stop and turn around, catching him off guard. Jungwoo practically jumps in the air and you start laughing uncontrollably. 

“For fuck’s sake you almost gave me a heart attack” 

“That wouldn’t happen if you weren’t sneaking up on me, would it?” you ask, highly amused. 

“I was not sneaking up on you. I just wanted to say hi!” 

“Oh yeah of course”  

 “What are you doing here anyway?” you say as you pull your coat around you even tighter to keep yourself warm. 

“I was just in the area, are you cold?” 

“Yes, are you not? How come you are always dressed so lightly?” you ask him as you reach out to touch his cheeks. 

Jungwoo takes a step backwards but you still manage to cup his cheeks. He can feel your cold hands on his face and for the first time ever someone’s touch doesn’t go through him. 

He is at a loss for words, partly because he doesn’t understand and partly because it feels so foreign. It has been so long since he has physically felt anything. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say when you realise what you are doing.  

“No, no please don’t” you hear him say before he wraps his arms around you.  

“May I please hold you for a moment?”  

The mood suddenly shifts into something emotional, you both can feel it but you don’t acknowledge it. You allow him to hold you, sensing he needs it. 

Being in his arms felt safe, something like returning home.  

After what felt like ages, Jungwoo slightly pulls back and asks you if you have warmed up a bit. 

Not being able to look into his eyes, you nod while keeping your eyes on his chest.  

“You look so cute” you hear him say 

Now you were definitely feeling warmed up. His words made you feel butterflies all throughout your body. When you look up at him you see him looking back at you with his sweet smile. 

“You look cute too,” you say to him. 

He chuckles slightly and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. 

You stand there looking into each other’s eyes with hearts beating in the same rhythm. 

You see Jungwoo’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and feeling a bit confident after his compliment you start to lean in.  

You see Jungwoo’s smile get bigger before you close your eyes.  

Before he can lean in, he suddenly hears a ticking sound. When he looks up to see where it comes from, he sees the familiar number appear above your head. All the blood disappears from his face when he realises what it means.  

You were his last assignment. 

He pulls away from you in shock but also disappointment. Out of everyone it had to be you. 

You open your eyes when you feel him pull away and ask if everything is alright. The look on his face tells you it’s not but he doesn’t say anything. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I-I think I should go,” he tells you. 

It’s so clearly visible, there is only one day left. 

Before you can say anything else your bus arrives and he is suddenly nowhere to be seen.  

You reach for your phone to call him but you realise you never asked for his number nor that you have ever seen him use his phone. 

-- 

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he takes out his list but doesn’t unfold it. This can’t be right. It can’t be you out of everyone in this city. He wishes so desperately that he is wrong but he knows he isn’t. He saw the numbers above your head, just like he had seen them for every one of the people he had to bring together. Indicating how long he had to find the right person for them and complete his task. It was tricky at first but after the first few couples, he got the hang of it and it actually became something he looked forward to. Because the look on everyone’s faces after he sealed their love for each other, was priceless.

But not this time, every second that passes makes him want to stop. It doesn’t even matter if he can get his life back now because what was the purpose of it if you were not going to be there with him? But he has no choice, he has to if he does not want to disappear completely.  

The paper feels rough on his fingers almost as if it’s digging into his skin, mocking him for even hoping something would work out for him. He knew he should never have let his guard down for you but it’s not like he could prevent it. Not with you.  

But the harsh reality is staring back at him once he unfolds and reads your name. The golden letters shine under the city lights. Was this why everything seemed so easy? Because he would be backstabbed in the end? Was this the reason why only this mission was written in riddles? So, he could feel his heart crumbling down while he solved it? Was this all a cruel joke he had to pay for just because he wanted a second shot at life? 

Jungwoo looks up at the sky with tears in his eyes as his hand crumbles the paper into a ball. But no matter how much pain he feels, the world just goes on. The buzzing of the city doesn’t die down nor do the stars stop sparkling in the night sky. 

-- 

One more day and all of this would end. 

Strolling through the streets he sees everyone setting up the last bits of decorations for valentine’s day. Everywhere he looks he sees pink and red hearts, flowers and signs. He wishes he could be here for it, to see the full effect of his hard work. The streets would be filled with people in love, falling in love and wanting to love. 

You’d be too...once he completes his mission, you’d be loved by someone that you love too. You’d be happy...with someone else. You’d spend your days with that person from now on... 

No matter how much he tries to prepare himself for it, he can’t accept it. How could he when he was in love with you? How could he be okay with binding you to someone else while he will disappear from your life? 

The one thing that slightly calms down his wavering feelings is the fact that your partner’s name has not yet been revealed to him. While waiting does make him anxious, he feels comforted by the thought he doesn’t have to go out and find them just yet.  

Then he feels it again, the same thing he felt on the bus. Everything and everyone seems to stop moving, even the snow falling down has stopped mid-air. This time whoever something happens. Golden light surrounds him and disappears into his pocket. Once reaches down he pulls out the list and the parchment, both being lit up by the light. But no matter how many times he looks and rereads them, nothing about them changes. 

As he follows the beam of the light, he sees the same ticking clock that has appeared on his wrist. Four golden numbers reveal the same countdown he had seen that night with you. 

The world starts moving again and everyone resumes what they were doing. Yet again, no one else seems to have experienced what he just did. 

-- 

The bus stops right in front of him like it does every single day but none of it is the same. He hesitates to get on and almost turns back when he sees your face, smiling so brightly at him. He gives you a small smile back while getting on and walks towards you. Every step he takes feels heavier than the last one. The ticking of the clock becomes louder and louder in his ears. 

“You’re finally here! I missed you this morning”, he hears you say. Making all the noise in his head disappear. 

“Sorry, I missed the bus” he lies.  

The way you are looking at him tells him that you don’t believe him but you don’t pry further. 

“I want to ask you something”  

Jungwoo turns his head to you and smiles. But you can see the sadness in his eyes. It’s so intense that it makes your heartache.  

“What is it?”  

There are a million things you want to ask him but can’t bring yourself to. 

“Can I get your number maybe? I realised we never exchanged them and it would be easier if anything like this morning happens again...don’t you think?” you laugh awkwardly  

He chuckles before responding, “I’m sorry but my phone broke a while ago” 

“Oh! that’s totally fine...” 

Maybe he doesn’t want my number, you think to yourself. The familiar disappointing feeling settles in your stomach. Maybe he doesn’t like me that much after all... 

Jungwoo notices how your mood has dropped and it kills him to know it’s because of him. He didn’t lie to you, ever since the accident his phone had been broken... 

There is something he has been contemplating ever since he found out you were his last mission. Everything will come to an end if he does it. Everything he has worked for all of this time will vanish and leave this world like it never existed. 

He knows and yet he chooses you.  

“Do you maybe want to go on a date tomorrow? It’s Valentine’s Day...” he asks a bit unsure. 

With a bright smile, you look up at him and nod. 

“I’d love that!” you tell him. The feeling in your stomach turns into a million butterflies. 

-- 

03:00 

Jungwoo pushes his sleeve back up once he sees there are only three hours left for your binding. While it’s strange your partner’s name hasn’t shown up yet, he isn’t too worried because he has dealt with similar cases. 

He makes his way over to the door and grabs the handle, then hesitates. If he goes to you and the person you are meant to be with shows up, then he won’t be able to do anything but complete his mission. But if they do not show up, he’ll disappear right in front of your eyes once the timer reaches its end. 

Both of the options break his heart even more. 

Time passes by without him moving from his spot. Eventually, he lets go and goes back to sit down. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t do it.  

He takes out the parchment one last time. 

“A step in the right direction after great hesitation. 

A twist of fate, On the destined date. 

The appointed hour, a blessing and curse combined,  

Your journey of one, six and eight.” 

The sun is setting already when he feels his wrist light up again. 

02:00 

You must be wondering where he is, he thinks. Your date was supposed to start half an hour ago... 

“Your journey of 1-6-8...168 hours?” he quickly takes out his list to see when he brought together his first couple of this year.  

Exactly one week ago. 

“A step in the right direction after great hesitation...But that doesn’t seem right? I didn’t hesitate with any of the bindings...” 

That’s when it hits him. 

“I hesitated to get close to y/n!” 

His wrist begins to hurt as the light seems to have become brighter. 

01:30 

You’re standing in front of the café you agreed to meet at. An hour has passed and you still see no sign of him. But you keep waiting with the bouquet of pink roses and the new phone you bought him, in your hands.  

“He will be here”  

01:00 

“The appointed hour, a blessing and curse combined...The hour it’s all over! A blessing for y/n and a curse...for me?” 

So many things rush through his brain and he feels the blood streaming through his veins. His heartbeat is almost as loud as the cars passing by him. 

There is something he overlooked, something he completely disregarded in all of this. 

00:30 

“A twist of fate, On the destined date...” as soon as he reads out the remaining line, a sharp pain shoots through his arm. When he looks down, he sees the timer pulsating on his wrist.  

He grabs the edge he is sitting on as tightly as he can so he doesn’t fall off. He turns himself around and lets himself fall down on the concrete beside him. His hands are trembling uncontrollably and his breathing is staggered. There it is, the answer he has been looking for this entire time. Written in the same golden letters as your name and the clock. 

“Kim Jungwoo” 

He was the one fated to be yours.

00:20 

He gets up and sprints down as fast as he can, wishing with all that he has that you’re still waiting for him. 

00:10 

He arrives in front of the café but you aren’t there. He goes inside but you aren’t sitting at the many tables in the shop either.  

His wrist feels like it’s on fire and his lungs could give in at any moment, but he keeps running with the winter air hitting his face.  

00:05 

The tears running down his eyes disappear into the void before they reach the ground. He feels himself go weaker by the minute. Even his skin looks almost invisible. 

The bus stop is his last hope, it’s the only place he can think of and he so hopes he is right. The sounds around him start to quiet down and his surroundings become hazy. 

But he sees you so clearly. Standing at the bus stop like the very first time he saw you. 

“Y/n” he calls out with the last bit of energy he has left. 

00:00 

You turn around but there is no one. Only the occasional car passes by. The streets are as empty as you feel at the moment. For a slight second, you thought someone called your name, that he called your name. Maybe you just hoped for it... 

-- 

One year later 

“It’s that time of the year again everyone, love is in the air! And while this is a very happy day that we spend with a loved one, we’d like to remember the ones that no longer are with us. As they too deserve to be loved on a day like this. I’d first like to mention the devastating bus accident that happened exactly 5 years ago where a high school student named Kim Jungwoo, tragically left us after being hit by bus 32 while crossing the road. May he rest in peace and the people still mourning for him be given the strength to keep going forward. The second case we’d like to remember today...” 

You wipe away the tear running down your cheek while the radio beams through the bus. You're not even paying attention to what they're saying as you look at the seat next to you that is still empty. No matter how much time passes, there doesn’t go a day by where you don’t hope that he will get on and sit next to you. Tell you he is sorry for being late and flash you that smile you love so dearly. 

When you check the time on your phone, the photo you took of him is staring back at you. And a small smile appears on your face. “I’ll see you in a bit...” you whisper. 

After searching for so long, you found out where he went. For a long time, you tried to forget about him but you couldn’t. So, you searched for him everywhere. You resented him but you loved him. You couldn’t just let go thus you found him eventually... 

After ringing the bell you get off at the cemetery. 

You make your way through the different rows of headstones while you clutch the flowers tightly to your chest.  

You see a man standing at the place you were looking for. He keeps apologising for something and tears keep running down his cheeks. Eventually, you see him drop to his knees while letting out an agonizing scream. 

The sound of pure heartbreak in his voice is too much for you so you start crying with him as you can’t hold yourself back. 

After what seems forever you approach him and lay down the flowers in your hands.  

“Are you here for Jungwoo?” he asks you with a broken voice 

You slowly nod as you wipe your eyes. 

“Are you a family member? Oh, I’m sorry if I’m overstepping...” 

“No, I’m his best friend...”  

“Doyoung?”  

He looks up at you with a surprised expression on his face. “Do I know you?” 

“Jungwoo told me all about you” you explain. 

Doyoung looks at the headstone in front of him with a pained expression on his face. 

“Did he mention how I’ve been an awful friend?”  

You shake your head slightly and say, “actually he spoke very highly of you. He told me you were always there for him. And that he was glad he was able to meet a friend like you.” 

The tears keep falling down his face. 

“I don’t deserve to be remembered like that. Not- not after what I did to him...” 

“I’m sure he thinks differently. He never once spoke badly about you. He never spoke badly about anyone, to begin with...” 

“He didn’t...he loved a lot, too much sometimes.”  

“So, you shouldn’t talk about yourself like this, he wouldn’t have wanted it.” 

Slowly but surely, you both fall into a deep conversation about the one you held so dearly to your heart. 

“Could you tell me what happened, please?” you ask unsurely 

Doyoung takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands on his lap. 

“He got bullied all throughout high school. There was no reason for it but they never stopped...Jungwoo never liked conflict so he would just bear all of it on his own. I tried to be there for him whenever but in senior year this new girl joined and he suddenly changed. Jungwoo caught feelings for her and that just added to everything. She was part of that group and when word got out that he liked her, the bullying became worse. There were days he would end up in the hospital but even then, it didn’t matter to him because she cared about him. But that wasn’t the case because she is the reason he isn’t here anymore.” 

A fresh set of tears start to roll down his face. 

“He didn’t believe she had bad intentions. I-I should have stopped it....it was valentine’s day just like today, a few days before his birthday when she asked him to come help her because she was stuck at school. I warned him not to believe her and asked him not to go...but I didn’t stop him when he insisted. He said he just wanted to check if she was safe...I don’t know what happened inside but when I went after him, he was already running out while crying...he didn’t look good; they had hurt him. Then-then...he ran across the street...I was too late...I let it happen before my eyes...” 

You stroke his back in an effort to comfort him even though you barely can compose yourself. 

A heavy silence, only broken with an occasional snuffle settles in. 

“How did you know him?” you hear him ask after a while. 

“We both took the same bus home every day so we met naturally; it was spring when I saw him for the first time. I can’t believe it’s been a year already...It feels like yesterday when I went up to him-” 

Doyoung looks at you with a confused expression on his face, “What do you mean a year? Jungwoo has been gone for five years already...” 

You feel as if time has stopped yet again, your hands feel clammy and your head can’t comprehend what he is telling you.  

“That’s not possible...I even took this photo of him” you take out your phone again with shaky hands. But when you look down at your screen to show him, your phone falls out of your hand. 

He is no longer there.

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Abandoned By The Altar

Part 2; When you grow older.

Vibe Here

A timeline oriented story focused on your once perfect childhood relationship as Diluc’s bride to be, soon becoming estranged after the death of his father and his neglect. You only wish now that he looks at you the same way he did when you heard you were supposed to be together forever when you were young.

Pairings -> Diluc x Reader, Kaeya x Reader if you squint (All young at the first parts)

Word Count -> 8170

Themes -> Initial Fluff, Angst, Fluff again

Series -> #Bonafide Specials (100 followers event) Part 1 Part 3

Warnings -> Character Death, Slightly suggestive themes

Diluc's heart almost leaped to his throat when he had finally seen you, found you, now conversing with the new member of the family his father had adopted just yesterday. Kaeya, was his name. He looked peculiar, and older than him too.

Despite your spritely aura, he noticed his now brother still wary and even tensed at your presence, so the younger boy finally made his way over. The training sword bouncing against his hip with every step, he made his way next to you, offering a smile as he gestured to the blunette. "I see you've met Kaeya, he's my new brother, he entered the house yesterday."

Your lively eyes that was wide with happiness from finally seeing Diluc now held a hint of wonder as it landed on Kaeya, a toothy grin presenting itself on your face. The blunette can't help but blink, "Hello there, big bro Kaeya! I'm (Y/N), my mother and father are good friends with Master Crepus!"

You offered a handshake and he took it only a second late, handshake light yet tight. "Oh! I'm also Diluc's financee." Fiancée, Diluc corrected again as your hands part from each other. "Yeah, that."

Kaeya's only visible eye suddenly flew wide open as he chokes on air. Did he hear that right? These two children in front of him, years younger than him, already fated to marry in the future. What kind of customs does Mondstadt had, he warily thought in the back of his mind as he watches you two interact.

What a sad life it must be to be forced to something like that so early, he thought to himself before he saw you reach out to Diluc's hand. And the redhead, upon noticing this started to remove his used and dirtied glove, before catching your outstretched hand easily.

Kaeya only watched with an uneasy smile. He supposed this is something he needs to get used to if he wants to stay.

And oh boy, it's not something he's gonna get used to easily, the skeptic boy thought as he found himself getting dragged around by the Winery by you. You were touring him around and inside to places he had yet to see, entering rooms that normal people probably had no access to. You knew the Winery as if you had a map on you, and he supposed he expected this much if you were that close to his... brother.

"Were you," the innocence of your eyes as you whipped your head up to look at him hurt his heart over how in contrast it was with his, "forced to be together with Diluc?"

You let out a scandalous gasp on which Kaeya had to stop himself from snorting. "Why, no! I'm the one who even asked him about it," his snort turned into that weird sound again. "He's my bestest friend and I want nothing more than to be by his side always!"

F-Friend? God, Kaeya's head had been experiencing a numbing headache lately.

With his desire to be part of the Knights of Favonius, Diluc had more often than not, neglected giving you attention so often that it was a stark contrast to the closeness you two had before. And on days where he held his training sword, he'd realize just how he missed you and your imposing hugs.

But he wanted- no- needed to get stronger. He was blessed by the Gods with a Vision, and the weak are meant to be protected, and he can't let himself be the useless person he had been the day you were on the brink of death. Even if you hid it perfectly well and brushed aside the incident when you came to, he noticed how the veins in your hand were a more prominent shade of blue now.

How your fingertips get easily cold and how you always clung to the warmth his hand gives off as a result of his Vision.

When Kaeya asked about you, about his Vision, about his ambitions— he complied almost instantly, like a valve opened fully, all the answers Kaeya was seeking flowed out seamlessly like running water.

As the oldest out of you three, despite the fact that you'd all only knew each other for three days, Kaeya had already felt the urge to protect and be there whenever Diluc had busied himself with his justified training. He'd watch your lips turn into a pout as your redhead drag himself back outside with his sword and Kaeya would then distract you from your disappointment.

Crepus had been witness to this grand scheme for a while now, relieved that his new son had at least started coping with the new environment and interactions. But your presence had always astounded the people around you, and comforted those the same age as you. Despite being on the road and barely making lasting friendships, it was a mystery how you managed to entrance people like that.

"Diluc is just pursuing his dreams," the redhead, your uncle, started as he sat next to you by the benches. Boar Princess, he noted as you closed the book you were reading, opting to look up at him with those doe eyes again. "I know you must feel lonely, having to wait for him and everything. But he's doing it for you too, to protect you."

Your eyelids drooped in the implications and your lips pursed into a pout as you turned back to watch Diluc spar with his instructor. You sighed again before whispering under your breath, "But aren't we supposed to be together forever..."

You felt a big hand ruffle your hair, making you whine on how messy it was now. How old were you again? 11 years? Eh, should be enough. "Sweet (Y/N), being Diluc's fiancée doesn't mean you need to be around him everytime," he started talking about your promise and that had finally drawn your full attention. "You have your own life, Diluc has his path to be a knight. Sometimes what you want doesn't go the same was as he wants, and the same goes for him to you. But in the end you still are together, and still treasure each other."

The thought of having a daughter never really passed the man's mind in his whole life, he mused as he watched your beaded eyes fleet back to Diluc, before once again finding itself to Crepus with a firmer resolve. You wanted to learn more and it's time you finally understand the gravity of your promise.

Crepus placed down his cup of grape juice and turned to you on the bench. "You know your mother and father and how they're together, right?" A soft nod. "You two will be just like that, in the future together. Not always together but always end up coming back to each other, because your parents love each other always. Do you want to be with Diluc that way? Do you love and support him like that?"

Your button nose cutely scrunched up in contemplation and shortly gave him a vigorous nod with a wide grin. He grins back. "Good, thank you, I'm sure that Diluc too would support you in your dreams."

As if he had a sixth sense, the young master Diluc felt as if his name was being mentioned in important business as his eyes passes over the bench where you two reside. Sensing the distraction, his instructor finally allowed him a break, and the first thing he did was jog over to the two of you, "Father, (Y/N)." He watched you as you scrambled to climb down the bench, hurriedly taking off his dirtied glove to assist you down.

Crepus once again hid his smile behind his drink as he watched you bound over to him, the same fire in your eyes as you placed your hands on the child's shoulderd firmly. "Diluc, I love you!" You loudly declared before smashing your lips to his— Crepus spits his grape juice. "I'll support your dreams to the end-! Ahhhh, Diluc fainted! Uncle, HELP!"

The young master woke up a few hours later to you crying over and over, saying sorry for 'breaking him again.' Crepus and your parents were by the side, your mother's horrified face concealed by her hand after hearing what you've done.

Oh dear, the Ragnvindr thought to himself, my son is a sub.

Ever since that day, the people around you have started preparing you for your future of refinement and adulthood. You were no Vision-wielder unlike Diluc, and your handling swords were nothing to boast about. Your parents are businessmen and as their only child it would be you that will be inheriting and operating the work that they had built up, and so naturally that was the route you had to pick.

Your tutoring and Diluc's continuous training to get into Ordo Favonius made it hard for you both to spend more time with each other. Toys were replaced by books and swords, garden of Cecilias changed to libraries and training dummies.

Crepus, as a father and an uncle, alternates his time between you two. At times he'd be the one sparring with his child and grating the principles of knighthood to him, and on rare occasions that you were there, he walks you around as he talks about the wine industry and the operations of his business. Both of you started growing, separately, but there was a similar flame representing your spirit within both of your eyes.

Diluc entered the ranks of the Knights when he was 14, and Crepus was overwhelmed by the achievement his son finally reached, of the dream he once had when he was a child. In that same age range, you've also ended up making a name for yourself as the youngest business entrepreneur and economic scholar, your name and prodigy reached past Liyue...

And in your hands lay a perfectly white envelope enclosed with the insignia of Sumeru. The Academia invites you into a scholarship program once you turned 18.

Your whole family rejoiced at the recognition and the opportunity and you wept in tears of happiness. Finally, your young mind cried, you were finally something worthy to be next to Diluc instead of a normal person that can't be blessed by the Gods.

A party had been in order for both milestones, and more prestigious individuals from all over Teyvat were present. Something came up before the party that forced you to be late once again, and Diluc realized just how long you hadn't seen each other, more so spent time with each other. Kaeya stood next to him before nudging him with an elbow slightly, "What's got you so worried, brother? You shouldn't frown on your own party."

At the remark, Diluc stood straighter and fixed his frown. Why is it now that he was reminded of your promises and dwindled time? In the back of his mind, he realized just how much at fault he was for being neglectful. The spark you two had felt estranged and distant, feeling as tho things won't come back to the way they were.

The Court Marshal's booming voice suddenly announced your family name and the hall turned silent as everyone lifted their gaze to the grand entrance. Your bedazzled self stood there in your ombre dress, short sleeve matched with elbow gloves, and a resin Cecilia hairpiece holds itself on the crown of your head.

Diluc and Kaeya, and several other boys in the crowd gasped at your regal aura. Was this really YOU? The same girl that spit a grape on his hand/complimented a stranger's eyepatch? You stood with the poise of a refined woman and your face enlightened with a subtle artificial blush. Gone was your toothy grin and replaced with respectful smile as you made your way through the crowd.

Suddenly the nervousness came crashing back to the knight and he scrambled to pick himself up as the distance between you two shortened.

"Master Diluc," you curtsied and he inwardly doubled over at the formality, finding it almost detesting. "I'm glad to meet you again."

"(Y/N)," he bowed with a hand on his chest. "You don't need to be so formal."

The respectful smile on your face turned into a full-blown grin, the one he was used to, as you barreled towards him for a hug. Purely due to instincts and conditioning, Diluc was quick to catch you into his arms to reciprocate the hug. Disappointed gasps and whines echoed through the hall at the display, but they stood there in awe as they watched, for the rare sight of the young master's genuine smile was there for all to see.

As you two first danced the night away, it was finally brought onto everyone the fact that young master Diluc and young mistress (Y/N) were already fated together.

The ballroom parted to give way to you two as you chatted the missed times together, falling easily into steps while updating each other of the things you had done. It's true, you two may had gone your separate ways and lost time but in the end, you'll find yourself in each other's embrace.

The darkness of the knight embraces the winery as crystalflies dance by the vines and the surrounding grassland. The freshly signed contract made its way in between the pages of the personal journal before it was pushed into the luggage together with the packed clothes.

There was a thick silence in the room as Diluc continued watching with his lips tight, leaning against the doorframe. A tension was obvious, but it wasn't between you two, but it was also against you two.

Tomorrow at high noon marks your official departure to Sumeru now that you had finished your secondary education, at the prime age of 18. All things necessary had been prepared, a convoy of knights to guide you until you reach past the border of the continent, and in that security is Kaeya. Cavalry Captain Diluc had matters to work on in the capital, it was not his official job to officiate your leave. Even if he wanted to.

It was one of the instances, of the many, that being a knight had pulled him away from you.

"Something's on your mind, I can feel it," Diluc snapped out of his thoughts when he felt the ghost of your fingertips brush away the hair framing his face, cupping both of his cheeks like you've always done. He takes one into his hand, squeezing it lightly as he offers a small smile.

"So are you, your hands are trembling," and indeed they were. You huffed at being caught but recovered, pulling him into your room and on to your bed. There were numerous times when you'd sleep together on the same bed when you missed each other; you were both 8 that time, now you laid there as 18 years olds. The implications had him gulp while you seemed unbothered.

"Four years," you recounted as you flopped back on your mattress, the room you took for yourself in the winery ever since you arrived 10 years ago. "Maybe lesser, depending on how well I do."

"You'll do good," he assured as he kicked off his boots and climbed next to you, now laying on his side to face you. Your eyes fluttered shut with a sigh and he couldn't hell but blush at the way your eyebrows scrunched together with your pursed lips, "I believe in you."

"It's the longest we'll be separated, you can easily find another girl that would bother you enough to get you to marry her." You both snorted at the idea, before laughing in harmony at the joke.

"Mmm, I should be saying that to you. Scholars and prestigious men attend the Academia, they can easily sweep you away with their wits," he bit back and you laughed at the idea. How funny the predicament is, joking about getting stolen the same day you finally signed your arranged marriage contract.

Talks about anything and everything blew the night away easily. Diluc can see in your eyes that the nerves within you wouldn't let you sleep, and keeping him locked in constant conversation would prevent him from leaving. He entertained you this much, uncharacteristically chatty, as if repaying the four years that will go by without each other. And at the back of Diluc's mind, his worry of losing you in those four years started to manifest and cloud his thoughts into a fairly sensible doubt.

"Lulu!" He yelped as he felt a sudden bite on his cheek, reflexively pushing you down by the shoulders under him to suppress the assault. He was strong, you'd forgotten this new fact. As you laid sprawled under him as heavy breathing mixed in between.

You gripped the wrists of his hands that now stands next to your head to keep him there. His eyes were wide yet bashful. You called out to him again and it was almost a whine, asking him to tell you what's in his mind, what's worrying him and distracting him like this.

And he spilled all his insecurities, for every word that slipped past his lips, his heart relaxes while his eyes clenches. Somewhere in the middle of his rant, you had his cheeks captured in your palms again, to swipe at the tears that passes by. He worked his ass off to become a knight so he can protect you but you will be too far for his claymore to reach you, he wouldn't be there to hold your hand so you don't go off on your own and wonder to somewhere dangerous. And he wouldn't be there to bring you into his arms to remind that he exists, the one and only person meant to be for you.

Diluc doesn't know when he started falling in love, he doesn't know when he started wanting your company as a lover. But he knows there would be men that would look at you the way he does, easily captivated by your aura and your beauty. And if they were to take your hand, he wouldn't know. He wouldn't know when he had lost you, if he had lost you already.

Diluc was an honest man to you, and he was honest when he said he was scared to lose you.

"I belong to you," you started as your fingers softly pats his cute reddened cheeks. "And only you. I'll get a ring and don it on my hand to let the world know, I'll write letters to you as many times as I can so you'll know I'm still alive and yours." You pulled him closer, foreheads touching each other, as you stared at the red windows to his soul. He nods in agreement, slightly assured.

"I want to stay here tonight," somehow you urged the words out of him so easily everytime. The introverted boy you once knew stood on his own feet now, proudly, "Just so I don't forget you easily."

"I won't let you forget me at all," Diluc froze from taking off his vest when he saw you with a mischievous glint in your eyes, "Not after tonight." Oh boy.

It was the devil's hour when you twirled a strand of his untied hair, wild and curly, around your finger. Luscious and thick, silky yet unkempt. "Don't cut your hair," you mumbled as you leaned against his bare chest, sending a smile as you tilt your head up to see him chuckle, "It looks better long, I want it extra long when I come back!" He mumbles his agreement against the crown of your head.

When the sun rose high in the sky and the caravan was set to go, many of the servants of the Winery had expressed their congratulations and their good lucks to your new milestone. Your parents were more worried than not knowing their only child, nomad at heart, shall venture the world alone for four years away from them. You were crying angrily at how they made it so sentimental, forcing the waterworks out of you.

Crepus had already given his goodbyes and stood to the side with Diluc before the clock struck exactly 4 PM. The man's vigilant eyes however did not miss the fact that you and Diluc seem to lack the necessary sleep to power through the day, even tho half of it is already gone. How they grow up so fast.

When you found yourself bounding over to Diluc one last time, he took your hand ever so gently, still coming into terms of your departure. You only hum idly as he stares at your bare hands, before suddenly he presented two silver rings of infinity. You had to stop yourself from gasping aloud, "A promise ring, so that everyone in Sumeru knows there's someone waiting for you back home already." His red gaze averted to the side in fluster, gingerly sliding the band to your ring finger as he did the other to his own.

Home. Yes, Mond is now your home, and specifically next to him is where you belong. You shared your last kiss before Kaeya had finally called for the carriage to start ascending, on the dot. You peeked out of the carriage one last time as you waved your goodbyes to everyone, the silver band catching the light of the sun as it shines with promise.

Diluc wished goodbyes to you that day. And as he turns to his father to board their own horseback and carriage, he ends up losing two people on the same day.

Dearest Diluc,

I hope this letter finds you well. The Academia had been very accommodating ever since I arrived, there are a lot of people here from all over Teyvat, just like you had thought! I felt quite lonely and inferior when I entered but I've gained nice companions along the way and things became easy. With my exposure to our families' businesses, studies were actually easier than I expected them to be. There's been talks with the professors of me being accelerated half a year with my progress, it seems four years may not be accurate.

I've also gained myself a senior, a really kind and intelligent upperclassmen. His name is Cyno, a nice gentleman. He's been teaching me on weapon mastery since he's really good with a polearm. You use a Claymore, right? If I come back wielding a polearm, I want to spar! But don't worry about him, he knows of our betrothal and his boundaries.

How's being the captain there? I hope Uncle Crepus and Kaeya are doing well with you mostly in Mond's city now. It seems the Academia doesn't really receive letters for 'security reasons' hence why I haven't received any of your letters. But no matter, I'm sure you're doing far better than I am, you're much stronger and capable now afterall! Make sure to take care of yourself always, get some breaks and eat your meals! I don't want to see you so skinny and weak when I get back!

Forever Yours,

(Y/N)

There is bliss in ignorance. As you fold up the letter into the envelope, the door to your room echoes a knock before it softly opens to reveal your upperclassman. His gaze falls on the envelope on your hand in silent question to which you return with a smile and a nod, standing up from your study table as you followed Cyno out of the dormitories to the Academia's post office.

It had been a year since you left Mondstadt, a year since you've last seen Diluc, and a year since Crepus had died. Your parents, not wanting you to be distracted by the loss and dent your studies over such matters, opted to refrain from informing you of the grave news. It has also been a year since you started writing letters to Diluc and never received a reply.

"Time will go by quickly, and you'll be back before you know it," the Sumeru denizen beside you reassured you of your lack of correspondence and you offered a smile at his niceties. It doesn't worry you that Diluc wasn't able to contact you like so, you only wish that he was able to receive your little notes so he's reminded to take care of himself.

Yet as you pass the envelope to the postman, there was still an uneasy feeling on the back of your mind. You turn around with a curious hum, calmly and slowly scanning the grounds of the Academia before walking once again to catch up with your senior, clutching the silver ring close to your chest as you fell back into idle chatter.

Once you've disappeared behind the doors of your next class, a lone man stands straight on one of the tower's roof. The warm wind of Sumeru washes by him in a force enough to whisk away his hood, but he did not care. He did not care over the way his red hair spills all over his shoulders as it danced with the wind.

Diluc only heaved a sigh before leaping back into the shadows on his last day in the desert nation, finding no proper clue and heading to the next nation over. But not before stealing a freshly folded letter from the shelf of a certain post office.

Two years. Two years. Sumeru Academia sent you off on graduation with both striking awe and somber disappointment. After losing the prodigy Lisa, they were now losing you, the now renowned master practitioner of economics. You did so well, SO WELL in fact, that your four years stay ended in just two because of your numerous acceleration as a year in you're already conversing with the modern founders of the practice.

They wanted you to stay longer but you've had your fair share of knowledge and waiting. Everyone knew of your relationship predicament, understanding where you're coming from, yet to leave another prodigy to Mondstadt. It was unnerving for them, but your smile had been nothing but reassuring. You comforted those with the promise of correspondence and accommodation, if they so wish to find time and pass by Mondstadt in the future.

And hence you find yourself in Dawn Winery, your luggage and naginata as your only companion. You barged in like nobody's business and started looking around for anyone- Kaeya, Uncle Crepus, Diluc- yet no one showed up. Servants are scarce and almost non-existent, you were confused beyond comprehension.

A set of footsteps echoed behind you and you twisted around in excitement, only to see one of the higher attendants you still remember, Elzer. "M-Mistress (Y/N)! Y-You're ali- you're here!" You cocked your head to the side, unsure of how to take his slip up.

Ah, right, priorities. "Have you seen where anyone is? Kaeya, Master Crepus, Diluc? I passed by here first since it's on the way but I can't find anyone!" The gravity of the change gnawed at you from the pit of your stomach, and you nibbled at your bottom lip at the flash of emotions that passed his face.

"We're unsure where Master Diluc is currently, but Master Kaeya is in Mondstadt-" A lead! Diluc must be patrolling somewhere in the city anyways so you bolted out of the mansion, thanking the man before he can finish answering all your questions. As you left so loudly, in your wake the other servants were now aware of your presence, and the feeling of dread revives in the Winery.

Two years must have gone by longer than you expected it to be, this thought passed you as you went through the main gates of the City of Freedom. The knights that were usually on guard are those you've never seen before, and the people around you barely spared you a glance with no recognition. Even the ones stationed at the entrance of the Ordo Favonius HQ were completely new when you went over to ask.

"Have you seen- do you know where the uhm," you paused in remembrance, "The Cavalry Captain. Do you know where he is?" With how new they were, you figured Diluc would be known by his title instead.

One of them nods and pointed at the Cathedral, "Yes, Ma'am. He's just finished an expedition and are conversing with the healers in the church." Finally, an exact location! You thanked them and flew off once again.

And so you found yourself in front of the altar of the anemo archon, alone in the completely silent establishment. There were no whispers to guide you or people to tell you where he is, it was too quiet, and you were turning helpless. Offering your bow to the statue you turned to walk back down the aisle, only to see a familar figure staring at you as if you were a ghost haunting-

"(Y/N)?" You gasped and ran towards him.

"Kaeya! You're here!" You embraced him softly, careful of the confusing clothing and the hanging polearm on your back. He embraced you just the same, a hearty laugh masking the nervousness on the back of his throat.

"Aren't you supposed to come home two years later?" Kaeya inquired as he stepped back from the hug, suddenly smirking, "Or are you telling me you ran away from school?"

You smacked his arm with a whine at such a preposterous accusation, harder than you'd intended as you heard him wince. Oh goodness, your training with Cyno really made you strong. "Ahhh, no, no! I finished early because I was too good ahah, who would've thought!" The blunette let out a rare snort on that of which only spurred on your laughter.

The familiarity of another had eased the tension on your shoulders as you conversed freely about everything that had transpired for you, how things had been and- you've realized now just how tired you were from the long travel you'd gone through even tho you were used to such lifestyle when you were young.

After things had died down, you finally asked, "Where's Diluc?" And the twinkle of lax delight hardened at the question. He took a few seconds to start as his eye shifted left and right, and your knees were shaking from the implications-

And then he finally told you everything. The death of Crepus. Diluc giving up his Vision. Him disappearing for two year, without return. All the disaster that had happened the moment you left.

Your legs gave out as your knees hit the floor painfully, it will probably bruise later but you couldn't get yourself to care. If you hadn't left that day, would it have gone differently? Would you be able to make him stay? You should have been there to comfort him, to be by his side and yet-

Please tell me you're joking, you cried out so desperately to Kaeya who dropped down to gather you into his arms. But you knew better than that, he knew you knew better than that, so he didn't answer. And the altar behind you listened to the echoed screams and cries of a maiden abandoned by grief and love.

And Kaeya stayed for as long as you needed him to be. And in the back of his mind, a bitterness bit—

That should have been Diluc, holding you and comforting you.

That should be him, showing you where Crepus Ragnvindr's gravestone lies to pay your respects.

That should have been him who stayed.

It had been almost two years now since you've gone back to Mondstadt, almost four years since Diluc disappeared, together with him he took away your hopes and promises. The talk about your arranged marriage had become taboo to the people who still knows, but they don't comment on the ring that still lingered around your finger.

Besides finally taking over the business in Mondstadt (your parents had established one in Fontaine while you were away) and being pursued by scholars all over the world, you've been dealing with the pain silently and alone. Numbing soon. Every passing day with no news of him claws at the idea of him being alive even, and the thought sickens you to death.

It was one of those nights when you couldn't sleep and had decided to stroll around the city during the dead of the night to clear your head. Your parents had sent you a letter of recall to Fontaine, asking you to leave the business to the managers. They didn't exactly put it into words, but you knew your parents better than anyone: you should stop hoping he'd return, was what they wanted to say.

You rubbed your forearm as you continued your walk. It must have been your time with Sumeru that made you so vulnerable to the cold now, was your thought process as another chilly wind passed by you. And then you heard it—

An echoed cackle and a crackle of icicles.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood straight as you stumbled to the side, narrowly missing a flying icicle. Thank goodness Sumeru Academia required combats class, you thought as you darted straight through the alleys, the Abyss Mage hot on pursuit. This was the worst time to leave your freaking polearm at your house, you screamed at yourself as you vaulted over empty crates before coming out of another street.

“Look out!” A gruff voice shouted as a sudden wall of black? fire manifested behind you. You heard the icicle melting as it touched the wall and dissipated with it, revealing a figure cloaked in pure black. Back turned to you, the Abyss Mage continued its assault which was now focused on the intruder. And their clash started just like that.

You hopped back when another barrage of icicle rain was summoned. This guy had a Vision(?) but it was something you’ve never seen before, nor had encountered in your classes about the elements. You can’t leave him now, not like this, and so you picked up a slab of wood from a broken crate. Abyss mages have shields yes, you need to break that.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you leaped over the ledge that’s in level with the floating enemy (again, thanks for the acrobatic lessons) and brought down the hard wood over the mage’s head. It produced a sickening crunch as the shield broke under pressure as well as fall through and hit it square in the head! It dropped back to the floor momentarily, and it made you aware that you two were plummeting to the ground.

You pulled your limbs close and braced for impact- “Shit, I got you.” You felt something cold and thin wrap around your body before it guided you to the cloaked person’s awaiting arms, stumbling a bit at the weight. You grunted at the inertia before you met eyes with orbs of red within a shadow, it looked at you widely behind an owl mask(?) and you looked back with a squint. Who?

Your little moment was interrupted when the Abyss Mage started rising from the ground again, slightly swaying from the blow you hit it with earlier. In alarm, you quickly placed your feet down to stand, the chains around you easily slinking away back to the person’s cloak. The man then stands in front of you protectively, cursing under his breath, “You need to leave, it’s too dangerous.” There was a weird strain in his voice now.

This made you scoff, so loud and offended, that you felt the man be taken aback by your response. “You can’t even disable the shield in time,” you ignored the way he seemingly cringed back to this cloak as you stood next to him, slab of wood at the ready, “Don’t worry about me, I had lessons.” Now it was his turn to scoff but relented anyways, as if he knew well enough that you’re not falling back easily.

Batarangs flew from his cloak as it hit the Abyss on the arms and chest, screeching in pain at the unexpected attack. You rushed over and clubbed his hand that held the staff, kicking it far away when it was dropped. A chain then latches around its waist as it was pulled to the cloaked man, who delivered a quick kick to its stomach when it neared, sending it crashing to the wall.

That was so... exciting! You gasped at the thrill of the fight, slightly hopping and clapping at yourself as you smiled at the stranger with the widest grin you had mustered ever since you came back. His gait was tense when walked up to you, past you, in front of you as he looked around for any onlookers or dwellers of the night that had witnessed the commotion. “That was really cool, what kind of power was that? You look like you’ve done this multiple times before.”

You heard the most subtlest sigh when you were sure you whisked away his attention, slowly he turns to his side but not sparing you a direct view. From what you can tell, he wore a LOT of black under that black cloak. “You shouldn’t have stayed,” he started with a sigh as he finally turned to you fully, “Who knows what could have happened-”

“WATCH OUT!” You shoved him by the shoulder as you threw your slab with a force so mighty it broke the face of the mage, immediately disintegrating into ashes and dissipating with the wind. Under you your companion grunted from the pain of being thrown to the floor, and when he looked up, he was scrambling to catch you again.

The icicle impaled through your thigh coaxed out and coated with blood as dark spots danced on your vision from the pain and blood loss. The man pulled you up against his chest, hushed whispers of panic begging you to stay awake as he was wary of the shrapnel still in you.

But you were stubborn. And so you fainted.

The next day when you awoken in your bed, the night before would have easily been passed off as a fever dream if not for the bandaged injury on your leg that had you immobilized for days. When the citizens of Mond finally got a hold of you and asked about the incident, you gave them as much information as you could about your hero,

“He was an unknown hero that appeared at the dark of the night.”

Days passed by and you heard rumors in passing of the one named Darknight Hero. The name made you facepalm.

The faithful day happened three weeks after the encounter with the "Darknight Hero" when you finally recovered from your injury, able to walk around and do your daily rounds of work and deliver the paperwork of the margins of the sales and cost-effectiveness of your family's business in connection to Angel's Share. You had prepared so many documents all hailing from your numerous studies in the Academia, graphs and studies of the data Elzer had expertly combined for you lay in your arms in a bundle of folders.

The tower had to be carried by two hands, and you grunted as you bumped your bottom against the thick door of the tavern, using your hip to swing it open with mighty force. "Ugh, Charles, here's all the economic reports I finally finished after three week-" if not for the man himself, the floor of the tavern would have turned into a sea of papers as your fingers trembled and slackened at the sight.

His towering build, the thick main of red hair, it's all him. The moment the weight from your arms departed, you immediately stumbled over to him, eyes wide and mouth open to call out to him, "Diluc-!" But he flinched away from you instead of meeting you halfway through. And that slight movement halted you in your tracks, eyes wide with horror and pain from the rejection.

Diluc's eyes widened at the change, his gaze passing at Charles before back at you, reluctantly gesturing at your bandaged thigh he spoke, "You should be careful with that injury, don't want it to open up." His voice had a rough edge to it now, deeper yet still veiled with velvety smoothness.

"You're here," your disappointment from earlier was changed from the enlightenment of the situation. His jaw tightened at the sight of the tears that started falling from your eyes, "You're alive!"

Forced away by Charles with the promise of taking over the tavern for the day, you and Diluc took a stroll around the city. Enthusiastic of catching up, you talked endlessly about your years in the Academia and the last two years that you had stayed in Mondstadt before his arrival. Yet opposite of your upbeat chatter, Diluc stayed silent and forward-looking, offering only nods and grunts in between your pauses that asks him if he was still listening. Everytime your hand brushed his when you walked too close, he'd immediately pull his hand back and step away from your personal space.

It was a one-sided conversation. And it ended quickly as it had started.

You stood now at the stairs of the cathedral, overlooking the imposing statue of the Anemo archon. Your location made you remember something, and you opened up another topic, "Your brother, Kaeya told me about what happened four years ago." His apathetic gaze suddenly turned cold as his shoulders tensed. "Diluc, I'm sorry for what happened and-"

"He's not my brother, (Y/N)," you've never thought there would come a day when you'd hear such venom come from his sweet lips. Nor the cold glare that was now in full view, directed at you, "And you shouldn't go around trusting that guy, he's nothing but trouble."

The lump now stuck in your throat prevented you from responding, but you figured you didn't have the chance to do so anyways. As Diluc had ended his warning, he turned away and started walking back to the direction of the tavern, muttering something about work needed to be done.

You tried to reach for his hand before he could have gone too far, but you froze a few seconds away- and then he was gone, out of your grasp, leaving you alone at the steps of the cathedral without a look to spare.

Your cradled your hand to your chest as you felt your eyes water again, the overwhelming distance now opening the truth in your gaping heart as you wept in silence: The promise ring was missing from his hand.

Days had gone by after that where you sat in the background in idle wait, observing as subtle as you can be, hovering around him. The Diluc that you once knew was different from the Diluc who disappeared for four years, and the differences screamed at your face at every one you picked up:

His soft gaze now seems hardened and hooded, as cold as the cryo slimes and as deep as the ocean floor. Whenever you look at them, you always feel as tho he was years away, in a place unreachable. Even when they fall on you, there's a hidden emotion behind them, but they never once softened at the sight of you.

Around his hands were thick gloves of either pure red or another black-red variant. They were rough and never off, hot and grazed with years of use. It was different, so different from the white ones you had gifted him on his birthday. You placed a grape on his palm once and giggled at the memory, expecting him to look at you with recollection, but he only stared at the grape before shaking his head. And he turns away from you to get back at his work.

Diluc's hair was longer than you've ever seen before. It reached past the middle of his back when it had only grew by the shoulder when you've last seen it. It was fluffier and wilder, held up by a ponytail that you can't even see past the thickness. You loved running your hand through it before and Diluc had always felt at ease when you do that; you reached your hand out to touch the ends of his long hair, but he immediately turned to you before you could even feel it on the edge of your fingertips, caught by the cold squint of his eyes. No matter how many attempts, he always managed to stop you.

Another thing that had changed was his wardrobe. There were barely traces of the white knight aesthetic he had when you were still young, no, now he felt shrouded in the darkness of the knight. Made to blend with the shadows, he dons all black besides his undershirt. He resembles no trace of the knight he once was when you look at him.

The last detail you hated the most was the way he had been... secretive to you, and anyone in general. For this reason alone, you barely visited the Winery now, only coming there for business purposes or to converse with the servants that still remembered you. Whenever other matters were to be discussed, you're almost immediately ushered out by one of his men, no questions asked. This had became so commonplace that you started seeing yourself out the moment the air felt unwelcoming.

The more you notice, the more you felt farther away from the Diluc you knew. But this was the same man you loved, and still love. The grief had changed him, the disappearance had changed him, but nothing can change the fact that he was the same person that held your hand when it felt cold.

Speaking of, you clutched the hand you spoke of as you felt the breeze pass by you. The sea of Cecilias danced with an orchestrated flutter, as if singing to you in music of their petals grazing one another. Ah, you realized, this was the same exact place you first met Diluc.

"Is your hand cold again?" He spoke from the table under the gazebo where you delivered the perfectly arranged document. This time you dealt with the matter of tax revenue and compiled the business proposals of those that had attended the party he hosted with the seneschal.

You simply nodded and he sighed. The disappointment breaking your heart into a million pieces, "You should know by now to wear gloves or long sleeves whenever you're out. You must have gotten lackluster due to the climate of Sumeru, you should fix that."

You felt the tears bite at your eyes painfully again. As of recently, you've been crying a lot more than you had ever been in your life. And yet these ones flowed with ease, without a hiccup or a sob, almost liberating. "I'll be leaving for Fontaine tomorrow," the shuffling of the papers stopped behind you, "Flint will be handling the management of the franchise here, I've taught him the necessary computations so you can trust the reports he'll give to the Winery. Mother and father wants me to focus on the expansion of the business, after all."

There was a moment of silence before the shuffling began again and with that pushed the final sword into your heart. You bowed your head, smiling to the Cecilias that caught your tears in their petals, "Thank you for everything, make sure you take good care of yourself, okay?" You didn't know if you were talking to the Cecilias or Diluc.

But you felt lighter than ever, as if the last chain that pulled you down were finally broken.

And you took a small step, and then another, bigger one this time. For the first time since you're back to the city, you finally breathed in relief and without restraints.

Soon you were making distance and you were finally ready to go,

until a gloved hand pulled you back. Your gasp caught into your throat as your head whipped to stare at him, his eyes just as wide as yours. "What," he breathed out helplessly and you've noticed how short his breathing was, did he chase you? "What do you mean? You're not leaving forever, right?"

Forever. You felt the warmth of the gloved ones in your hand squeeze as you saw a faint light return in the depths of his glossy eyes, and you felt it—

The reassurance of your promise, as you squeezed back—

Underneath his thick gloves, red and black, you've finally noticed—

If he hadn't finally let his hand find yours, you wouldn't have felt the ring hidden underneath the cloth.

You beamed at him with eyes full of adoration and pure hope, of a grin pearly white that it almost shone as it caught the sun, he felt burned by it— but before he could escape, he was tackled to the ground with loud laughter.

@boxofteenageideas @creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

[yuta-nakamots]

only human - d.sc

Pairing - Boyfriend!Sicheng x Fem!Reader

Genre - Angst, Smut, Fluff, Established Relationship!AU

Warnings - implied character death, description of having a stroke, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming

Summary - You dream about Sicheng all the time and love telling him about them when you wake up. But this one, you hope to never see again even if it did give you a happy ending.

Word Count - 2.1k 

A/N - I really did dream this about Sicheng but without the smut lmao I was so freaked out when it was happening 

Written for the Dreams Unfold Event hosted by @neosmutcollective​. Check out the masterlist here.

You were driving on the freeway to a destination unknown, accompanied by your boyfriend Sicheng and his close friend Lucas. The reason why Lucas was with you was also unknown. There were hardly any other cars on the road, your headlights casting a desolate glow in front of you.

It was almost completely silent aside from the quiet lo-fi music that Lucas was playing through the sound system until suddenly from beside you, “where is my arm?” Sicheng muttered. You paid it no thought, thinking he was just drowsy from sleep. “How is the road?” His voice rose at the end, as if he didn’t know what the word ‘road’ meant.

“It’s good babe, it’s not too bumpy or anything,” you answered, playing along with whatever charade he was putting on.

“My head...hurts,” he groaned, “and we spin?” At this rate you were getting really concerned. Looking over at him, his face was contorted in pain as he was curled against the door, showing that he wasn’t just spouting nonsense.

“Lucas,” you whispered, checking into the rear-view mirror for him, “call the ambulance,” you ask of him once you see that he’s awake. He did what he was told as you pulled over to the shoulder of the road. “Give me the phone,” you commanded anxiously, which Lucas gladly obliged to, probably because he had no idea what to say anyways.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator began.

Your focus was on Sicheng again as you tried to describe his state. “Hi, I was driving on the I-205 and my boyfriend began saying weird things and saying his head hurts and something is spinning.”

There was a slight pause as the operator took note of the situation. “Ma’am, did he mentioned anything else.”

You knew he had said other things but couldn’t remember exactly what they were. You watched as his right hand flew to his left bicep before he whimpered pathetically, “arm gone.”

“He keeps saying that his arm is gone, but it’s clearly not.” You relayed.

“And these statements, are they in full, coherent sentences?” The operator asked.

“No, not really.”

“Ma’am I believe he is having a stroke. Please give me an address or approximate area so I can send an ambulance your way.”

“Uh, we just passed exit 288 I believe, we’re pulled over on the right hand side of the road on the I-205.”

“Alright thank you, medical support will be there soon. Please stay on the line with me until they arrive.” You nodded as if they could see you. “Where were you traveling to?”

“I-I don’t really know…”

“Uh-huh,” the operator acknowledged as if you had said a real location, “and who are you traveling with?”

“It’s me, my boyfriend, and our close friend.”

“May I ask for all your names and your phone number?”

By the time you had given the operator all the information, you could already see the flashing lights of the ambulance as it approached. “I think I see the ambulance.”

“Alright ma’am, thank you for your cooperation and I wish you the best.” With that the line went dead. How odd.

You stepped out of the car and motioned for Lucas to do the same. As the paramedics came to greet you with a stretcher, you led them to the passenger door, opening it as gently as possible so Sicheng wouldn’t fall out. He kept moaning and muttering things incoherently though he was clearly in even more pain and was more confused than before as the paramedics situated him onto the stretcher.

You and Lucas followed them as they loaded him onto the ambulance and allowed them to do their job. They were hooking him up to machines to take his vitals and you must’ve looked awfully distraught for Lucas to speak up. “He’ll be okay, you know.”

“How do you know that?” You question.

Lucas shrugged, “I don’t know for sure but it’s better than saying he won’t be okay, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you sighed apprehensively, “I guess.”

There was a commotion coming from inside the ambulance and you saw them beginning to do CPR on Sicheng and his heart rate flat-lined. Something about this didn’t seem quite right. If he is experiencing a stroke, why would they be doing compressions? As far as you knew, a stroke dealt with the brain while CPR was meant for the heart. And weren’t they supposed to be doing all this on the way to the hospital?

After what seemed like only a few seconds, the paramedics stopped assisting him and their leader came up to you, “he is dead but we will take him to the hospital for clearance.”

“W-what?!” You exclaimed as the paramedic walked away. Lucas had to hold you back from going after them and only released you once the ambulance started to pull away. “He’s dead? He can’t be, there’s no way! I swear humans can survive a few minutes without a pulse...they didn’t even try to restart it with the AED!”

As you stormed over to get into your car and follow the ambulance, Lucas held you once again, bringing you into a hug. “Y/n, it’s okay,” he whispered, grasping onto you firmly, the rumble of his voice spreading through you.

“But Sicheng isn’t okay! You can’t just let him go like that!”

“It’s okay,” Lucas repeated, though this time you felt his grasp on your arm get tighter and almost as if he was shaking you. “It’s okay,” he said once more, “y/n, wake up,” he pleaded. Though the voice wasn’t his, it was Sicheng’s.

“Wake up,” you heard once more and you felt your realities shift as your eyes sprung open staring straight into Sicheng’s from where he laid next to you, your limbs flailing at your sudden consciousness. “Hey, calm down, it’s just a dream,” he told you, one of his hands coming to rest on your cheek.

“It was- You were- Th-they said you were dead! You had a stroke and died but they didn’t even help you!” You spewed.

“Baby, it’s okay, I’m right here,” Sicheng assured you, “look, we’re in our room, in our bed, and it’s 4am in the morning.” He could tell you still didn’t believe him entirely. “We are not in a hospital, trust me. This is our apartment, the one we bought together last year.”

As your sense started to return to normal, your brain finally wrapped itself around the situation and you swung a leg over Sicheng, straddling him before leaning down and kissing him. “I though you were gone,” you confessed, tears welling up in your eyes at the thought of losing him.

“I’m right here,” he promised between kisses, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You basked in the feeling of his lips on yours, your tongues entertwining as Sicheng deepened the kiss. He wrapped an arm around your waist before sitting up, both of your torsos pressed tightly together. As you settled back into his lap, you felt something poking into your thigh. You broke the kiss to look down and saw the clear bulge in his athletic shorts, confirming your suspicions. “Dong Sicheng, I can’t believe you’re hard right now, at this very moment.” He pursed his lips, his eyes going wide as they bore into yours, waiting for your next move. “I had a nightmare that you died and you’re turned on by that?”

“No no, I’m not turned on by that-”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” his hands flew up in exasperation, “I just woke up from you tossing and turning and it was like this.”

Resting your arms around his shoulders and bringing your forehead to his, you brought your bodies impossibly closer while ever so slightly shifting around in his lap to tease him. “I don’t believe you,” you told him with a smirk.

“Well are you going to help me or not?” He nearly pleaded, his hips pushing up against yours.

You snuck a hand past the waistband of his shorts, unsurprised at his lack of underwear. “I guess I have to,” you complied, grabbing ahold of his warm and pulsing length. You began pumping a hand up and down his cock, causing his head to fall to the crook of your neck. Sicheng left messy kisses across the expanse of your neck, and exposed collar, his hands going up your shirt to gently cup your breasts until he decided his was tired of it and began puling your shirt off.

The second it was off past your chest, Sicheng’s lips were already on you, covering the untouched areas of your chest, latching onto a nipple while his hand played with the other. You cradled his head almost as if he were a baby, with both of your hands getting lost in his soft brown hair. You let him suck and fondle at your breasts for a little while longer until the ache in your core grew to be too much.

After sliding your bottoms and near-soaked underwear off, you repositioned yourself above the head of his cock, using a hand to help guide his member into you. As you lowered yourself onto his length, Sicheng busied himself with kissing along your jaw, his hands moving to hold your hips once you were fully seated in his lap. Ever so slowly, you let yourself rise and fall on his cock, making him moan and lean backwards against the headboard of the bed.

Placing your hands on his broad chest, you used it to gain leverage as you began bouncing on his dick. Sicheng looked so pretty beneath you, his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, his lips plump and slick, his skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat. You continued your movements until you felt your legs growing tired, opting instead to draw mindless shapes in his lap. You relished in the way his slick member slid in and out of you, feeling so good when it stretched you out.

This tempo wasn’t all to Sicheng’s liking though, but he took matters into his own hands, his arms coming up from behind you, his fingers gripping onto your shoulders as he rolled the two of you over and began rocking his hips into yours. You wrapped your legs around him, allowing him to push deeper into you as he gradually started to go at a steady pace.

He let go of your frame in exchange for planting his forearms on either side of your head so he could watch your expressions as he got high off of his cock. Your eyes closed at the feeling of overwhelming pleasure when he hit the deeper parts of you, filling you up ever so perfectly. “Yes, just like that,” you told him as your walls were clenched around him, so soft and warm whenever he thrusted into you.

Sicheng started to let out little whimpers as he continued thrusting, a sign that he was getting close. You reached a hand down to stimulate your clit, wanting to come with him while he moved to sit back on his knees, pulling your body further down the bed. In this position, he began drilling into you as he desperately chased his high. “Let me do it,” he breathed when he saw your hand between your legs. He pushed it away and quickly replaced it with his own, his thumb drawing circles onto your clit.

You heard his breath hitch and felt his hips stutter as his length twitched inside of you. Sicheng pushed himself to be fully connected with you as he released in your walls, shallowly thrusting as if to milk his own dick, “I love you,” you quietly blurted. The feeling of his hot cum spreading in your core brought you to your own orgasm, your muscles fluttering and spasming around him. Sicheng held you as you powered through your own release on his member, not wanting to lose the feeling of warmth around him just yet.

“Fuck, I love you too,” you answered as you started coming down off your high. You could feel the mix of your juices start to spill out when Sicheng set your hip back down onto the bed and moved to lie on top of you. His cock was softening inside of you but you didn’t mind it all that much since you were already on you way to sleep again though hopefully with a more pleasant dream this time.

[randomtwistedlife]

Two Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Female Reader

Summary: You are on a recon mission in Marley and run into Reiner. Little angsty. 

Note: I just finished the anime and the manga and there are a lot of feelings and hence, this one shot was born. One huge spoiler regarding Reiner. If you know what I’m talking about, you can read this. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, spoiler ahead. POV shifts between reader and Reiner. 

Based on Two Ghosts by Harry Styles

Feedback is appreciated.

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

You pulled the hood of your cape onto your head as you weaved across the sea of people. Glancing at the setting sun, you let out a curse. You were late. His letter, which was tightly clutched in your hands, had instructed you to meet him at the specified address tonight as soon as the sun set. Even though he hadn’t written a lot about himself, most likely afraid that the letter would fall into the wrong hands, you knew it was him from his handwriting and the way he wrote the words.

Jean was here. In Marley.

You had arrived in Marley a little over a month ago on a recon mission. The mission was simple — infiltrate Marley, specifically Liberio, because that’s where the Warrior program was, scout the high ranked officials, and understand the socio-political situation. It was the solitude and the feeling of otherness that was hard to deal with. Everyone on this side of the sea hated you. Well, not you specifically, but your kind. You just wanted to talk freely with someone. Though Eren was here as well, he wasn’t an option. He had been here almost as long as you, but visiting him at the hospital would raise too many eyebrows considering Eren’s secret identity was not supposed to have any family. And so you stayed away. But now Jean was here.

Your face hurt from smiling so much. It was hard to remember the last time you had been this happy. You would tell him all the information you had been able to gather till now and then, you would drink and eat and have fun with your friend. Just one night of fun - you deserved that after everything. You had already thought of all the questions you were going to throw at him. You wanted to know how everyone was doing back home — Armin, Mikasa, Connie, Sasha, Commander Hange, and Captain Levi. Thinking about your home and your friends left you with a sense of longing. Closing your eyes, you brushed aside the melancholic feeling. You will reunite soon. Walking a little faster, you looked up to locate the bar you were supposed to meet Jean at and that is when you bumped into him.

                                                            ~~~

Reiner sighed. He had just dropped an enthusiastic Gabi at her home, and all he wanted to do now was get drunk and fall asleep. Sometimes, being around Gabi was tiring for him. The girl was hell-bent on inheriting his Armoured Titan thinking that it was the biggest honour in the world. How could he tell her otherwise? He himself didn’t know what he believed. He did, however, know that he didn’t want his cousin to go through what he did. But how does he explain all the anger, and the sadness, and the guilt that is buried deep inside of him to a 12-year-old when he himself couldn’t make any sense of his feelings?

If he hadn’t been lost in his thoughts and was watching where he was going, he probably would have avoided the collision altogether. When he finally realised what was happening, it was too late. There she was, her face covered behind her cape and walking straight towards him. The moment she crashes into him, Reiner holds her shoulders to help balance her. As he does so, he notices the piece of paper she was holding fall down on the road.

She apologises, so does he. As she walks past him, he bends down to pick up the piece of paper and calls out to her.

“You dropped something.”

She turns, and the world around him fades away.

                                                            ~~~

You have been on enough battlefields to understand what people mean when they say, “Time moved slowly” but this was the first instance you fully understood what “Time stood still” meant. You don’t know how long you have been standing on the street. Jean’s letter left forgotten in his hands. He cannot have that letter; it could compromise the entire operation. But at this moment, you can’t seem to care. You should snatch the letter and run away, but you don’t. You just stand there staring into his hazel eyes.

Long gone is the young boy that you looked up to. His hair is longer and his sharp cheekbones are now slightly covered under his goatee. You had grown up in the last four years, but so had he. His eyes were wide and staring back into your own. You opened your mouth to say some something - anything - but words wouldn’t come out. You could hear a loud thudding - maybe it was your heart or maybe your head, you weren’t sure. Your mind was blank all because he was standing in front of you.

Reiner Braun. The boy you had fallen in love with. The boy who was responsible for the death of your family and friends. The boy - no, man - who could still make your heart flutter.

You had known that there was a high possibility of running into him, but you still volunteered to be a part of the infiltration. Maybe you wanted to run into him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Move! Speak! Do something! You screamed internally, but you felt frozen to your spot.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice shaky.

Your heart skips.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you.

The sound of his voice accelerated the already rampant pounding of your heart, and it felt like it would burst any second.

He took a step towards you. You took a step back.

“No,” your voice soft but firm.

You couldn’t face him after everything he had done.

                                                              ~~~

The one thing Reiner had wanted more than anything in his life was to see you again. Of course, he never expected that to ever come true. Ever since his return from Paradis, he has spent a countless number of nights thinking about how if he ever met you again, he would tell you everything and you would forgive him. He never expected that to happen either, but isn’t that why they are called dreams? Late at night, he could hope to see you again. In his dreams, he could imagine spending a life with you.

And now here you were. Standing right in front of him.

The young girl he had fallen in love with was now a beautiful woman. Not that you weren’t beautiful before. Back when he was pretending to be a soldier of Paradis, he had seen you covered in blood, sweat and grime several times and you were still the most beautiful human to ever grace the planet in his eyes. Your hair, which looked much shorter than the last time he had seen you, was framing your face. Besides the guarded expression that you wore, your eyes were locked with his own.

“No,” you spoke as you stepped away from him.

His throat went dry. His palms moistened and he could hear the crinkle of the piece of paper he was holding as he clenched his hands. Reiner couldn't be certain that this wasn't a dream. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel the smoothness of your skin, and to confirm that you were indeed standing in front of him.

“I —” he spoke again, but stopped. What could he even say? That he was sorry? A simple ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t enough. He knew he could never atone for all the violence he had ensued; for all the people that were dead because of him. The apology that was stuck in his throat was too little, too late.

You tilted your head slightly, and Reiner saw how your guarded expression slowly changed into something else. Your eyebrows narrowed and your face flushed a deep shade of red.

“Reiner,” you spat out his name.

Although he was expecting it, the venom in your voice startled him. The air between the two of you had shifted, becoming much more tense. His glance flickered from you to his surroundings. He could feel their watchful gaze on the two of you. Everybody in Liberio knew who he was. The people walking by seemed quite interested in what was happening between the Armoured Titan and the woman he was with. Looking back at you, he realised things could go south quickly. Hastily, he reached for your arm, without giving you a chance to fight him, and dragged you to the nearest alley, away from prying eyes.

“Back off, Braun.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t have been at my home, but things don’t always happen according to plan now, do they?” you retorted.

“I know this doesn’t count for anything, but I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I would do things differently,” he admitted.

You looked away, breaking off the eye contact, “Well, you can’t.”

The slanting rays of the setting sun shone on your face, making you seem more alluring than ever. He was so screwed. 

                                                             ~~~

His admission caught you off guard. Did he regret doing what he did? Was he genuinely sorry? He did apologise, but how could you trust what he said? You had trusted him once, with your life and your heart, and look what happened.

“Was any of it real?” you asked.

Your eyes were trained on the cat rummaging for scraps in the alley dumpster, but your ears were straining to hear his answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, specially if he confirmed he had merely used you for his mission.

“Yes. All of it. All of us,” he replied.

You turned your head and risked a peek in his direction.

“I — The mission was to break the wall, blend in, and bring the Founding Titan to Marley. You were never supposed to be a part of it.”

His eyes were focused on you.

“I tried really hard, you know. I tried not to fall in love with you. Annie and Bertolt realised what was happening as well and tried to keep me away from you, but we all know how that worked out,” he chuckled ruefully. “You were fierce when you protected and stood up for your friends. You were sweet and kind and understanding. You had been through so much —” his eyes cast downward “ — and yet you still could love and be kind.”

He looked back up at you. “By the time I realised what you meant to me, it was too late.”

You screwed your eyes shut. No, this couldn’t be happening. Four years. It had taken you four years to heal your heart and here he was breaking down your walls all over again.

“Stop,” you whispered.

“You deserve the truth, (Y/N)” he spoke softly.

You shook your head and opened your eyes. They burned with unshed tears.

“I never meant to hurt you, and I would spend the rest of my life making things right. I loved you.”

All this time you had been telling yourself that the bond you had shared with Reiner was nothing but a lie. He never cared about you. You were simply a means to an end for him. But the words spilling from his mouth were enough to turn your world upside down. You looked up as you felt the heat from his body. You could feel his breath on your face. Were you two standing this close before?

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes jumping from his lips to his eyes. Reiner leaned in and you let him. You parted your lips and felt him washing over you like a wave of warmth. Your entire body tingled. The kiss started soft and slow with your arms locked with his. He took a step back when the two of you came back for air.

“I’m sorry, I needed to do that —” he started speaking, but you placed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding your body close. He pulled you in, claiming your mouth once again, this time hungry and intense, until your knees gave in. His hands were on your hips and he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. He moved the two of you so your back touched the wall. His body was pressing into yours and you inhale his scent. He still smelled like the boy who won you over years ago.

The two of you come back for air and he presses his forehead against yours.

There were a million thoughts running through your head. Reiner couldn’t know why you were in Marley, he couldn’t know about your friends being in Marley either, and oh shit, you were supposed to meet up with Jean. But right now, none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was that Reiner was here, with you, kissing you.

“I love you too, Reiner.”

                                                              ~~~

If an ex who killed your friends and family tries to walk back into your life, please run far, far away.

[ciarawritesmarvel]

four sunrises (+ the one you missed) - bucky x reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Canon-typical descriptions of Bucky’s past (mentions of violence, trauma, therapy), Endgame is discussed and the grief that comes with it, all with a fluffier ending

A/N: Hello loves! It’s been a long, long time. I’m by no means ‘back’, whatever that would mean, because I don’t know if this is a one off bout of inspiration or if it will stay with me. Fingers crossed. Regardless, I’m sending each and every one of you so much love and light and happiness. I hope you enjoy this little one shot with little pockets of fluff throughout <3

---

one

There was so much fire, it was a wonder you even noticed the sunrise. But still, your eyes were drawn past the death and the destruction and the wasteland laid bare before you and to the large semi-circular portion of the sun just peeking above the horizon. The new light signalled the start of a new day, a new era maybe, but there was little hope that came with it for now. Not with the wrecked sobs carrying through the air and to your ears from Tony’s body just a few hundred yards away. Not with people combing the battlefield for friends they can’t find. Friends they won’t find.

You keep your eyes on the rising sun and bite the inside of your cheek just enough to hurt a little.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft, hardly meant to be heard above the crying and the shouting and the crackling fires that surrounded you. Still, when you looked to your left at the sound, you found Bucky Barnes stood a little behind you, bruised and solemn. You looked back to the sun. You’d already had to deal with Steve and Thor and Bruce (new, hybrid Bruce) staring at you like you were some sort of ghost when you had ended up side by side at different points in the battle. You weren’t sure you could stand it anymore.

Then again, you had no idea whether Bucky had even been here. Had he been gone? Last you saw him, he was running ahead of you and into the fray in the heat of Wakanda. You’d lost him, lost everyone, once Thanos arrived and hurled you into the trees like you were nothing. And then, all of a sudden, you were nothing.

“Hi Bucky. You okay?” it was reflex, but you winced as soon as you said it because of course he wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. You looked back at him, seeing he had now stepped up beside you properly, “Sorry, stupid question. It’s good to see you, though.”

“And you,” he said sincerely, glancing between you and the horizon, “I’m glad you’re okay. Well, not okay, but-”

“I get it, Buck, don’t worry,” you said, just a small smile on your lips. He returned it. There wasn’t any light in his eyes, but yours were likely dim too. You were trying your best.

“Were you-” he began speaking, but stopped quickly, his eyes now trained on the sunrise instead. He couldn’t look at you, “I mean, were you...here? Or did you…”

He trailed off. It wasn’t as if he needed to continue anyway. He was asking you whether or not you had watched yourself turn to dust a few hours ago and then been woken up by a sorcerer who told you that it had actually happened five years ago. If he was asking, then it meant he’d been gone too. You hadn’t spoken to any of the others who’d been gone yet.

“No, I haven’t been here. You were gone too?”

You saw his body sag beside you in what looked like relief. You supposed perhaps there was a fear that you had been here the whole time and were still unbothered seeing him beside you. Maybe you should have hugged him by now.

“Yeah, I was...gone.”

He still hadn’t turned back to you yet. You threaded your arm through his and shuffled a little closer, a flare of pain shooting through your ankle that you’d forgotten about for an hour or so now. Even so, it was worth it just for a little contact with another human being. Bucky tensed underneath you, but you felt him ease up soon enough. You’d visited Wakanda a few times during his time there so you considered him a friend, whether or not the sentiment was returned.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumbled, hoping he’d hear you anyway. The sun was well over halfway above the horizon now, looking huge and predatory as it took up its position in the rapidly brightening sky, “Not just to you, either, but to anyone. They’ve been living this whole time and we’ve just been dropped back into their lives again. Now Nat’s gone and Tony’s…”

You trailed off, lump firmly lodged in your throat. There was an unspoken question in your rambling: Where do we go from here?

“You don’t have to say it,” he said gravely, “I don’t know either.”

You looked over your shoulder, just briefly, just because you couldn’t stop yourself. You wished you hadn’t. Before you could look for too long, Bucky’s shoulder was nudging yours and you looked back up at his face. Dark eyes. An almost imperceptible shake of his head. You understood immediately. The sunrise was better for now.

When you turned back to it, Bucky’s shoulder was right next to your head, and you were so tired, so when your temple hit the leathery material of his jacket you decide to let yourself have this one. Again you feel the muscles tense, but a few seconds later they relax, and you try to do the same.

“Maybe we stick together, at least a little. Might help us get used to whatever world we’ve come back to?”

There was a pause. Then a little weight that felt a lot like he was resting his head on your own.

It was as close to a yes as you were going to get.

---

two

“If you don’t let me in, I’ll just use my key, you know. The knocking is a courtesy, Barnes!”

You were shouting a little louder than you wanted to in an apartment complex at six in the morning where the walls were thin and the tenants were cranky, but you’d been knocking on Bucky’s door for at least five minutes now and he still hadn’t let you in. He was definitely in there. Without a doubt.

This was proven not twenty seconds later when there was a few clicking locks and the door opened just a crack. There was a sliver of Bucky’s face in view, enough to notice that he hadn’t been shaving and his eyes looked more tired than you’d ever seen him. It was hard to keep the pity from flooding your features.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

“To let me in, genius, come on! I’ve got breakfast,” you shook the bag of takeout in his eyeline and watched his face fall. You tried not to take it to heart.

“Maybe some other time,” his voice was defeated and you were lucky that you saw the door slam coming before it happened. You stuck your foot out into the gap and winced when he shut the door right on your foot. His eyes widened, and so did the door as he backtracked, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Ignoring him, you walked inside. He was still in the middle of apologising for your foot, but stopped short when he realised it was part of your tactic all along. Resigned to his fate, he sank down onto his couch while you busied yourself in the kitchen getting plates out for the breakfast.

“I tried bringing dinner last night, but you didn’t answer,” you said nonchalantly, whether he was listening or not, “Thought I might try and get you early morning and see what your temperament was like then.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was empty, but you didn’t mind so much. He might not have been sorry for his behaviour now, but you knew he would be eventually, when he pieced himself together a little. That was enough to keep you around, along with the little moments that made it worth it. Last week, you’d forced him into a walk through a park and mentally screamed with glee when he laughed at two squirrels chasing each other.

“Don’t be, we’re here now,” you said easily, “We’re going to eat breakfast on your tiny balcony and watch the sunrise like the world’s okay - okay?”

No response.

Still, the breakfast was all set so you brought both plates out onto the balcony and balanced Bucky’s on the rail while you tucked in to yours. You’d had to wait for him to join you before and you’d happily wait for him again.

It took him seven minutes. You were counting.

He nibbled at the food to start with but soon ate a lot more ravenously. It was likely a while since he’d had anything other than the box of cereal you’d seen in his bottom cupboard. Sam texted you yesterday to ask how he was since Bucky wasn’t replying to his texts, but it was difficult to say how he was. You’d both missed five years, but he’d missed a lot more over the last century. Sometimes it was hard for him to see what he still had.

“Why are you here?”

It was a question he’d asked you before. There was only one answer.

“Because I want to be.”

There was nothing else to say. You stood and watched the sunrise over the rooftops in a swirl of pinks and oranges until every last shade melted into the brilliant blue of the daytime. Bucky watched too, and even if his mind was elsewhere, you were just glad he was here. With you. You hoped eventually it would be enough.

---

three

“We shouldn’t be here,” your whispers were harsh in the dark room and Bucky glared at you until you lowered your voice further, “We cannot be here right now.”

“If we don’t do this, nobody will,” Bucky reminded you, still glued to the window as he kept watch of the road. Technically you and Sam were meant to be resting and your watch didn’t start for another half hour, but you were nervous and awake and the silence was beginning to get to you. Sam’s soft snores from the other room were a lovely reassurance that he was safe and peaceful, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Maybe nobody should, Bucky,” you insisted, coming over to lean against the wall he stood beside so that he had to face you, “We were just starting to get somewhere back at home. You were just starting to get somewhere, you know, with the therapy and the amends and everything. Now we’re off chasing bad guys like we’re Avengers again!”

His look towards you was sharp.

“I was never an Avenger.”

You huffed out a breath at his indignance.

“You could have been,” you said, quieter still, “You should have been. But now, after everything, I don’t want to be that anymore. I quit. I quit a long time ago.”

“Then go home.”

“You really want me to?”

It was an unfair question. You knew he didn’t, but you also knew he was too proud. That he  didn’t like to think about the fact that he was the sole reason you were here, risking your life again in the pursuit of a justice you’d all but given up on. Guilt was enough to poison your conversation beyond repair, if you let it.

“I don’t want you to be anywhere you don’t want to be,” he said instead, a fact rather than a real answer. A cop out. You shook your head, frustration seeping out of you as you turned your back to the wall and tilted your head back against it to stare at the ceiling. You could see Bucky’s gaze still trained on the road outside, refusing to even spare you a glance. It was infuriating.

“And I don’t want you here but we don’t always get what we want, Barnes.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you did see his eyes flicker over to you then back to the road, and it felt like a little bit of progress. It was a good few minutes before he spoke again.

“I think the therapy is helping too,” he whispered, not reacting when you rolled your head to the side to stare at him again, “But it’s not enough. Nothing ever will be. Doing stuff like this, saving peoples’ lives? That’s the closest I can get to making up for what I did.”

“It wasn’t you-”

“I know. Doesn’t matter.”

You wondered whether you would ever be able to convince the man in front of you that nothing he had ever done to hurt others was even remotely through fault of his own. Wondered if all the therapy and the coaxing and the amends would fall short of that one simple task. Guilt was enough to poison your mind beyond repair too, if you let it.

You were beyond determined not to let it.

“Matters to me,” you said, soft and forgiving, “And to Sam. And to Steve too, when he was here. Matters to a lot of people.”

There was something else on the tip of your tongue. You matter to a lot of people. It felt too vague. Not enough and yet too much for the humid European hotel room you were holed up in. Bucky was silent again, but this time you could see that he was just getting his thoughts together. You could see the faintest tremble in his hand as he held the blinds at just the right angle for his vantage point.

“Thank you.”

You...hadn’t been expecting that. It was much more usual for Bucky to show his gratitude to you and to others over the past few months. He brought by extra groceries when he got his own, squeezed your shoulder when he got up to grab drinks from his fridge, even bought you flowers that one time. It was rare of him to say it, though.

“What for?”

“Wanting to be here.”

You scoffed at that. It couldn’t be further from the truth, and yet here you were. Maybe he was onto something. You doubted you’d still be saying that in a few hours when the so-called bad guys showed up and you had to actually fight them. For now, there was a truth to his words you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

“I don’t,” you said, deadpan and teasing all at once, “Want to be here, that is. But you’re welcome anyway, I guess.”

You saw his lips turn up in a smirk or a smile, it was hard to tell from this angle with only a small square of filtered light on his face from the window. Sunlight. That meant sunrise. You moved closer to the window and manoeuvred so that you could see through the slats. Sure enough, the sky was a shade of dawn peach, even if the sun was hidden from view by the cityscape.

The last sunrise you’d seen was over six months ago and had been shared with the same man. The same silence. This one was just slightly more comfortable.

“I don’t want you to go home,” he murmured, no more than a breath of air leaving his lips, “Just, by the way.”

It was your turn to smile or smirk or whatever it was. You had already known, of course, but it was nice to hear him say it. It was a good job Sam was asleep or he’d be telling you to ‘get a room’ again.

“I know,” you said with a small nod, then your smile became a grin of pure mischief, “You want to play I-spy?”

A loud groan.

“I’m not playing I-spy with you, Y/N-”

“Why not! I won’t cheat this time, I promise-”

“You say that every time, and yet-”

“Okay, I do not say it every time you-”

“You say it every time!”

When Sam walked through from the bedroom later and found you defending your choice of the word ‘Darkness’ as Bucky sat slumped with his head in his hands, he wondered why he’d let either of you take watch in the first place.

---

four

A year. A whole year. There was a lot you could do in a year. You could build a business. Grow a herb garden in a series of ill-fitting plant pots on your balcony. Learn a new skill. Forge a new friendship. Fall in love.

You could also miss people. A lot. So much, in fact, that when the date that you lost them rolls around again, any progress you made in that last year is rendered insignificant.

Especially when you’re sitting on a park bench and they’re not sat beside you.

You missed Nat. You missed Tony. Missed Wanda and Vision and Steve and Thor. Some of them weren’t even gone, just out in the universe somewhere, yet to return. You weren’t sure they ever would. Part of you hoped they had found something wonderful, something to eclipse all the grief and the loss and make them whole again. Then they’d never have to come back and see you so different to the person they used to know.

You were vaguely aware that somebody had sat down in the space next to you now, which frustrated you more than you’d admit to anyone. You pressed the palms of your hands into the wood of the bench until the contact stung.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Bucky. Of course. Your hands relaxed without conscious thought. When you turned, there he was, looking at you with just the slightest tinge of apprehension. Like he knew he was intruding, but he did it anyway. He was growing his hair out again. It was nice.

“You know me that well?”

“This is the fourth place I came to,” he admitted, looking down at his shoes as he kicked at a particularly interesting tuft of grass, “But fourth isn’t bad, right?”

“Fourth isn’t bad,” you assured him, “But you didn’t need to come. I’m fine.”

“You’ve been out all night, Y/N,” he said gently, like he was the bearer of bad news. In fact, he was, because you had no idea it had been that long. When you looked upward and saw a murky grey instead of the pitch black that had stained the sky when you sat down, you shivered, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“You know that’s a bad idea, especially today. We should do something else.”

“Like what?”

You gave him a withering look that he didn’t deserve, but he took it in stride. He hopped up from the bench and held out a hand to you, leaving it there when you didn’t take it right away.

“There’s a fair in town a couple of blocks away. We’re going.”

“A fair? Are you kidding?”

“Nope,” he said seriously, no room for argument in his tone. He even reached forward and grabbed your hands from the bench, pulling you up to a stand despite your groan of protest. It took a few moments to stretch out your legs before he let go, “We’re going to a fair. You’re going to crash into me on the dodgems enough times for me to want to press charges, then I’ll buy you all the cotton candy you can eat.”

“Is this really the right thing to do on the anniversa-”

“What would they want us to do? Sit on a park bench and wish they were sat here with us?”

You glared at him, but it was meek. Tony would laugh at you for doing this. Nat would roll her eyes at your sentimentality. It would just make Steve sad to see you sad. Bucky was right, even if you refused ever to utter those words in that order.

“Will you win me the biggest teddy bear we can find? Because if not, I don’t see the point of going.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he offered you his arm nonetheless and you took it as you started walking in what you could only assume was the direction of the fair. You briefly wondered how many dates he might have taken to the fair back in his day, how many had hung off his arm and grinned at him all night. None of them had been with this Bucky before though, you reminded yourself, this new rough-around-the-edges Bucky, trying-his-best Bucky. Shiny, polished 1940s Sergeant Barnes was far less your type anyway.

“You know, if I do try and win you a teddy, it’s going to look like we’re on a date.”

So clearly his train of thought had aligned with yours. Without much care for the consequences and with a courage that only came from the thought of missed chances, you slid your arm out of his and took his hand instead, sliding your fingers through his gloved ones. It was his metal hand, you could quickly tell, but you weren’t going to let him pull away when he realised which hand you’d latched onto.

“Would that be so bad?”

He looked down at you like any second now you were going to realise which hand you were holding and want to swap sides, or like you were going to throw him away and ask for a new one. You held firm. When he realised you had no intention of changing anything, you felt his hand push a little firmer against your own, his fingers slot further into place. You really wanted to pull the glove off and entangle your fingers with the metal underneath to make a point, but you decided that could wait a little longer.

“So...this is a date?”

He just had to spell it out. You’d just held his hand, but he still had to check. It was endearing honestly, so despite your reluctance to share too much, you knew you needed to be forthcoming for him to believe that this was anything real.

“I would really like it if it was, Bucky,” you said, in an attempt to be as clear as possible. You curled your other hand around his bicep and suppressed a wide grin when you saw the smile your statement had brought out of him. He was trying to keep his cool too.

You were both failing miserably.

“Well, that works out then.”

You laughed, squeezing him a little closer and relishing in the fact that he didn’t move away, but instead pulled you into his side. The shadows of the street were brighter every minute that passed, even though the actual sunrise was hidden from view by the apartment blocks and skyscrapers that surrounded you.

And if the newfound warmth you felt was from the sparks that flew each time your shoulder bumped his rather than the break of a new day, you weren’t giving anything away.

---

+the one you missed

“Bucky?”

You’d managed to get the door open with a little more effort than it should have taken. Your muscles were still sore from training the new recruits yesterday, though you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The fact that Sam had found something so perfectly suited to your skill set without the danger you had been trying to avoid was something you were still trying to repay him for.

Now, you were up on the roof and stretching out your left arm as you looked around for some sign of the man who’d called to invite you here last night and insisted that, yes, it was necessary to meet this early in the morning and no, he couldn’t tell you why.

“Over here, genius.”

You turned. There he was. A blanket was set out next to him and when one corner of it folded over in the chilling breeze, he scrambled to smooth it out again. You chuckled quietly as you made your way over to him and gestured to the little oasis he’d created for the both of you.

“What’s all this, mister?”

“Our anniversary, baby.”

It was a newfound nickname, one that still sent a thrill through you every time you heard it. The fondness laced within it was something you hadn’t even gotten used to yet, but you could see yourself wondering how you ever lived without it sometime soon.

“We’ve been together for four months, Buck, I don’t think we have an anniversary just yet,” you said, just a little nervous that you were forgetting something. Bucky looked smug enough that you thought he was more likely to be concocting a scheme instead, but you took his hand and let him lead you to sit down anyway.

“I haven’t told you what anniversary it is,” he assured you as he sat down beside you on the other cushion, pulling a picnic basket from behind him into the center of the blanket. You hoped that he wasn’t about to pull out a plate of chocolate covered strawberries, because the idea of him feeding you anything was enough to put you in stitches.

It was a pleasant surprise when he pulled out two styrofoam cups that smelled chocolatey. When he passed you one and you took an eager sip, you hummed at the hot chocolate in the cup. When he then pulled out a couple of plates and a half and half pizza that suited both of you, the elated laugh you let out was practically involuntary.

“Whatever it is, can we have this anniversary more often?”

You both laughed and although you wanted to push more on what the occasion was, Bucky plated up your pizza for you and you ended up fully distracted by the delicious food and the dashing company.

There was a comfort that came with being by Bucky’s side that you weren’t sure you’d ever found previously. A certain sense of pride came too, from knowing that you could provide some of that same comfort to Bucky in return. Sam was sick of the two of you already. Of course.

“You want to play I-spy?” you asked quietly once you’d finished eating, lying back on the blanket and tugging on Bucky’s jacket to encourage him to join you. He grumbled slightly, but he soon lay back beside you until the back of his fingers were just brushing your own. You didn’t tangle them together just yet, because the anticipation was still so sweet.

“You know I don’t.”

“What if I promise not to choose ‘darkness’?”

“Let me guess, you’re thinking of something beginning with U?”

“Oh come on- wait, how did you know?”

He rolled his head to the side to look at you and you mirrored his position, noses just an inch from each other.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and you could feel the words against your lips, “You can’t see the universe.”

You were ready to argue your case, but Bucky’s face was just too close to your own. Letting the discussion go (only for now), you leaned in and pressed a series of chaste kisses along the underside of his jaw. You were only cut short when he became impatient, cupping your face in both hands and bringing you into a kiss that made your toes curl in your shoes.

You had to turn over onto your side properly, shuffle around on the blanket a little, but the kiss still felt pretty perfect. When he sat up, he took you with him, pushing further into you as the kiss grew heated. One of his hands was in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist under your shirt, the cold metal contrasting feverish skin sending sparks up your spine. You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck and grinned at the groan that escaped him as he pulled back just enough to breathe.

“It’s been a year,” he panted out urgently, like he’d been waiting all night to tell you because he had been waiting all night to tell you. He’d been waiting a whole year, if he were being honest.

“A year?”

“Since I fell in love with you,” he explained simply, only continuing when you stared at him dumbfounded and didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, “That day I wouldn’t let you in and you brought me breakfast. We watched the sunrise in silence and that...that was it for me.”

You’d exchanged ‘I love you’s before, just a few weeks ago. Not that it was intended, but he had sent you a postcard while he was on a week long mission - an actual postcard, full of innocuous details about the location rather than anything mission related. A cheesy little ‘wish you were here’ at the end that made your heart swell. It was inevitable, really, when you called him three minutes after you read it and told him you loved him.

You got his voicemail, but you said it anyway, and the reaction you got from him when you were finally reunited a few days later told you that you’d made the right call.

However, him telling you exactly when he’d fallen in love with you? That was new. Unexpected. Another part of his soul laid bare before you even though you were content with the pieces he’d already shared. You had always kept them safe, tucked away in your top pocket, close to your own heart. Now you had another piece of him to carry around with you and you couldn’t feel more honoured.

“You…” it was natural to want to question it first, but you stopped short. Accepting what he’d said first time would be a much better sign of your trust, and you needed him to know how much you reciprocated everything, “You’ve been it for me for a long time.”

You were still short of breath, but there were no complaints when he pulled you in for another kiss. Softer. Slower. The heat from before now spread through to your fingers and your toes and became an overwhelming warmth instead. It was a warmth that Bucky had brought into your life ever since you’d decided to stick together amongst the death and the destruction.

Some of that warmth might have been from the sun, which was steadily rising and painting the dark sky and with a whole new colourful palette. Bucky had chosen this time in the morning specifically so that you could create a new tradition of watching the sunrise every year just like this, had planned to create something that the two of you would remember forever.

He only realised this about half an hour after the sun had fully risen but it didn’t matter. The memory was already carved in stone and outlined with gold marker in both of your minds.

---

Thank you for reading this far! <3 I’m not tagging anyone, because it’s been a long time and I’d hate to suddenly pop up in people’s mentions without any warning after so long when they may not want me there. If this has found you anyway, then I count myself super lucky to have you here, thank you!

[mittensmorgul]

So for the most part, I outright reject the finale. But I do think, in light of the whole "Jimmy was supposed to be in the bar, and Dean was disappointed by that because his perfect heaven would have Cas in it" just makes me all the more convinced that the final episode was some kind of djinn dream. Like.... There's no other explanation in my opinion. If Dean's perfect heaven was supposed to have Cas, and he tragically gets faked out by Jimmy (????? Why tf would jimmy be there anyway), it just proves that it's not ACTUALLY heaven. That, along with he El Sol beer he's drinking is all the evidence I need. I think after 15x19, Dean and Sam got whammied by some monster, and are stuck in a hallucination, and that's what we're seeing. (My headcanon is that it's actually The Empty doing it, because it knows if it doesn't keep Dean and Sam occupied and spinning in circles, they'll invade the Empty to save Cas. So its trying to prevent that) :)

Hello, anon friendo! I am gonna start by offering the socially distanced version of a high five, because yeah... There is just so much to unpack here, and you provided such a succinct and all-encompassing series of statements to start from. Thank you!

*flings open array of questionable suitcases*

First off, Congrats on having rejected the finale. I know a lot of folks are still struggling with that one, for many reasons. But you have hit upon so many of the points I’ve been trying to make about the finale since it aired. I’d just like to start with some of the assumptions I’ve heard from folks about the finale that make it impossible for me to consider it fully honestly canon. Because so much about it just makes no goshdang sense... like... not at all...

One of the biggest issues I have surrounding the reception of the finale in parts of fandom is that it portrayed a “happy ending.” The show itself spent the entire final season telling us that a gravestone marked Winchester was not and never would be a happy ending (thank you Becky Rosen-- words I never thought I’d say, but honestly and most sincerely meant). Let’s break this down a bit.

Starting from the assumption that “heaven was fixed” so that characters could have true free will there, making it satisfying in any way that Dean died so young and never got to truly experience happiness during life, I would like anyone who has adopted this attitude to then explain Kansas the band. I mean... explain that in any satisfactory canon-compliant way. (hint: you can’t. it makes zero sense in canon, if heaven is truly reformed and “happy” with everyone in possession of free will.)

Which brings me to Misha’s comments about Jimmy being in the Roadhouse. Why, if heaven were truly fixed, would Jimmy ever in a bazillion years attend a party for Dean Winchester? If Heaven were truly a “happy” ending for Dean, why introduce this element of eternal tragedy and heartbreak to his heaven experience? Why taunt him with the eternal loss of Cas-- even if you don’t think he reciprocated Cas’s romantic feelings, he was canonically the best friend Dean ever had, and being forced to exist forever in a place where he had everyone else he ever cared for except for Cas? Is frankly horrific.

How the actual fuck is that a happy ending, in any sense of the word?

How is this the sort of heaven that Dean would’ve made for himself before it was “fixed?” At least in the memorex heaven, he could’ve lived in oblivious peace with Cas, even if it was always just his own memories and not ~actually Cas~. I honestly think that would’ve been happier than the abject tragedy of what we did get, and what we would’ve gotten had the original script played out.

All of this kind of makes me wonder if they ever even actually defeated Chuck. Like... it feels more like Dean got pulled into the Empty at that moment with Cas and Billie, and everything else after that point was the Empty’s endless experience of sorrow and despair we knew it subject its charges to. So that’s one potential for what could’ve actually happened. I mean, everything about the finale was sorrow and despair, you know? Dean didn’t even get to enjoy his pie at a pie festival because Sam smashed in in his face. How is any of it happy, in any way?

Because if that was actually heaven, there wasn’t actually any free will (because why tf would Kansas the band have chosen to put on that concert? why tf would Jimmy have been there, just to torment Dean with the taunt of Cas returning to him only to have that hope snatched away again? It’s cruel. It’s, in fact, a source of intense despair).

The djinn theory could also work, and I’ve read some excellent fix-it fic using that as a premise. But that doesn’t really explain what happened to Jack (and Amara, since she was in there with them) after hoovering up Chuck’s power, you know? I think the simplest explanations in canon are that Chuck actually won via the unified power of Light and Dark being transferred into Jack and effectively using him as a vessel. With Sam and Dean convinced they’d won, they effectively stopped resisting Chuck’s story for them, and using Jack’s understanding of humanity and the Winchesters specifically, Chuck finally was able to implement a version of his story that the Winchesters would just waltz into without thinking it was supernaturally influenced at all. Going bigger and bigger with monsters and cosmic troubles hadn’t worked, but going so small Sam and Dean would barely even notice the influence-- even with the incongruous reappearance of a vampire that appeared in their lives once, for like two whole minutes 15 years ago, and an unsolved case from the journal from more than 30 years ago that John had never even linked to vampires at all.

At this point, I need to mention that I’m watching 10.23 as I type this up. An episode in which we confront the Mark, along with Death, and Dean’s despair, where he learns a version of the truth (but by no means the full truth, or even accurate truth in some respects) about Chuck’s Story, Amara/The Darkness, etc. That would unfold more fully over the next five seasons. And what was the case Dean took in this episode? Vampires. LOLOL omg this show is nothing if not horrifically consistent, yes?

So because of this, I went haring off through my own blog looking for a post I made a long time ago about the symbolism of how various monsters are used on this show (because again, consistency). I got sidetracked by other posts in my monsters tag, including this from after 15.09 aired, which feels particularly awfully relevant. This was my reaction to Chuck’s Story he showed Sam in that episode, about what the future would look like should he successfully trap Chuck with a Mark, and which... yeah is basically exactly thematically consistent with what we saw in the finale, right down to a cheesy twist on vampires. Read the whole post right here, but this is the part that reached up and punched me in the face:

this is how Dean personally reacts when he loses Cas. We know how he reacts when he loses anyone else– think about what he did when Charlie died. He went on a murder rampage against the Stynes for killing her. When Mary died he broke some furniture and went full bore toward both resurrecting her and stopping Jack. But without Cas, Dean loses the will to fight. Sam has… always been different. He referenced Jess in 15.04 to remind us of how he was after she died in the pilot episode. Just like John, he picked up the revenge mission and ran with it. But for Dean, Cas is different. Without Cas… Dean gives up.

Because... Dean gave up. Sure, he and Sam weren’t overrun by vampires in the end. Chuck knew they’d never stop fighting the monsters, one way or another. The only way to get Dean to give up is something Chuck hadn’t quite figured out yet... maybe not until after 15.17, after confronting Cas in the hallway of the bunker, after absorbing Amara’s power, knowledge, and perspective on Dean.

Chuck needed Dean to give up, and honestly? Pushing Billie to clear him off the table and send him (and Cas, that pesky angel who never did what he was told) to the Empty would’ve been a direct way to deal with that... pretty much akin to having one sibling locked in a cage forever, yes?

Also, still looking through my monsters tag, I’m reminded of 14.15, and still cannot differentiate the version of Heaven in 15.20 from what was done to the people of that town. This... is not... paradise. This is actively what Dean has been insisting is the OPPOSITE of paradise since like… 4.22… No ending where Dean was a “Stepford bitch in paradise” ever had the possibility of being “happy,” at the core of things, and this “fixed” version of Heaven just doesn’t hold up to any degree of inspection. Something is seriously wrong here. https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/183465650390/so-can-we-talk-about-this-monster-of-the-week-for

And since I was unable to find the post I wrote who knows how long ago about Monsters and how they’re symbolically used on Supernatural to represent larger themes in the episode, I’ll just attempt to sum up what Vampires have been used for. Revenge. Vampires are always, in some way connected to themes of revenge.

(and hooray, I found at least a post adjacent to the one I’ve spent the last four hours trying to find... https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/187207052080/i-obviously-did-not-think-this-through, where I mention that shapeshifters are about revealing hidden truths (mostly about Dean since most shapeshifters are connected to Dean), zombies are about grief and the inability to move past it.)

So why... why at the end of their road is the monster that comes after them-- literally FOR REVENGE for something that had never been blamed on Sam or Dean to begin with, from season 1, directly connected to John’s revenge mission and the first time they learned about the Colt AND the first time they learned in canon that Vampires were even real... like... this feels very specifically like some kind of layers-of-meta levels of shade on them, you know? Vampires are for revenge, so what vengeance exactly is being visited upon Sam and Dean in this episode? If not Chuck’s entire story for them itself?

So yeah, 100% agree, something is incredibly rotten in the finale. And I am sick to effing death of people trying to convince us that anything about this was “good” or “happy” or “satisfying” in any way. Or even “how it was always supposed to end” with Dean dead bloody, as if the entire back half of the series hadn’t been suggesting that a true win was the subversion of all of Chuck’s story for them, and Dean finally being able to have his chosen family all alive, happy, and chilling on a beach somewhere watching the sunset. Nothing will ever convince me that the ending portrayed in 15.20 wasn’t exactly how Chuck thought he “won,” rendering it entirely irrelevant to the rest of canon, unless all of canon was ultimately the tragedy we’d been encouraged to believe would be firmly defeated in the end.

Folks, you can’t have it both ways. 

[capesandshapes]

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/ Pre Relationship) (3/4)

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

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

It was going well.

Or, at least as well as a combination Bachelor and Bachelorette party planned entirely via awkward emails could go.

Which could be attributed solely to her and her thousands of schedules and planners, along with the fact that she checked the weather almost religiously and the tide predictions. Adrien just bankrolled most of the thing, which worked well enough seeing as he was the head of a multi-billion-dollar fashion house and she was an up-and-coming designer with an Etsy shop focusing on affordable fashion for normal people. Sure, he insisted on a few things, such as not using the Couffaine’s houseboat (He’d actually tried to argue against a boat entirely) or serving shots with Kim and Alix finally reuniting at this party—But most of it could be attributed to her.

She was pretty sure that was him trying to please her, to play nice after that disastrous night outside the bakery. He was avoiding her as much as possible, and any time he was faced with her he resolved the tension by agreeing to her as much as possible.

He was capable of learning, she supposed.

Marinette stood to the side of the bar as the boat they road on bobbed upwards and downwards, a hand braced on the counter and a glass of water that had she poured into a wineglass in the other. She hadn’t admitted to anyone, but she had a habit of getting seasick. The dim lighting of the fairy lights twinkling overhead combined with the loud pounding of music did a good job of hiding that.

She gave a small, weak smile as she looked out to her friends on the dance floor, some of them being people who she hadn’t seen for far longer than Adrien. Kim and Alix were locked in an exaggerated slow dance that had the two cackling, Juleka and Rose had stolen away to a corner, and Sabrina was excitedly explaining her business as a personal assistant to anyone who would listen. It’d been a long time since she’d seen them all, and it made her sentimental. She rarely saw anyone outside of Alya and Nino now.

“Makes you nostalgic, huh?” A deep, familiar voice asked her, obviously having slid in beside her at the bar at some point.

The side of her mouth tugged harder, and that nauseous feeling in her stomach momentarily left her. She let her blue eyes drift over, practically beaming as she took him in. “Luka Couffaine,” she said. A part of her wondered if he would come.

His long, shaggy blue hair and sharp eyes were now the highlight of the evening. Or almost the highlight. “Marinette,” he said, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Oh yes,” Marinette agreed, “it’s shocking for the maid of honor to be at the Bachelorette party.”

“Well, when she’s got a problem with the best man,” Luka began.

Marinette shot him a look. “Be quiet, someone could hear you.”

“I think everyone would have to be blind not to know,” Luka said, leaning against the bar beside her. She knew where he was looking, who he was watching. Yet, despite that, he said, “a part of me always hoped it would be us out there. Doing all of this.”

Her smile fell. “But you’re happy now?”

“Immensely,” he confirmed, and one look at his face reaffirmed that. He was still watching, still taking it all in. If her eyes traveled to the same place, she could do it too. She could look at Adrien Agreste and wonder how everything got so utterly awful. “I knew it wouldn’t be us, Marinette. We weren’t those type of people.”

“The type of people to get married?”

“The type of people to fit together without any gaps,” he explained. “No room for concern, no regrets.”

She sighed. There was more to it, of course. There was so much more to everything, like the fact that she could never do it, never give herself completely to Luka. She was always waiting, lingering in hallways at the slightest flash of the right shade of blond, and hearing familiar laughter in the silence.

She loved Luka, but she was always wanting. She needed Chat, she needed Adrien, she needed whatever form of him he would give her—

“You still love him, don’t you?” Luka asked. It was a stupid question. She’d seen Adrien six times since he came back, and half of those moments were in passing. Any rational person would say no, only crazy romantics would say yes.

So, she stayed silent.

“I want you to be happy,” Luka said finally, and it was a bucket of cold water poured on her. A reminder of reality, of where she was now, and a rush of that seasickness back to her gut. But when he said it, there was that hint of leftover desire, that underlying subtext that there was a hole in his heart, and it would always be there for her.

And the cold understanding that she never made a groove in her heart for him.

She turned to look at him, only to find him gone.

And with that came sickness.

Awful, churning sickness. A vile wave of nausea that assaulted her stomach. The boat lurched, and with it, so did she.

My god, she was going to die.

Marinette Dupain Cheng, beloved daughter and friend. Died of seasickness because of her own poor choices while planning a party to celebrate her friends’ upcoming wedding.

She threw her head back with another large wave, her eyes watering as she fought the overwhelming urge to die. Lila Rossi was at the party, slithering onto the guest list with a perfectly timed apology to Alya about an awful Instagram post. If Marinette turned any greener she was sure she’d be on Rossi’s snapchat story, paired with a caption questioning why exactly the poor girl was so sick. Another pregnancy rumor.

She grimaced at the thought and nearly fell to her knees as another wave jostled her. Luckily, a hand caught her before she could fall, the warmth of a thick blazer spread across her shoulders and distracted her momentarily.

“And this,” said a voice as she was hauled back onto her feet, “is why I argued against the boat.”

She turned both quickly and unsteadily, catching a mixture of blond and green before, unfortunately, practically falling against it.

She could have done worse.

She could have done much worse.

Such as vomiting on his Burberry jacket or ruining his Chanel shoes.

Adrien’s arms caught her easily, hooking underneath her armpits and hauling her upwards once more. “I’d make a joke about you falling for me, but all things considered… I’d say you’re sick of me.”

Badum tss.

Marinette groaned, resting her forehead against his chest only because it was the main thing keeping the rest of the world from overwhelming her. “Were your jokes always this stupid?”

“Things seem a lot funnier when you’re madly in love,” he said, and she made sure to fire back a glare in response. “That’s good,” he said with an air of authority when she looked at him, “eyes on me, focus on the conversation instead of the waves.”

“Can I have a different conversation partner?” she fired back.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her as he kept a hand braced on her back, the other braced on her shoulder to keep her upright. “Do you want someone else to know you’re sick?” He asked, “because I guarantee Alya and Nino will hear.”

Ugh.

“We’re going to get you inside,” Adrien decided, evidently having spotted a door back into the cabin.

“And then?” She asked, she didn’t see how that would help.

“And then I’ll stay by you in case it all goes south, and you can play YouTube videos on my phone to distract you for another hour or two until Alya goes looking for you. Then you’ll take some selfies, come back, and we’ll wash, rinse, and repeat.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “I don’t trust you to stay anywhere, Agreste.”

He flinched. “Okay, fair, but… I’m your only option here so,” he tilted his head at her, looking down as he withdrew his hand from her waist only to offer it to her again. “Either you take my hand and we go, or I leave you here at the mercy of the Seine, which seems to be in quite the mood today.”

He had a point.

“Fine,” she said, slapping her hand into his. “I’ll sit next to you, but I will not talk to you. Don’t expect a miraculous turn around.”

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

“I hope you know that nearly every YouTube recommendation of yours being highlight reels of Ladybug and Chat Noir is not endearing,” Marinette informed Adrien, “it makes you look self-obsessed.”

“It’s not every YouTube recommendation,” Adrien scoffed, moving beside her to point at his screen. “See? Anime.”

“Top ten anime waifus?” Marinette read out, shooting him a look.

“You know that’s not what it says,” he responded, yet she couldn’t help but note the way that he took a second look as if making sure.

They were on the ground in the cabin of the boat, nearest the hallway where the kitchens and bathroom were. Adrien was the one to declare that the safest, a place where she could get water if needed, and if worse came…

“When will this finally pass,” Marinette asked yet again as she let herself fall onto her back, she’d repeated the question with every single video finished, but her impatience continued to grow.

And he repeated the same answer, “in four hours when the boat finally docks and we end up on dry land.”

Four hours.

“You were never good in the water,” he said, “and this is coming from the guy dressed like a cat.”

She glared, slapping his thigh. “When this boat lands, the truce ends.”

His smile faltered at that, and he let himself sink down onto the ground beside her, his eyes trained towards the ceiling.

This had a time limit; all of this had a time limit. Even she had almost forgotten that. Because eventually the wedding would end, eventually there would be no more forced interactions, eventually he would go home. Eventually she would go back to her life and wonder the same damn question.

“Why weren’t you there that night?” There was no gracefulness to how it was presented, it merely clattered from her like a knife falling from a kitchen table. It was heavy and loaded, the kind of question that you swallowed down every time you saw someone, not the type that you lobbed out when you were laying side by side and wishing it had been like this so many other times.

She could feel his eyes on her.

“I…” he began, but whatever he meant to say was a false start. He swallowed the letter and tried again. “I don’t…” Know? Care? Want to talk about this?

Why did she care anymore?

What would it change?

Nothing.

“I was scared,” he said finally.

“Okay,” she said.

And that was that. That should have been that. That should have been her hint, her great sign.

“Why?”

And with that single word he rose to his forearms, looking over at her. He was in her field of vision, where she couldn’t ignore him. A hint of pink graced the edge of his green eyes, but his lips were set in an almost determined look, and she wondered if he would stumble over his words again.

“My father was just arrested for being Hawk Moth, my mother was found in my basement, I lost the only home I ever knew to police investigations, and suddenly guardians were at my door asking for Plagg—all in one day. Choose a reason, Marinette.” It wasn’t vile, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t even cold. She didn’t know how to describe it.

“You disappeared.”

“I couldn’t stand to be in Paris any longer.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What would I say?!” He replied, his voice loud, far louder than he obviously intended. He flinched as it echoed through the air, and suddenly she was all knives and anger.

“Hello Marinette,” she responded, “or should I say Ladybug, the girl I’ve claimed to be in love with for six years! It’s been great, a fun time and all, but man am I tired—see you in three years without a single message! Good luck wondering if it’s because of you, if you being the girl behind the mask is what changed it all, even though the only difference was one scrap of red fabric!” She glared, sitting up, “Miss. You.”

“You think that’s how it was?” He began, his eyebrows narrowed as he raised from his arms, his eyes staring holes into hers. “I told you…”

“You’d love whoever was behind the mask,” she finished, pushing off of the ground. “But let’s be honest here—Not Lila, not Chloe, and not me. Never me.” She stumbled to her feet, gripping the wall as she finally stood. “I told you who I was, and you were terrified! I saw it, I knew! I should have known why—"

“Because you’re you, because you’re Marinette, because you’re--” he was scrambling to his feet, scrambling to keep her there, scrambling to make some sort of sense.

“Because I’m Marinette?” She repeated, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the mistake. To know that she was right, that this was all some stupid curse put upon her by a universe that would thankfully, in a month’s time, solve the situation.

“That’s not—Jesus Christ, I—”

He didn’t need to say more.

She began to walk away, to risk the treacherous river waves. Anything was better than this, anyone was better than him—

“Because you’re perfect,” he called before she could even begin to walk out that stupid door, and every cell in her body stopped moving. “Because you’re pretty and you’re kind. Because you have a perfect family and everyone loves you, Nino loves you, Alya loves you, I—” He thought better of saying whatever came next there. “Because you were going to be a fashion designer, and the best one anyone’s ever seen. Because you try to be good to everyone you meet. Because at the end of the day you’ll always be good, too good for me, and I’m…”

“You’re,” she was surprised that she asked it, that she could process anything.

And there was a pause, a long, heavy one. One where anything, any combination of words could go wrong.

“Because people would see you walking beside me, and you would still be good, and you would still be kind and you would still be gentle; but they’d see none of that. Because they’d look over and see me. They’d see what my father made and what my father ruined.” Quietly, he confessed, “you would be perfect and none of that would matter, because they’d look over and see Hawkmoth’s son.”

[hanibalistic]

#FFC844 | LEE FELIX.

genre | angst, hanahaki au, unrequited love au

word count | 1454

warning | mentions of blood, mentions of choking, body injuries, death

note | hello! thank you so much for requesting ＼(^-^ ) unfortunately, i am not the best at writing angst, but i hope this piece suits your liking anyway!

request | unable to tag

sunflowers are not supposed to kill.

the fluttering of their yellow petals against your fingers have always been smooth and velvety, and the golden gleam they shone when you shakily held them up against the sun has always shielded your naked eyes.

it reminded you of felix. not just because sunflower was his favorite flower, but because it resembled him—light and free, pretty and golden, welcoming and refreshing; a freckled beauty with his very own sunny circle around him.

oh, he made you fall in love with so many things. starting with himself, the only person you felt could touch the depths of you nobody ever has, then the blazing sun you have always shown your dislike through staying in the shades, and also the sunflowers you never took notice of by the roads in the park.

especially the sunflowers, though. out of all the things, you felt most attached to the sunflower, as felix once claimed to love so much because he thought it resembled him, he told you as he held the flower up to his face and giggled at you.

however, just because you felt attached to it didn't mean you wanted to cough them up from your lungs.

it started with two to three petals, then five to seven petals, then a flower and a few yellow petals, then two flowers with broken and bloodied petals that you had to choke out through a coughing fit.

you ignored it. you told no one of this disease and you hid it from everyone else by going on unexpected restroom runs a couple of times a day.

part of you thought you did it just so nobody would get worried, and you have faith that maybe it could cure itself somehow. but you knew, deep down where the stubborn part of you that was smarter than yourself sat alone in the hollow hole of your chest with its leg dangling off the edge, that you didn't tell anybody just to deny the fact that you contracted hanahaki.

if you admitted it, you admit that felix wasn't in love with you and likely would never fall in love with you. you would rather die than acknowledge that. it was a ridiculous idea, but you deemed it well because it was made for love.

and what was love if not the willingness to become the devil himself? what was love, if not the strength and bravery to allow yourself be destroyed by it? what was love, if the tears of the pretty boy sitting beside your fallen body, his hands pressed against your broken chest in hopes to seal the wound shut and to stop the sunflower from emerging, didn't make you smile?

"somebody help! somebody please, please, i need help!" felix screamed into the school, where a faint trace of disco lights glowed from the school hall where the prom roared away.

the white shirt of his tuxedo was stained with water and blood after he caught you chucking water to soothe the aching burn in your chest. he had not known what to do, hanahaki was a foreign concept to him, but he knew you were coughing up flowers and you were dying, as well as that this pretty disease was caused by unrequited love.

he had panicked when you fell onto the ground, your chest pulsating and growing. he had to rip your undershirt open, exposing your naked skin, to see that a sunflower—only a petal—was threatening to burst through your delicacy, ending your life entirely. and now he sat, crying and screaming, desperately pressing his hands against your chest to keep the flower from emerging.

"just hang in there, i'll–fuck!" he cursed when he felt the petal poke against his palm. he shivered, pressing harder against your chest, and turned his head to the prom, screaming again, although his voice began to croak into a hopeless halt nearing the end. "somebody help! please! my best friend is dying, please help me, please!"

your blurry sight caught his movement perfectly, but you could barely see him. he kept looking around to find people, his body shivering in the eerie cold while he debated whether he should make a run for it and find help or stay by your side just in case the flower tear through your chest.

you hated seeing him this way, just hearing his whimpers made your heart church and you wanted to get up to tell him you would be fine. but his hands were so warm against your chest and you somehow forgot how else you should feel.

the vines of the flower have threaded across your bones already. you could feel the harness and the leaves brushing against your insides. you wouldn't have much time left. you just knew you felt warm and tingly, and you thought you could close your eyes forever with this protruding feeling beneath your ribs.

"somebody! why is this happening? why is this–this isn't supposed to be happening–" his voice hitched in his throat when he felt a hand against his palm.

he slowly turned his head back to you, his eyes already wide but made even staggeringly bright when he saw the embracing smile on your face. it was all acceptance and... affection... the affection he ceased to see before, the affection he thought was not meant for him.

"my sunflower..." you rasped out quietly, your voice so small the wavering of the grass field could overwhelm you, but the dead of the night decided that your love should be heard once, so it carried your voice to his ears.

it was at that moment he realized.

he loved sunflower, and you loved him.

your very own sunflower.

"no... no, no, no. no," he gritted his teeth and pressed down on your chest, "you're not dying because of me! stop it! stop loving me, right now!"

"you're crazy! why would you do this to yourself! i'm not worth dying for, [name], stop it! stop making the flower grow!" he begged, tears dripping down the back of his palms as he gave your chest one last shove.

then he stopped, realizing his attempts were futile.

he should have seen it earlier. the way you always smile at him, the way you always stare at him, the way you loved those yellow petals against the sun as much as he did. he should have realized that you loved him earlier so he could take precautions against it.

not that those would guarantee him success, but at least he could have tried to save you. he could have at least tried to keep you alive.

"stop loving me, please," he croaked out, his head lowered between his arms as he leaned his body weight against you. "because i don't know how to love you now."

you exhaled. “lixie–”

“no! no! i’m sorry, i’m sorry, please don’t go, don’t–” he growled under his breath and pushed against the flower, his eyes glowing a shade of red anger you have never witnessed before, “stop this, please, please. i’m sorry–i can’t help, please!”

even in the face of your death, he was unable to love you the way you wanted. even in the face of your death, you could not allow yourself to unlove him. and that was the only truth. that was nothing but the truth, which you thought was okay.

you have always been willing to die for love, you have always been willing to die with passion, to let felix be the person to devour your soul whole until the end. he cared about you until the end. he didn't love you, but he cared about you.

and you were leaving with so many things—your love for the sun, for the sunflowers, for him—and dying in his arms. even though you couldn't breathe, it was still the best passing you could ask for.

you would open your mouth to console him again, but you were so tired, you could barely move anymore. the hand that once grazed his cheek has fallen to your side, and you turned your eyes up at the sky where the stars faded with your consciousness.

felix had no other choice but to let go when he felt the yellow petal seep through the gaps of his fingers, fluttering with its velvet lace. he watched as your chest tore open in the middle, a small space to allow a bloodied sunflower to spring through, and with its blossoming, you took your last breath before his eyes. and all he did was cry.

love is not supposed to hurt, sunflowers are not supposed to kill.

felix wasn't supposed to kill you, but he did, and it was beautiful.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

i have been working religiously on my book, so here is another part for y’all!

— — —

“I’m sorry, Mister Proctor,” Mary whispered as they approached Proctor’s horse.

“For a mouse that squeals and cries as loudly as you do during punishments, you sure love doing things that will warrant such treatment,” Proctor said.

Mary lowered her head. It still hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. Help me onto my horse.”

Mary obeyed.

“Do try to keep up. I don’t want to be waiting on you. A storm is coming.”

“Yes, sir.”

Proctor was right: a storm was coming, and it hit with the regular ferocity of a Massachusetts winter tempest. Now she understood why Proctor was wearing so many layers.

By the time they were halfway to the farm, Mary was completely soaked and shivering, the cold having crept deep into her bones, turning them into rods of ice. She wondered if this freezing rain had been sent by God Himself to punish her for her wrongdoings. It certainly felt like a lashing from the Lord.

“You could have been back inside by now,” Proctor mused atop his steed. Mary could barely hear him over the crunching of gravel and pattering of rain. “But instead you had to go galavant through Salem.”

“I was worried about my friends,” Mary said, daring to defend herself.

Proctor scoffed but didn’t say anything.

In the distance, a farm swam through the sheets of icy rain. It wasn’t the Proctor property, so there was no point in stopping, but someone called out to them anyway.

“Ah, John! Have you come to accuse me some more? If you haven’t noticed, it’s raining. I can’t set anything on fire in this weather.”

Proctor ground his teeth. “I already apologized to you for that.”

“And yet, here we are!”

There was an old man leaning on the fence bordering the property, white hair clinging to a balding scalp, deep blue eyes sparking with mischief in the half-light. He had a wrinkly lizard’s face and hands more befitting for a skeleton. Despite his age, Mary knew he had enough vigor to best any of the younger men in the village. She heard he once beat a burglar to death with a cane. He was a lot of vex and a little well-mannered, and he loved nothing more than to irritate the people of Salem Village, especially John Proctor.

“It would be a shame if this would be the year your land floods, John,” Giles Corey said. No person in their right mind would be out in this storm; he had definitely been waiting for Proctor to go down the road so he could prod him. He would risk getting ill if it meant he was able to dig under the younger farmer’s skin.

“If this is some kind of attempt to get the deed to my farm, then you can save it,” Proctor said, spurring his horse into motion again. “I’ve heard it all, Giles.”

Corey huffed. His expression brightened once again when he noticed Mary holding onto the saddle.

“Ah, Mary Warren! How are you, dearest? Is the back of your head alright?”

Proctor was quick to step in: “Don’t talk to her,” he snapped at Corey. Then, to Mary, “Don’t talk to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to kill that girl, John!” Corey shouted after them. “If you ever need a place to flee to, Mary Warren, Martha and I are willing to take a servant!”

His words were washed away by the rain, but they remained rooted inside of Mary’s brain. If only she could switch employers. If she weren’t an indentured servant, she would have gone to the Putnam’s a long time to work with Mercy. Maybe then every day wouldn’t be such a pain.

And speaking of pain…

Mary winced, tentatively touching the back of her head. She couldn’t tell if the dampness she was feeling was blood or just rainwater. Didn’t matter now. She dropped her arm.

Above her, Proctor was muttering in his saddle, casting a dark look at the road in front of him. He said something about Giles Corey and something else about the farm and something else about wanting to rip out the old man’s gizzard. He seemed awfully worked up about the confrontation.

“If I may, sir…”

Proctor looked down at her, eyes narrowed. Mary nearly stopped talking right then and there, but she swallowed her nerves and continued on.

“If Mister Corey is such a bother to you, why not do more to stop him?”

“Are you lame, girl?” Proctor snapped. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? Ever since the fire, he’s been a thorn in my side.”

The fire referred to a fire that started in Proctor’s house, a time before Mary went to work with his family, which she was grateful for because she wouldn’t have been able to handle that drama. Naturally, Proctor said Corey was responsible for the fire, which made Corey file a lawsuit against Proctor. Later, one of Proctor’s sons would come forward and admit to being the one to cause the fire. Proctor begrudgingly apologized, but that didn’t stop Corey from continuously bringing it up whenever he got the chance.

“Why do you bring it up?” Proctor then asked. “What would YOU do? Since you think you’re so clever.”

“Me? Well, I-- I, uhh… Maybe raise the price on the land? Make it to where it would be too expensive for him to want to buy.”

Proctor opened, then closed his mouth. Then, he squinted at her. Finally, he actually laughed and took off his broad-brimmed hat, batting her over the head with it.

“I guess you aren’t so stupid after all,” he said affectionately. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Mary cracked a small smile. The bad outweighed the good when it came to her master, but she knew John Proctor wasn’t all cruelty and lashings. He had a strong softness for all of his children and a deep love for his wife. Sometimes Mary would hear him reading light-hearted Bible stories to his younger kids at night. Sometimes she would stand outside the room and listen.

Through the glistening shroud of mist and drizzle at the side of the road, the Proctor property unfolded from the fog like a proper country castle. Acres upon acres of emerald green grass, sturdy barns, a fine house, fields chock full of crops and livestock. Their cattle were fat and happy, slick with rain, water streaming from their round bellies and mud splashing up from each delicate footstep. It darkened their coats and made them look like they were soaked in blood. It was no wonder why Giles Corey wanted the land so badly. It was thriving with wealth.

“Put my horse away,” Proctor said after sliding off the chestnut stallion’s back. “Tack him. Then come inside immediately. Do not run off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Proctor gave her one last warning stare, then handed her the reins and walked to the house.

Mary would have taken her sweet time putting away the horse if it weren’t for the fact that she was freezing and her head was killing her. She tacked the stallion, put him into his stall, and fed him in record time, ready to get inside and change out of her wet clothes. However, when she finally entered the house, she didn’t get to do that. She was stopped by her master and mistress.

Proctor and Elizabeth were speaking to each other, but Mary could tell they were arguing, despite their level tones. They both turned to her when she stepped inside. Proctor was already in dry clothes, standing beside the roaring hearth. The flames looked so comforting and warm.

“Stay where you are,” Proctor ordered, noticing her desire to go to the fire.

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand she is in trouble, but at least let her warm up,” Elizabeth said.

Elizabeth Proctor had always been Mary’s favorite Proctor. Twenty-two years her husband’s her junior, though she looked a lot younger than that, she was kind and patient, never using the whip and rarely ever raising her voice. She wore dresses in soft shades, greatly mirroring her soothing nature; right now she was wearing a pale green gown with a white apron. Her hair was champagne blonde and her eyes were a pretty hazel with flecks of gold near the pupils. Mary craved her warm, maternal gaze so much it was almost painful.

“No,” Proctor said. “This is a part of her punishment.”

“She is going to freeze. Do you want our servant to freeze, John? Then what shall we do?”

“Get a better servant, perhaps? One that won’t run off?” He shot a glare at Mary, reminding her that he was, in fact, still mad about that, in case she had forgotten. She hadn’t.

So much for their moment on the road.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then sighed. She looked at Mary. “Yes, you should not have run off. You aren’t allowed to go anywhere without our permission. You know that.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.” Always obedient, always agreeable. Mary knew her place.

“Why did you leave?” Elizabeth asked.

“Mercy came to see me, ma’am,” Mary answered. She didn’t want to throw her friend to the crows, but she also knew better than to not be dishonest, especially when she was already in trouble. “We wanted to go check on Abby and Betty. We heard that they weren’t well.”

“I heard that, too,” Elizabeth nodded slowly. “How are they?”

“Strange. They slept like the dead, but woke up out of nowhere and started screaming. Betty tried to jump out of the window!”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she?”

“That is none of our concern right now,” Proctor growled, butting his way back in. “This disobedience cannot go unpunished.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Yes…I suppose you’re right. I say no dinner tonight.”

Proctor rolled his eyes. “You coddle her, Elizabeth.”

“I do not coddle her!”

Ignoring his wife, Proctor looked at Mary, “Fetch me a switch.”

Mary released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her heart leapt out from the pit in her stomach. She nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

[amispnrewatch]

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

[smellycinnamonthundahfudge]

fuck it. have the five page essay-ish thing i wrote on hoax.

it's so underrated and contains so many references to taylor's one great true love... that she lost.

(but there's also a bit about what the album cover means since i just think it adds to the evidence of something)

Let me take you on a journey, more specifically, the journey taylor’s music brought me to.

But fine for irl context, and disclaimer as well, I’m a new swiftie.

Yes, folklore was the one that really really pulled me in.

I’ve always loved her music, those that I knew of anyways, and she’s always held a special place in my heart and some part of me always knew that I was always going to explore her discography someday… and those days and months of exploring aforementioned music finally arrived.

So, for context, I’ll say that I mostly loved her bops. I always knew and loved her as that teenage girl feeling of wanderlust, and just wonder, and sweetness, and love…

That was what taylor was to me, the feeling of love.

It’s only when I very quite recently really really grew up and at the same time, taylor’s most popular music at the time, folklore, also happened to be really grown up, is when I realized and found out that taylor always had this depth to her.

So, for me, debut to speak now and half of red will always have that child-like wanderstruck look of awe and love vibe and feeling to me, cause nostalgia, it’s what I spent my life thinking of it and her as.

Also it’s been some time since I fully listened to those albums, so the journey/throughline narrative that I see from taylor’s discography is

Debut – young kid figuring it all out, emotional but sweet

Fearless – growth, ambition, dreams, complexity of wanting someone you know you’re not supposed to

Speak now – cinematic movie like quality of storytelling, these are fantasies, epics, novels all on their own, legend

Red – reckless abandon, intense extreme adult love, and also growth

1989 – true love, actual adulthood, scandal, gossip, hiding, protecting what’s important, dwindling mercurial highs

Rep - …

One thing that I started to notice only on 1989 and then it looked to be the case for the ff albums too, is that the latter half of one album oft bleeds onto the next one

So like the sound of I know places and even kinda wonderland to some extent, is very similar to reputation’s sound.

Then idk, new year’s day being a really sweet love song transitioning into lover

And then it’s nice to have a friend’s simple acoustic nostalgia & daylight’s nature imagery transitioning into folklore

And theeenn I’m betting the lakes as a positive song is a foreshadowing for the more softer positive outlook evermore is going to have, compared to folklore at least

But I honestly believe that if you look at the albums themselves, debut to speak now and red all seem to be about fleeting romances that pass and go

But 1989, that’s when things start to get real, and I believe, that’s when taylor really starts to get her muse…

Cause if you look at from 1989 to folklore evermore heck even to the rerelease of fearless and red…

These songs seem to be stemming from one relationship

A relationship that’s secret, that’s fragile and delicate, and complicated and complex

And correct me if I’m wrong, but…

Is king of my heart the first time taylor ever used the term, the one???

The one real thing you’ve ever known?? All too well

One touch you are in love??? One step one night

Point is, I think starting from 1989, most of the songs taylor wrote and sung about could all be attributed to just one person.

A tumultuous complex but nevertheless real and true love.

And I bring up the one connection because the one clearly parallels king of my heart

And all at once, YOU ARE THE ONE I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR

why would taylor write about losing someone that she thought she was the one if the person you think it’s about is still supposedly with her when she wrote it?

And finally, in taylor’s announcement of folklore, she wrote about an exiled man walking the bluffs of a land that isn’t his own, wondering how it all went so terribly, terribly wrong.

And in its music video, you get the same imagery?

…

…

…

You know where, … you… also… get… the same… exact… imagery…?

The folklore album cover.

Where it’s taylor, walking, in the middle, so small in the grand vast bluffs of a land that wasn’t her own.

In every single music video for every folklore song, the only ONE, THE ONLY ONE, where you get the same imagery, the same color palette as the album cover, is exile.

Which is about someone, a man walking the bluffs of a land that isn’t his own.

So if taylor is the man, then she’s

I can see you standing, honey

With his arms around your body

Guess who she has a close relationship with, who betrayed her, who got married to someone else?

*regina george anger screaming*

Me is a breakup song.

Taylor rereleasing red second has so much more weight to it now.

“In the land of heartbreak, moments of strength, independence, and devil-may-care rebellion are intricately woven together with grief, paralyzing vulnerability and hopelessness.”

moments of strength, independence, and devil-may-care rebellion – me, I PROMISE THAT YOU’LL NEVER FIND ANOTHER LIKE ME.

WATCH MISS AMERICANA AND I DARE YOU TO NOT SEE ME AS A SPITEFUL/VINDICTIVE/REBELLIOUS BREAK UP SONG

grief, paralyzing vulnerability and hopelessness – FOLKLORE.

Then I guess, fine… we’ll get to why hoax is so fucking meaningful yet you don’t understand why it is.

Yes, my only one.

Smoking gun.

I saw someone call this a reference to the fire and ash in mtr, but I also think of this as someone being your one weakness…

Think about it like this, in reputation

And what if the one person who kept you alive through all that

Betrayed you too.

Taylor talks so deeply and passionately over how much this person matters, they were her smoking gun.

Because they were what kept her going through the death of her reputation.

When no one trusted her that one person did.

They were her smoking gun.

My eclipsed sun.

Lover ended with daylight.

Taylor called reputation as night time.

And now what once was daylight has now been eclipsed over, by betrayal grief sadness desolation.

(darling this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart, folklore is as dark as rep)

Winless fight – ma & thp, fight that someday we’re gonna win.

They or she didn’t.

Frozen ground brings me back to holy ground and to doht, my love had been frozen

The imagery of hoax’s lv, is of a cliffside overlooking an ocean

Which brings me back to gorgeous, of OCEAN blue eyes looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and die

Screaming, similar to mtr’s I still talk to you when I’m screaming at the sky

(sidenote might not related to taylor references, but that line gives me hopelessness give me a reason to live vibes, and what with gorgeous’ line of sink and drown and die and this is me trying’s Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down…

Anw… the sidenote is cause that feeling of hopelessness just really resonates with me personally, kind of the type screaming at the universe, at whatever’s out there why… sigh…)

Faithless love – false god

Hoax – illicit afairs

Blue… rep (delicate)

Best laid plan – dbatc, paper cut stings from our paper thin plans

Sleight of hand???

Five whole minutes pack us up leave me with it???

Could barren land also be bluffs of a land that isn’t his own?? Idk… *shruggie*

Ash from your fire mtr

New york, DBATC, 1989, false god, cornelia street

Hero died, remember when I said I’d die for you? False god

What’s the movie for, exile, I think I’ve seen this film before

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart

Like I said, reputation… who was her saving grace/smoking gun from all that

THEY WERE THE ONE, THE ONLY ONE, TAYLOR HAD WHEN SHE WAS PULLED APART

SO THEY KNEW, THEY KNEW HOW MUCH IT HURT HER

BUT THEY BETRAYED HER ANYWAYS.

Password let you in the door, I knew you’d come back to me, front porch light cardigan

What you did was just as dark, just as hard

Why wouldn’t it be?

They were the one she had throughout all that turmoil… yet they betrayed her too…

Kingdom come undone – komh, we rule the kingdome inside my room

Beaten my heart – KOMH, dbatc

The feeling of thinking you found the one, the one you’re going to spend the rest of your life with… the one you would throw away all of this for…

Don’t want no other shade of blue but you, no other sadness in the world would do

You don’t want anyone else but them if they were the one you were going to throw it all away for…

You don’t wanna say goodbye…

You just wanna keep feeling the pain, the love, the conflict that you had with them…

You don’t wanna say goodbye