#im so on the fence and would love the weigh in!!

[lorelune]

okay... so. here is where part iii is at wc wise

part iii by itself (still as a wip. i have the majority of the readers heat/tldr smut to finish) is abt half the length of the full fic. at this point, i'm considering cutting the fic into four parts, rather than three.

part iii would end up being the lead up and prep for the reader's heat, and part iv would be the heat itself, the aftermath, and a little epilogue. i think that section of the fic would end up being at least 10k in total.,

i ONLY hesitate to split part iii into two because i'm not a huge fan of having a final chapter of a fic just be smut as a personal preference. i think this fic has had enough going on that it won't feel too egregious to have a really smut filled final chapter

ALL THAT BEING SAID: please. weigh in.

[roadyblr]

HIIIII i wanted to ask you what xikers album i should get 😭 i dont have xikers albums but i want to buy some for christmas ( ik christmas is in 3-2 months but i have to like prepare myself 🥲) SO I BASICLLY DONT KNOW WHAT XIKERS ALBUM IS THE BEST TO BUY SOO COULD YOU GIVE ME SOME KIND OF ADVICE OR TELL ME WHICH ONE TO BUY ?!?!

(idk why but this sounds so weird😭😭)

no no it doesn't sound weird at all! 💜💜

so i can't exactly tell you definitively which one you should get like "ah yes this is the best one" bc personal preference but i can hopefully give you enough information to try and help?? if that helps?? imo it should come down to -do you like the songs on the album? -do you like the vibe/concepts of the album?

HOUSE OF TRICKY: Doorbell Ringing xikers debut album, big hitter imo and no that's not just because i miss junghoon (i miss junghoon) but also my love of oh my gosh as a track probably makes me weigh this a bit heavily in comparison

I had to go on a hunt for the group concept photos but Tricky vs Hiker vers and this is where i tell which one i'm partial to but its pretty even for these ones there are two other versions (Nemo and Platform) and both concepts are that of the rockstar mv

HOUSE OF TRICKY: How to Play so there's something brighter about this album and it's not just the colors, the vibe as a whole is just something more summer (august release album go figure) song standouts for roadyblr admin are Sunny Side, Run, and Koong

Tricky vs Hiker vers, i am once again riding the fence but i'm attached to punk yechan as a vibe and no outfit has topped that so i'm picking tricky for the sake of this post-

this is where i say the above albums also came with wide polaroids and i just point that out because i think that's cute

HOUSE OF TRICKY: Trial and Error ahhh We Don't Stop is so aerosmith ft run dmc coded like- possibly controversial and i don't mean this in a bad way when i say that sonically to me this is the most varied(?) title track is very 90s hip hop, Red Sun is a lot harder, Supercalifragilistic is more club vibes, i dont think i could describe Break a Leg and Every Flavor Jelly in a way that would do them justice im already butching the first three roadyblr admin faves: supercalifragilistic and red sun

Tricky vers vs Hiker (like with how to play there are two other concepts split between them but one of them didnt have a group photo so i just picked the main two) for this album also the tricky version comes with a little cardboard standee of the members and the hiker vs has a id card

HOUSE OF TRICKY: Watch Out I don't think I have enough time to properly go over how much i like watch out or the ability to form the words to express it? like there's so much i enjoy about watch out as a whole roadyblr admin track picks: back off is my top favorite like its so close to dethroning the current queen and sandcastle

Unlike HTP and TAE there's only one concept per album but there are THREE versions So Tricky vers vs X vers vs Hiker vers there is a plve vers but if i say anything about it kq's gonna send me a cease and desist- anyway X vers is best imo, but tricky is like very close

So if you got this far here's roadyblr admin's album ranking sonically (don't lynch me this hurts me)

1. Doorbell Ringing = Watch Out 2. How to Play 3. Trial and Error

And for no reason in particular than my need to have opinions top 5 concepts 1. How to Play Tricky vers 2. Watch Out X vers 3. Trial and Error Hikers vers (the suits/chessboard one that i didnt show) 4. How to Play Hikers vers 5. Doorbell Ringing Tricky Vers

And if this still hasnt helped and you just want me to pick: Watch Out and Doorbell Ringing

[daewonbh]

what's good gamers!? i'm eight and i'm tardy to the party because i have an insane sleep schedule lately. i have links below that will give you a bit more to work with, and under the cut i'll introduce you to my stressed out son, im daewon. give the like button a lil love tap for me and i'll raid your ims so that we can plot.

dossier / memoir / appendix / plots

*˖ ⠀key points.

his mother was an opera singer, renowned for her talent and beauty. daewon idolizes his mother quite a bit. there were whispers that she was killed because she was a noble's mistress, yet his mentality is 'don't care it was the man's fault mom did nothing wrong' ( he has no clue what went on but there will be no im hyejin slander ).

he does not know shit about his father. he could be dead in a ditch, daewon would have no idea. he blames all of his bad traits on him.

for the first six years and some odd months of his life, he was raised by his mother in the beonhwa outskirts. his mother tragically passed in a house fire, leaving him to stay with the neighbor who rescued him until his eventual adoption by the house of magnolia at age 7.

magnolia's third in line ; he has no drive to rise any further in the ranks.

he's been busting his ass for his house since he was young to both rise up to the third spot, and now to maintain his position. he has a weird sense of obligation to the house for doing the bare minimum.

*˖ ⠀personality.

so very smart, but so very dumb. he's just a silly goofy lad.

tries his absolute best to be someone that's kind and approachable. though sometimes when he opens his mouth he's too critical or insensitive that he accidentally comes off as an asshole. (good intentions, terrible execution)

goes through periods of being very high energy and very low energy.. he's never in the middle.

he deals with a lot of conflicting feelings regarding his adoption — he's grateful for his basic needs being met but the amount of expectations that come along with being a child of one of the three houses weighs him down. he misses the freedom of just being daewon, the opera singer's son and not being im daewon, magnolia's third in line.

big on masking, both his mental health and feelings. his public persona is that of someone fairly easy-going, on the chattier side, could be perceived as fun but in a calm way, someone focused heavily on his pursuit for knowledge / those who see who he really is in private are used to dealing with both sides of him. one of being a bit quieter, not feeling like he has to engage as much as he does in public. they're used to him being more impulsive, freely making jokes and letting his feelings slip more often than not.

*˖ ⠀possible connections.

(for older muses) people that knew his mother ; he would love to hear stories about her.

(again, implied for older muses) someone that recognizes him for the stressed out child he is and has that underlying urge to baby him, bonus points if they too, are just a stressed out child.

(second muse inspo :eyes:) a grimy con man trying to claim he's daewon's biological father, so that he can have an in with one of the three houses. bonus points if they're not traditionally handsome so daewon can pull the 'no offense.. but my mom had standards' card.

(second muse inspo) siblings, siblings, siblings. right now daewon's the only magnolia affiliated muse and i crave violence both friendly and cunning sibling plots.

someone that sees daewon sneaking out on a regular and is wondering why he's always vaulting over the fence of the magnolia residence like he's some anime protag late for school.

moon tavern regulars!! he's there occasionally when he wishes to unwind. the lively atmosphere makes him feel right at home.

fellow animal lovers, daewon is a stray feeder, overly attached to animals that aren't his. he would listen to someone talk about their pet for hours — he's also this post for sure.

when daewon was younger, he was saved by one of his neighbors from a house fire. this same neighbor let him stay with their family until he was adopted by the house of magnolia. so any family to this neighbor, or for an older muse, the neighbor themselves.

someone that points out to daewon that he shouldn't feel so obligated that he was given basic necessities, maybe they have a darker view of how house of magnolia takes in these children and how exploitative it can be.

i have more on my actual plots page, these were just some additional ones my brain could come up with. if you've read through all of this, you're legally obligated to love me ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

[howdoyousayloco]

muggy weather and the neighbor's mangoes

Sometimes when it’s muggy out I say it feels like Florida. Even though my hair will be three times more frizzy by the end of the day and I will sweat my eyeliner off, I love every second. It feels like all of my rose-colored memories from when I am pretty sure I didn't have a care in the world even though that is probably not true.

Muggy weather reminds me of mangoes that grew from a branch of a tree in my grandma's neighbor's yard that she would pick from. Except, not "grandma," because to me and my sisters she was "little lela" since we couldn't pronounce Abuela and she was little and frail from years of chemo and had a much smaller presence than Big Lela, my other grandma, who has had plastic surgery and has tattooed makeup and talks loudly and is a little rude.

My little lela's house was where we spent every trip we made in the summer to south florida. She had a ranch-style house, like most people in hialeah do because of hurricane season, and a linoleum porch that i would crouch on when it was raining sometimes to watch it pour down and feel it on my hands because it was different from the rain at home and was warm. The air was so thick after a rainstorm that it weighed down on you and you could feel it against your skin like honey and it was fragrant with the smell of wet earth. In the front room of her house there was a piano with a bench that i would sit at and pluck out "chopsticks" slowly and it would annoy my older sister heavenly and make my mom think i was a musical genius. The floor was always cold, especially when i would walk barefoot in the morning out of the little room with the dollhouse that was actually a refurbished cd case and had two beds that i shared with three sisters that was next to the bathroom with the sign that said "powder room" on it. I would tiptoe so i wouldnt wake anyone up across the house to the yard with the square of sort of pink concrete that was in the middle of the crab grass that was spiky but didnt have ticks like up north so i could run around in it that was surrounded by wire fencing and palm trees and i tried to catch lizards. I didn't often succeed but when i did i would trap them in a little toy pot so i could show my sisters and parents and little lela who would tell me to get it out of the house and wash the toy. She worried a lot. I guess her life gave her a lot of reasons to.

We would congregate for breakfast in the morning in the living room, all eight of us and eat toasted cuban bread with butter and guava con queso pastelitos from vicky bakery that they don't have here up in Jersey that I am always craving and mangoes that are so much better than the ones we get now and café cubano that i wasn't allowed to have because it would make me short with lots of sugar and milk. I look back on those days like im clicking through a ViewFinder held up to the light. Hazy, otherworldly, so far removed from my current life that it makes me question if i was always who i am right now.

We gathered one time, my whole family with my little brother who was born by then and friends of my awela who were tías even though they werent really and my cousins who i didnt really talk to anymore and tías that were actually tías, and sat around a table that we set up in the front room, the one with the piano, that was filled with cuban food. Bread, and pastelitos, and mangoes, and coffee, and black pudding that i was too scared to eat because did you know it's made with blood, and isn't that weird, and a lot of other things that i dont really remember, and we ate and talked and tried to ignore that little lela was in a wheelchair and she was speaking more spanish than english when its usually the opposite and even though she lived ten more years than the doctors said she would i realized she wasnt immortal and it was scary because she had a tremor and i couldn't really understand her and i felt bad that i couldnt talk to her the same way that i used to because her voice was really high and im not good at speaking spanish and i had trouble looking at her in the eyes because i was old enough to know that she didnt have a lot of time left but too young for that to really sink in and i wasnt sure how to act and so i tried to be happy to make her happy and ate a lot of desert and i thought about other things.

After we packed up, said long goodbyes, and i poorly played her a song on my clarinet, my family squished into the seven seater car that somehow held all of us and took the really long ride back to New Jersey where the mangos were not as good and where there were no vicky bakeries and where little lelas house was not, and i sat cramped in the backseat where it smelled like clementines and the sweat of eight people and gas station coffee, and i played on my sisters DS when she let me and felt weird because i knew it would probably be the last time i would be in this car in florida on a road trip. The last time staying in my little lelas house had came and gone, and we went back after that to Big Lelas house but its not magical anymore it just feels like Florida but in the capitalized way that feels like Vacation and Tourists and Disney Adults instead of just our florida that felt like happiness and home and muggy weather and the neighbor's mangos and i miss it every day.

Its strange to think that florida is Florida to some people, and they take a plane, and they dont see any relatives that havent seen them since they were this big dame un besito mi niñita linda tienes un novio? No? Eso es bueno, men are no good. They go to Disneyland, and they probably stay inside when it rains and dont eat at pollo tropical or stay in a house that doesnt fit all your siblings but maybe im just being bitter because i cant go back to the florida that i want to go back to but maybe everyone has a place like that and its just as hard for everyone to lose but oh well, find a new one because life only moves forward and its not always that easy and definitely not as carefree as you imagined that it most likely maybe was in the past, but it could just be the golden sun that always seems to be behind you teasing you with its unreachable warmth on your back even if its still up in the middle of the sky and doesnt actually move and it still shines over everything because life is still ok and the weather can still be hot and humid and beautiful in new jersey too sometimes.

[bokutobaes]

inarizaki boys when you have a bad day

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆-with: atsumu, suna, kita

☆-!warnings!: swearing, parental issues, parents fighting, (there’s nothing physically violent), illness like the flu

☆-a/n: yall these are longgg LOL sorry

☆- author: lu <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ atsumu:

-his baby had a bad day :((

-just kidding he didn’t notice at first I’m so sorry nzjsjjsj

-your lockers are nearby so he’s usually waiting for you there first thing in the morning

-you woke up today with a headache and you were just really tired from studying last night :/

-you wanted to suck it up because it was your own fault for leaving the studying until the night before the test you had

-anyways, you were walking up to your locker lowkey trying to avoid eye contact with him

-“hi tsumu :)” u fricken liar with that fake smile

-“morning babe!” atsumu pulled u in for a back hug “i have to get to class kinda early for a test review so i’ll see you at lunch”

-and with that he was pecking your cheek and leaving

-“okay.. kind of good” you thought.. you didn’t wanna worry him or anything so you headed to you first class, math

-hell literally broke loose.. you forgot your pencil case and had to ask like 4 people until you got one which was embarrassing

-AND THEN the teacher called on you for an answer that you didn’t know like the universe

was against you or something

-“uhh... ummm i don’t know..” headass😩

-the class after that was slightly less dehumanizing but it was also japanese class.. the class you had a test in that you just barely studied for

-you did the test and lost braincells, blood sweat and tears LOL

-“okay class these will be graded by lunchtime so please come by to collect your scores before your next class”

-ogey :/ anyways u went to ur next class and before u knew it, it was lunch time.

-a text from atsumu made your phone vibrate while on your way to get your test scores

-“hey babe im actually gonna eat lunch with samu we’re practicing a bit at lunch”

-oh :) ok :) that’s fine :) not like u :) desperately:) need a hug :) right now :)

-“oh okay babe” you text back

-whatever u don’t need him independent queen

-that’s your mindset.. until you get those test scores

-it’s a literal fail .. did not pass the test.. ok..

-“y/n san, these test scores were not your usual best. I’m slightly disappointed, if there’s anything going on please let me know”

-“thank you sensei. i’ll do better next time.

-at this point you were just tying not to cry so you took your test and shouldered your bag and walked to a bench outside for some fresh air.

-right.. you didn’t bring lunch today

-so now you were hungry, tired, defeated, disappointed and lonely :,(

-the last class of your day went by quickly probably because you were zoned out the whole time

-the end of the day came and you were at your locker when your guardian texted you

-“Y/n, you had that test today right? I’m expecting to see the grade when your back home. Didn’t have time to make food tonight so find something to eat on your way home.”

-oh that test ? lol hahaha the one that you failed?! yeah that one haha lol lollll

-so with that, you started your walk home

-“y/n!!”

-fuck. atsumu.

-if you saw him now you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold in your tears and you really didn’t want to cry

-so your solution? pretend you didn’t hear him and walk faster lmfaokdhdh

-but atsumu, being.. well atsumu, decided to just full speed sprint towards you to put his shoulder around you

-“i literally know you heard me. i missed you today sorry about lun- why are you crying ?!!?”

-“bad day” you choked out before a shuddering gasp wracked your chest

-atsumu didn’t say anything he just wrapped you in a tight hug, petting you hair while you cried into his chest

-“its okay babe.. “ :(

-“you wanna come over? we can get food and cuddle”

-you nodded your head taking a shaky breath

-his hand reached out and wiped your tears, brushed your hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead like it was natural to him.

-and so you walked together hand in hand to atsumu’s house where you ate samu’s leftover onigiri and vented to atsumu about the day while you cuddled

-he also gave you a hoodie :,)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ suna:

-“living is a chore :|” you thought as the alarm rang through your room ruining your peaceful sleep

-it was raining outside and your mind went back to last night, the screaming match your parents had

-normally you’d be used to it but it felt like they were starting to take the anger they had for each other out on you now

-you tried not to but you started thinking about all the things your mom had yelled to you through the closed door of your bedroom

-“your just like your father. you’re selfish, lazy and all you do is run around with that little boyfriend of yours! what about your family?! you think your better then us? why don’t you move out then since your so good at being independent?!”

-everything she said was always completely blown out of proportion, she lied all the time. it’s exhausting for you

-you started getting ready for school, you wanted to see suna and your friends and laugh and just forget last night even happened

-when you got to school suna was there at your locker scrolling lazily through his phone

-you smiled, genuinely as he looked up and greeted you with a smirk

-“nice hair.”

-“wha-“ you started and then smacked his arm when you realized that your baby hairs were out of sorts “shutup” you scowled

-“good morning” suna hugged you

-“good morning”

-now you were off to class, it always went by too fast, you thought. school was always done in the blink of an eye

-“what’re you doing at lunch?” your friend tapped your shoulder and whispered to you

-“mmm nothing probably why?”

-“let’s eat on the roof today! yui told me there’s gonna be a rainbow cuz it stopped raining.”

-“okay” you smiled

-now at lunch with your friends you ate the bento you had packed before. the rainbow was there and it was beautiful

-you were having fun just laughing with your friends and texting suna while he sent terrible photos of atsumu. things were good, you had forgotten about your mom

-until the end of the day came and you had to go back home

-as usual suna was at his locker waiting so that you could walk home together

-after crossing the street you and suna were at a bike path, trees surrounding the fences

-it was a comfortable silence until...

-“what’s wrong?”

-suna asking took you by surprise, you didn’t think you were acting any different. were you?

-“what are you talking about”

-“you look sad, you did this morning too but then you were fine the rest of the day so I didn’t say anything. but, you look sad again now”

-“oh..”

-so suna just saw right through you

-“ um.. i’m okay.. it’s just ..” you laughed dryly “i don’t really want to go home”

-“did something happen?”

-“yeah.. my parents were fighting, it turned into this whole thing.” you felt a lump in your throat start to form “i don’t really wanna talk about it”

-“okay. you should just come over then, right?”

-“can i?”

-“you literally don’t even have to ask me anymore y/n” suna grabbed your hand and led the way

-when you got there suna hopped on his couch and started putting on something from netflix

-“my parents aren’t home, my sister has a dance thing today” he grabbed a blanket and you sat down, putting your head in his lap

-suna put on a comedy show, of course he would

-he played with your hair while you watched and after an episode or two, he asked

-“do you want to talk about it now?”

-and so you did, you told him what happened last night and what your mom said. your plan was to not cry but that failed miserably

-suna listened intently, he told you the truth, he said that what she said wasn’t true, he told you you could sleepover whenever you needed to.

-kissed you and wrapped you back in the blanket

-“i love you, you know that right? always.”

-he always knew what to say and you loved him for that

-“i love you too, suna”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ kita:

-kita knew, first thing he noticed when he saw you that you weren’t okay

-you woke up with a terrible headache, aching body and stomachache

-so this is it? this is hell? ok.

-but the test.. you had a test today. fortunately you had actually studied for weeks because you knew it was important

-mentally? you were ready for that test. physically? you had the spanish influenza

-so you weighed the options and decided you would go to school, take the test and then come back home after.

-the problem with that was that kita would in fact lecture you on all the reasons you should not have come to school

-he was right of course, but you still decided that you would need to avoid him for today

-spoiler alert it did not work

-your test was your third class of the day so you only had to get through 2 classes and you’d leave at lunch perfectly avoiding kita

-this was what you thought while you were at your locker until you closed it and walked directly into kitas chest

-“wow”

-“good morning y/n-chan”

-“morning kita! i have to go or I’ll be late!”

-you ran😭 and you almost got away too but kita grabbed your arm and pulled you to one side of the hallway

-he felt your forehead and both cheeks

-“you have a fever y/n”

-“no I don’t I’m just hot from walking to school”

-he said 😐

-you signed and rested your head on his chest letting your arms dangle

-“why did you come? you look sick”

-“thanks. I have a test.”

-“how do you feel?”

-you told him your symptoms but also that you were leaving right after the test and you could pull through

-he really didn’t want you to overwork yourself but he knew you were set on taking the test

-so he let you go and he made you promise to text him between classes and let him know if you felt any worse

-and off you went

-honestly, you were fine up until halfway through your second class.. then you started feeling really cold and tired even kind of nauseous

-then in the third class your test was put onto your desk and before you knew it your teacher was saying “begin”

-okay. you can do this you thought to yourself. the test was easy enough with how much you studied, you thought about every answer and you tried to finish quick

-but then it was like time cut itself in half and the bell for lunch was ringing

-you weren’t even done the test yet

-“y/n you can stay in here until your done but i expect you to have it finished soon”

-one question left

-you don’t even remember what you ended up putting before you were up and giving the paper to your teacher

-kita was right there when you left the classroom

-“hey ..hey.. y/n”

-you could barely hear him you just flopped into his arms

-“okay I’m taking you home.. “

-“but..”

-“shh let’s go”

-you don’t remember getting there but then you were in your bed smothered in pillows and blankets

-kita came in

-“what time is it?”

-he looked at his phone “half past 4”

-“4?!” you jolted up “did you even go back to school?” “kita?!”

-he smiled at you “no but it’s okay y/n it was only one day. i wanted to take care of you

-you noticed he had a steaming cup of something in his hands

-“what’s that” you asked

-“its tea, but it’s special tea :)”

-“what do you mean” you laughed

-“my grandma showed me how to make it, it’s gonna make you feel a lot better”

-he’s so cute...

-“kita... you didn’t have to do all this”

-“i wanted to” he sits beside you and hands you the tea

-literally tasted like heaven

-“mmmmm oh my god”

-kita laughed and kissed you on the cheek before joining you in the bed

-you cuddled and watched movies on your laptop until you fell asleep, comfortable in your boyfriends arms

[sjoongki]

i literally sent this to my friend "not me watching a show for comfort from reality only to get sucked back into it" like yes im in my late 20s. yes the coming of age is done and gone, but those were honestly my happiest memories. and the ones i cherish the most, i have not forgotten. i may not remember all the small details but i think i'd remember a trip with my new friends (since heedo said she never really had any) and my almost first real love. like that's not something that 'fades'. i get heedo just started her fencing journey and maybe those accomplishments became more grand than that, but heedo doesn't seem to be like the person to forget such things. like remembering how her dad got her that noodle on the train. i get that was because those are cherished memories of her father but, these would be too. now i'm just sad and depressed. the realism makes it relatable but not to this extent *sigh* also i dont know how you build this /very/ deep bond with someone, fall in love, and fall out of it so quick and become a memory..

i completely agree, the passage of time is a double-edged sword. depending on where you are in life, it can either be a beam of hope and a source of happiness, or an anchor that weighs you down at sea and leaves you weary and lost.

also while this whole "not being able to remember the beach trip" thing may very well be a part of the message they're trying to send about how even the good memories fade over time, i honestly think it's deliberate memory repression on adult hee-do's end because yi-jin died.. i've seen some people say that they're confident that he's still alive and that they've just drifted apart, but we're 10 episodes in now, and i have many reasons to believe that he's not alive. and that just makes it all the more heartbreaking.

[blackmommingdaily]

Can I share my story? This is a long post & im hoping my story will inspire someone.,

Tonight God led me to post my story. I don’t know why but here it goes.

Growing up:

Growing up I didn’t come from a stable home. My mom is OCD Paranoid Schizophrenic & my father is an alcoholic. You can imagine how their relationship went.

They divorced when I was two due to my dads abuse & controlling ways. (For example: he locked my mom on the property with a barb wire fence. Because he believed she was cheating with the father of her first child who’s deceased).

I moved around from family members homes after my dad threw my mother and I out in the rain when I was barely a toddler.

CPS:

Fast forward I was taken from my mom in elementary school because she was bathing me in bleach 😭😢. Destroying my school property, paranoid that my deceased sister had been kidnapped. ALLOT!!! My dad gained custody of me through DCFS & life grew worse.

The step mom:

He cheated on my mom with a woman who later he deemed as my step mother. He forced this woman to accept me even though she wanted nothing to do with another child.

Emotionally as a kid I knew I didn’t belong in her house or her life. I struggled allot especially knowing this woman HATED ME. I remember her forcing me to pick up microscopic pieces of paper out of the carpet on my hands and knees, even though she owned a vacuum. Not allowed to open the fridge, cupboards, deep freezer or pantry. I wasn’t allowed in her room or her daughters room. If I sat on the floor I couldn’t sit on the sofa. If I was thirsty, I had to ask someone to give me a cup to drink warm faucet water because I wasn’t allowed to get ice.

If I told my dad he’d tell her & she’d confront me calling me liar making my punishment worse for speaking up. I remember I’d write notes to her saying “Thank you for letting me stay here.” In hopes that she’d be “nicer” to me.

I didn’t have a bed. For 4years I slept on a Futon in her spare room, the lining I was given was raggedy & every morning I’d have to put all of my bedding in a trash bag next to the sofa.

I’d beg my granny to please let me stay at her house. I’d cry my eyes out every Sunday night because I knew that woman did not want me there.

My Granny ❤️:

Fast forward my dad pulled a shot gun on her daughter & she threw us out. 🙏🏽 (Nobody but God) I remember God answering my prayers that I’d live with my grandma ❤️

After being unloved for so long my granny was the best mom & dad. Entering middle school I was considered the weird bum kid. 😢 or whatever.

I remember my granny made me sleep in the bed with her until I was in the 6th grade. When I finally got a room she made sure I locked my door every night. 🧐🧐 I never understood why. I remember things like my dad being upset because I wouldn’t sit in his lap. The one time I did I felt something hard & jumped up😞. He blew a vein because I refused to let him rub vicks on my chest when I was “developing” & remember my granny bringing me in her room & locking the door.

Running away from home:

At 15 almost 16 my granny went into the nursing home. I was pulled from regular school (beginning of 7th grade) & had to be homeschooled to take care of her. But in reality my dad could’ve cared LESS about me learning. I wiped, cleaning, bathe, fed my nanny like her own children should’ve been doing.

I graduated from high school early because I forged my dad’s signature to enroll in online public school & got a family friend to pretend to be him on the phone 🤷🏽‍♀️ God forgive me because I wasn’t about to stay in that house with roaches 🪳 his dirt & filth (I won’t go into details but he was a drunk that couldn’t hold his bodily functions at all!!) when my granny was sent to the nursing home I lied and claimed my mom had a illness & I needed to see her. (He would lock me inside of the house with master locks & would leave me without food or clean water).

When I ran away to live with my mom I weighed 92pounds 😞😢

Moving with my mom:

At 16, I moved in with a combative schizophrenic, started trade school, found a job as a receptionist at a pediatrist office. ❤️ I was okay with my mom fighting me & cursing at me, because I knew she was truly sick 😞 I felt responsible for my parents being the way they were.

I blamed myself and carried that burden because I thought that would FIX my parents or make them “love” me. I cried SO MANY nights because I was convinced I was the problem. If I didn’t exist as a child everyone would’ve been better off.

Now I’m almost 23, married with a child and it took time and therapy for me to realize IT WASNT MY FAULT. Your child hood was NOT YOUR FAULT. Your parents being dysfunctional isn’t your burden to bear. Let go and let God. I wanted to prove to everything I wasn’t crazy & I wasn’t going to be like my dad.

I didn’t owe anyone anything. I didn’t owe my dad an apology for being born, escaping & disconnecting myself from toxic behavior. I wasn’t wrong to grieve our relationship and accept that I wasn’t in his eyes good enough. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to him one because I physically fear him & two because I OWE HIM NOTHING! I wish nothing for him. I only ask that God bring me peace daily.

My message to you is you’re growth isn’t measured in what you’ve obtained. You’re not your parents & you owe them nothing. You don’t deserve to be abused because “they are your parents”. No title should keep you from fully loving yourself & saying enough is enough. God said to respect & love. Not that you must continue a relationship that only brings you harm. Your body is a temple & so is your mind. Anything that disturbs your peace, GET RID OF IT, TOSS IT OUT, PRAY & Let God handle it!!

[undertaker1827]

JWJWNAKAAN PROMT 1 AND 4 WITH GRELL AND HER S/O ANS HER S/O JUST WATCHED GRELL REAP THEIR BEST FRIENDS SOUL AND GRELL SEES THEM WATCHING AND IS LIKE SHIT FORGOT TO SAY IM A REAPER!!1!1!1 I LOVE UR WRITING AND I KNOW YOULL DO GOOD WITH IT 💕💕 HOPE UR STAYING SAFE AND DRINKING PLENTY OF WATER

I am drinking plenty of water, I hope you are too! Thank you and I’m glad you enjoy my writing, and I’m so sorry this took me so long, I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you!!

Hope you all enjoy and have a look at my masterlist?

-

Today was going to be a good day. You had woken up early with the intent to get up and get out. It was summer, it was a rare occasion in which the sun was beaming down over London and it was overall the perfect day for your plans. More accurately the plans for you and you best friend. Today had been in the works for a long time, keeping you both sustained through cold days and times where the day had not been exactly right. You were going to meet each other at London Liverpool Street station, then grab the tube to the centre of the city. Breakfast was going to be somewhere along the banks of the Thames, probably sandwiches and a good, strong cup of coffee each. Then the day would truly begin. You were going to hit all of the major tourist destinations, despite having already been to many of them previously. You planned to visit some of the on location shoots of your favourite show, purely for the sake of taking pictures and being able to prove you had in fact been there. You were going Asian for lunch, though where more specifically you had not yet decided, and all out fancy for dinner. And if you didn’t get home until the early hours of the next morning, who was going to stop you? Especially given that your friend hadn’t been feeling so well recently. This was bound to list their spirits.

It was still early when you ran though droves of commuters at Liverpool Street, waving your travel coffee cup in greeting. Your friend lifted a hand in return, though even from a distance you could see they looked a bit pale.

“Hey, you alright?” you asked, a little breathless from having moved so quickly. They explained they had felt quite ill for the last few days, but absolutely rebutted your attempts at going home and postponing the day out. You had been planning it for too long, they said, and really, you were excited enough to agree. You were making your way along the South side of London’s great river, a quitter spot and certainly not on the average tourist information sheet, but it was very close to an on location shooting site. It was really just a case of finding the exact place…

“There!” You called out suddenly, briefly glancing over your shoulder to beckon your friend and then running full pelt, thrilled at your discovery. In your excitement, you failed to see your friend starting to lean heavily on a black fence, nor did you see them collapse to their knees and finally fall to the ground. Location confirmed, you turned to speak to your friend, only to find they were not there. Calling their name apparently did nothing either. Becoming increasingly concerned, you quickly retraced your steps, only to hear an achingly familiar voice speaking clearly from around the corner. A voice belonging to someone who claimed she was too busy with work to go out with you the Friday just passed. Your steps carried you forwards until you could see crimson flooding the now grey, drab street. So focused were you on the explosion of colour that you didn’t see what she was standing over.

“…August 1995, died July 18th, 2019 aged 24 years. Heart attack. No notes of interest.” With that you watched as your lover, your crimson Grell yanked a chainsaw out of the lifeless body of your best friend, having placed a stamp in a book and returned both to the pockets of her coat. “Apologies darling, you truly were so young. But there such is life, yes? Now I have to-“

“Grell?!” The scream ripped through your throat before you had time to second guess it. “What the hell have you done?!” Grell flew around to face you, coat flaring out to frame her body and hair whipping around her head, the bloody chainsaw held out to the side with a strength you hadn’t know she possessed. You were knelt on the ground by your best friend in seconds, holding their hand and whispering to them, illogically trying to get a response, any response. Focused as you were on their body, you hadn’t seen Grell’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice, nor had you noticed the shock passing over her features or the realisation adorning it not a moment later.

“I never told you...” Grell breathed, amazed by her own carelessness regarding someone she cared so much about.

“Never told me what?” You choked out, looking up through the mist coating you vision. “Never told me what?!” Grell’s typically concerned look faded to something much softer, uncharacteristic of her outside of home. A quiet, sad air passed over her.

“That I’m a reaper.” You felt sick. You felt so sick.

“You just murdered my best friend and now you’re trying to play games with my mind? What the hell!”

“Y/N...” Gasping for air that didn’t want to come, you tried to push back your nausea, tears running down your cheeks and shaking your head. “Please, I know it was careless of me I just never thought - look it’s a lot to take in, I understand. But please listen to me. Look! My To-Die list, dispatch give me a new one every day. Y/N look!” She was desperate, you could see that. But even as you took the leather bound note book and glanced over your friend’s entry, you absolutely refused. This was utter madness. You trusted Grell, you were supposed to be able to trust her!

You threw the book back at her, uncaring as to whether she caught it or not. But when you turned back to the body laying next to you, your fractured heart broke to see someone already moving them. Eyes widening, you shook your head frantically and stumbled to your feet clumsily following after a man dressed all in black. He had a hearse pulled over in a tiny backstreet opposite to where they had been killed and he appeared to be taking them to it. He had already laid them inside by the time you got there.

“W-wait, please,” you whispered, emotion overwhelming your voice as you all but pushed past the stranger. “That’s my friend. That’s-”

You had almost reached their shoulder as a hand closed around your wrist, gentle but firm and strikingly cold.

“Come away, now,” the man murmured quietly, sliver bangs covering most of his face but his mere presence somehow calming.

“Undertaker,” Grell warned from over your shoulder, grip on her weapon tightening. ‘Undertaker’ raised a placating hand, carefully extracting yours from his hearse and starting to lead you back to Grell. When you realised this, you dug your heels in almost immediately.

“No. Don’t, she’s a murderer, she killed them!” You pointed behind you, trying to get this man to understand what had happened. Only he saw Grell’s face fall into despair.

“She’s not.” You paused in your protestations, raising the wrist he was still holding between you. What? “What she told you is true, she’s a grim reaper. They harvest the souls of the dead, they do not actively kill them. I can only assume it never occurred to her that she should tell you.” You turned, looking from Grell to Undertaker and back again.

“Y/N it’s true, I swear it,” she murmured, expression pained.

“Did you never notice her eyes?” Grell frowned, and you both moved to face Undertaker. “You must have, surely.” You moved to run a hand through your hair.

“Of course I noticed, I just... I thought the thing about chartreuse phosphorescent eyes was just a legend. I never realised, I never knew it was real!” Undertaker nodded.

“Understandable. I will have to go now, though. A fresh stiff always attracts too much attention.” His hand raised to silence your words before you had a chance to say them. “You’ll be able to see them again, just not right away. I’ve got my own job to think about.”

You and Grell stood in silence as the hearse drove away. It took you a while, but you eventually mustered up the courage to turn around, grabbing her elbow to make her walk with you and then quickly dropping it again.

“Will you explain? Please?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “As both myself and Undertaker already said, I’m a reaper. I only collect people’s souls when they die, I don’t kill them. It was her time.” Hands stuffed into your pockets, you glanced over to the river you were now walking besides.

“Could I have done anything?” Grell gave a small, sad shake of her head. You nodded in return. After another 10 minutes of silence, she spoke again.

“Can I do something? What do you need?” You inhaled deeply.

“I want to go home,” you started. “I don’t want to be alone,” was added more quietly on to the end.

“Hold onto my arm?” You glanced up at Grell, weighing up your options for a moment before deciding what the hell and then doing just that. The next thing you knew you were standing back in your apartment. Your incredulity was met by the reaper explaining a form of portalling was also something they could do. She looked at you calmly, silently asking what else you needed.

“Please just hold me?”

Grell nodded, dropping the chainsaw - which she had explained was actually a death scyth - and walking towards you, proceeding to sweep her arm beneath your legs then carry you to an armchair, sitting comfortably with you curled into her. Head resting on her shoulder and eyes slightly glazed, she drew gentle patterns along your back.

“Thank you.” It came out as a hushed whisper. Grell shook her head, squeezing you tightly to her.

“I’m so sorry.” You just nodded, squeezing your eyes tightly shut and trying to make sense of everything. You thought it would take a while.

[deansawthetvglow]

PROMPT 41

Hi this is late and BAD but i am holding partly true to my word bc im tipsy again while writing these lol 

Prompt 41: “The stars are really bright tonight.” 

-

The Hum Drum of The Stars

-

It’s a night not unlike any other. Dean and Cas have been coming to this spot behind their homes for years. 

They sneak past the fence, one built from fallen pine trees and adorned with a red sign that says “no trespassing.” Cas is holding onto a bundle of blankets while Dean carries the thermos of hot chocolate they made at Cas’ earlier in the evening. 

It’s July 18th, a perfectly normal, uneventful summer date, but something feels different. 

Dean can feel Cas’ eyes on him as he sets the thermos onto the green and stands to help Cas lay out the blankets.

The dark of the night envelops them and their words as they go through their movements as though it’s a routine embedded into their very souls. 

Then, a throat cleared breaks the silence, “Fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks as Cas stares at the set up in front of them, nothing seems out of the ordinary to Dean, except— oh. Oh.

“I seem to have only brought two blankets, rather than the appropriate three,” Cas says, staring down, not looking toward Dean.

On a normal night like this, they set one blanket on the ground to keep them dry and apart from the earth below while also wrapping individual blankets around each of their forms to keep warm.

Tonight is unlike any other. 

Dean runs a hand through his hair. He could run back to his house and grab a blanket–or….

“That’s alright Cas, it’s cold anyway, sharing won’t hurt.” He tries to smile softly as if this isn’t something he’s pined over for the past three years, and watches as Cas looks down to his toes. 

Dean wishes it was just a bit brighter so he could see the exact emotion written on Cas’ face right now. 

“Okay.” 

It’s whispered and shaky and so quiet Dean almost misses it, but he doesn’t and he grins at the man beside him, his best friend, the love of his fucking life, and it feels like nothing could ever shatter this moment in time.

Despite everything, despite the words that weigh heavy with potential energy on the tip of his tongue, he manages to stay calm and let out a hoarse, “Cool.” before grabbing the thermos and bringing it onto the base blanket with him as he settles down. 

Castiel is still standing at the edge of the blanket as if it is a threshold he simply can’t pass, and Dean is suddenly worried he’s come on too strong or said the wrong word or —something– 

He’s about to stand when Cas toes off his shoes like he always does and pads onto the blanket, sitting beside Dean and pulling the only remaining blanket over them.

The blanket doesn’t quite fit them both in this position, so Cas lies down and urges Dean to do the same. 

Dean follows, and holds tight to the warmth of the thermos, trying to control his racing heartbeat. 

Despite years of friendship, nothing has felt so close to what he truly wants as this does, lying under the stars with Cas. Castiel, the dorky guy he befriended because he didn’t know what Star Wars was and goddammit, it was a travesty and Dean had to fix it. 

It’s in this moment of reverie and reflection that Dean feels Castiel move gently next to him, there’s a point of contact he can’t even identify because his senses are lighting up and his brain is overloaded with chaos and hope and then—it’s calm as Cas speaks. 

“The stars are really bright tonight.” 

The words nearly break Dean out of his trance until he realizes Cas is on his side and staring directly at his freckles and not at the sky above them at all. 

With soft breath, “Yeah.” Dean turns his body to Cas’ as he speaks. They are, it’s true. What little light the stars provide is reflected tenfold in his best friend’s eyes. At this moment, he can swear Cas is an angel. 

They lay for a moment without words, and then Cas is speaking, deep and quiet and almost mumbled, “I would very much like to touch the stars one day.” 

With that, overwhelmed by the meaning of the statement paired with the intensity of Cas’ gaze, Dean gives in, leans forward despite the awkward angle and presses his lips to Cas’. 

All else fades away. He and Castiel are the stars, and, in this moment, nothing else matters. 

It’s a night unlike any other. It’s a night to remember. 

[magnaflourious-nerdity]

But Through Darkened Glasses

(You Need Chaos in Your Soul)

" And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you."

There was a prompt on some Halloween themed fandom challenge for October. Monday's was 'Black Cat' and for whatever reason. This is what happened. Bc im just going with that kind of thing lately I guess, I decided to spit it out here. I didn't beta this thoroughly enough I guarantee bc im lazy and also the fandom is like 20 people big, and generally full of forgiving, lovely, content starved ppl. The last point I am extrapolating from my own experiences of being in the fandom, haha.

_____

It's weird, he thinks, twining in and out of the fence post he's been following for the past few minutes, trying to get his bearings now that he's been saddled with twice his accustomed amount of limbs. It's weird that I'm not more freaked out about this. He pauses, grooms himself briefly and crosses the street under the lamp light. The bulb blows out halfway across. He doesn't even jump this time. Maybe it's a bonus of having nine lives, you don't worry so much about one or two practice runs. His ears twitch minutely as the wind shifts and brings a low, buzzing, sound sighing through the fronds of the willow at the edge of his yard. They're even more sensitive now that he's a cat- the ears that is -twitching at the slightest whisper of a sound in the night.

He doesn't even bother to slow his pace as he hops the fence and passes through his own back yard, simply fixing jade eyes on the window he knows to be Becky's, turning them away again with the knowledge that there's no way she'd be at home tonight. Not on a night where she's basically been given free reign to go full-tilt feral social-climber on every party in town. There's no gaining entrance into his lair in his current state (nor is he particularly keen to meet Rasputin face to face right now either) and his parents are out of the question. Can't guarantee his dad won't be too drunk this late on a Halloween to tie a bottle rocket to his newly acquired tail. Don't really care to see him if he's sober either. Or just in general

Instead, His attention remains fixed on the sound he'd heard in the distance before, as he cuts across lawns and ducks down the well trod neighborhood backalleys, avoiding any heards of desperate, last-minute, trick-or-treaters or gaggles of drunken party-goers he catches wind of.

He's at the point of shrugging off the weird sounds he's been hearing as the result of some sort of particularly lumbering rodent in the underbrush, turning his attention instead to the little flashes of lamp light glinting off of abandoned candy wrappers. Batting at one every now and then non-committaly. It wasn't as exciting as one might think, being a cat. Kind of a snooze even, as far as curses went.

Well, at least it had the wherewithal and the courtesy as a curse to take aesthetics into account.

He was definitely the kind of cat his father would have chased off the lawn with a bb gun, if it had showed up at their door looking for food. He examines the pitch-colored shroud of his newly acquired fur as best as he can, glad- in a removed sort of way -that at least he was a proper Halloween cat. Scruffy and mysterious, not one of those opulently fluffy, pearl-colored, fancy-feast models.

There was dignity in being a black cat on Halloween. There was style! There was pinache!

A whisper, a low hum beyond his perception.

There were secrets. There was power. All of it his for the taking now that the opportunity had been unwittingly granted.

He'd read a legend once- in one of his massive, dusty, volumes on the lore of shapeshifters, dating back to antiquity -that on Halloween, black cats were at the most transient state of their existances. They could- if they could find the right chinks in reality's armour, where the space between things overlapped and folded in on itself like challah -use the threads surrounding and connecting the worlds to perform any number of impossibilities. Assume other forms, be anywhere at once, sew prosperity or discord at a whim.

It was said that those creatures most in-tune with with the pathways could even travel between them all. All of the worlds bookended against and, at certain times like tonight, overlapping their own. Those most-adept cats could slip in and out of dimensions as easily as a shadow slips under doorway.

I mean, I guess now is as good a time as any to test that hypothesis, Merton mused, slit-pupils zeroing in on the slightest movement down the street from Tommy's house, which was naturally where his slinky, purposeful, wandering had taken him. There were no other thoughts to it really. After all. He and Tommy were each other's lifeboats, lashed together to weather whatever bullshit came their way, side-by-side.

At least where finding ourselves on the wrong side of dark magic is concerned. He amended to himself. There was no one else here so he wasn't sure why he even bothered really.

He hesitated silently under a street lamp. The crackling sound of the light flickering above him sounded grating to his sensitive ears. He could understand Tommy's super-hearing-based woes a lot better now at least. With his gaze shifting uneasily between the safety of Tommy's house- the safety of his company, and of his unconditional presence, and of his unwavering dedication to Merton's protection despite the workload that it was turning out to be- and back to the subtle, but suddenly noticeable undulations of the shadows at the farthest edge of the neighbor's hedgerows. An opportunity had manifested itself.

Almost neigh-imperceptably, something shifts in the air, pervading every cranny of the now darkened street.

A moment of choice for Merton. The unexplored possibilities mount in his head, weighed against the cons of breaching the utterly unknowable. He is bewitched, rooted to the spot. Eve on the precipice of the apple, by virtue of both temptation and fear.

He'd gone to more extreme means, on less intel, for far more ridiculous pursuits. This was just a short walk to the end of the street. But he hesitates nonetheless, his own mind overriding the detatched curiosity that grew into him- into his bones -the longer he was attached to this form. He feels the pull of the interstitial static of the spaces between space, it hums and pulses gently along to the music of the spheres. Soft, inviting, unknowable.

He thinks of slipping between the phases of reality. Could he regain his body on his own that way? Could he pick a better one? He pads gently forward, going only a few, cautious steps, questioning himself all the while and trying to brace his senses against the hypnotic call of whatever the netherspace was wordlessly offering to him. He is waiting to see when the time will be right. If it will be at all. What will come of it.

I can fix this on my own for once, right now. He tells himself . I can learn so much. About everything. I can fix so much if I can just...

The pull of the place between is Urgent. Heady. Disorienting, he finds. It beckons him more insistently with each passing moment, and every sound made in the darkness is a soft, sighing, call to action. To adventure. To satisfy all of his human spawned, feline fueled, curiosities alike.

But another sound, this one from inside Tommy's house- still nearly right next to him -severs the tie. It's Tommy's laugh, loud and sharp and as intimately familiar to him as a siren song of his own.

Tommy. His tail lifts up into the air of its own accord as he starts to correct course towards the tree in Tommy's back yard, one which frequent exposure to the Dawkin's household tells him leads to the- usually wide open -2nd floor window landing of his best friend's bedroom.

The whispering from behind him grows more urgent as he turns away from it. Easier to discern from the normal night-music of Pleasantville. It grows in pitch, insistent, like a vulture pecking at the stripped down bones of its roadside carrion.

Despite his growing unease, Merton still feels the gravity of the thin places of the world eying him up, clawing at him. He realizes, with detached horror, that if the last few minutes are anything to go by, in this form, he isn't even sure if he can resist it at all. Much less how long his moment of self possession can last.

Merton, as a cat, finds himself to be mostly a loose collection of animal instincts and a haphazard jigsaw of the the bits of the world that don't seem to want to fit right with himself; all of this sewed up into a body thats more suggestive of physical form than equitable to one. He doesn't know how to even begin to navigate the puzzle of resisting the undertow of the universe as it digs its fingers solidly into the newest and most vulnerable parts of his shared but singular conciousness. The shadows in the hedgerows, the ripples of what's underneath the idea of them, begin to pulsate. They flail. Or it flails, because he can't tell the collective from the distinct anymore, can only watch with awe as the patch of space and time it is currently occupying shimmers, and cracks, and grows, and reaches. Merton swears he can hear it SCREAMING in the back of his head. At the place where his thoughts dissolve into notions less definable by words, and transform instead into a swirling mass of impulses conducted by the now-shrill trans-dimensional, thrumming of the universe's insistent, staticky back beat.

He sees something solidifying in the ectoplasm of that open sore in the flesh of the world. Something besides the thrashing, churning, cult of tendrils reaching out from the places they can squeeze through in the cracks. The sight makes every single one of his hairs stand on end. Which is something, given he has a significant deal more of them now than he usually would. But there is no mistaking what he is seeing being melded together in the eye of that widening miasma. A hand claws its way past the meshing, roiling tentacles of that dark expanse. Pulling itself forward into the physical, out of the theoretical. A set of shoulders struggles past, dragging the other arm in to being along side it, pale and wan. There is a pause, one last still moment before, with repulsion thrumming through every part of him, he focuses on the well of dark magics still spewing forth parts of the creature. He sees the top of a head breech through the dimensional weak spot. The head turns in Merton's direction at his displeased hisses of fright. Merton locks up in immediate, gut-wrenching, horror when the creature gazes back at him, wearing his own face.

‐-----

I'll probably never continue this or even do anything at all w it,, but it was fun! In case you were wondering about the subtext between tommy and merton, yes. gay. Also whats dialague don't know her

[for-ests]

Lost In Your Light: Peter Parker x Reader (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2

[ my masterlist ]

(ugh im sorry my blog was glitching so im re-uploading,, my apologies for everyone on my tag list this version will stay up so give it some love <3) 

CHAPTER 3: SWIMMING 

Like the many nights before, the once chaotic city was now silent.

Yet, something wasn't sitting right with Y/N as she crept between the shadows, her senses tingling, searching far and wide for a desperate soul.

Silent didn’t necessarily mean vacant, but for some odd reason the streets were deserted. The girl could not find anything, not a person crossing the street, not a pigeon with a broken wing. The telepathy link was cold.

Y/N sighed breathlessly, stopping in her tracks. She had been running around for over an hour, miles from home without a single interaction. Most times, she would only be outside for five minutes and she would sense something.

The air hung thick with an unfathomable dread, almost as if someone was watching her. Should she turn back now and try to get some sleep?

That was a good idea. She was tired and had school in the morning. For once, Queens seemed to be peaceful. These days were odd, but they happened every once in a while. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the street, second guessing herself. Was she really alone? It was rare not to be. 

Shaking away her nerves when she was positive nobody was tagging her, the girl turned to head back home. She barely made it down the end of the street before her hands suddenly burst into a bright, golden light. It was so powerful that she could physically feel the heat surging through her veins. It stung, causing her to wince forcefully as she tried to locate the signal.

Pure sensory overload consumed her mind. 

Where was it coming from? Y/N could almost hear the screams of pain in her ears, the agony becoming too much to bear. It was as if she was there, it was like she could feel their souls connecting, the mending soon became the most satisfying one she'd ever felt.

The power seemed to bring her new life, and she was ready to share it with the person or animal in need. Y/N held her hands in the air, her arms shaking from the intensity.

She started to panic.

Where are you? She called out desperately. Tell me!

The answer never came.

The light illuminating across her skin started to fade. The heat radiating off her body cooled.

Just as fast as it had come, the healing touch was gone. And that meant whatever had called out to her was dead.

Her heart felt cold. Almost as frozen as the air.

She had failed.

Y/N hung her head low, clenching and un-clenching her fists, as if doing so would ignite the capability resting in her atoms.

Tears pricked along her eyelids. She hadn't cried since her mom died.

The memory of her mother made her feel just as empty and hollow.

The girl wiped her tears away, wondering what had just happened. That feeling was so beautiful. The glowing, the heat, the connection. She needed to feel it again. And now that it had disappeared, sadness and dread came flooding back. 

No. Not yet. 

Senses alert and eyes focused, Y/N bolted down the street. Tears streamed down her face, but she kept running. She needed to feel that power again. Whatever had happened was an unexplainable experience. She had to know more. Where did it come from?

Y/N kept running as fast as her legs allowed her. She passed multiple trashed lots and run-down houses. Not a single light shown through the abandoned buildings.

She kept running until the lights of Queens were a silhouette in the fog. The cement beneath her feet started to erode. Wider cracks criss-crossed through the pavement. She dodged potholes left and right.

Once she couldn't see in front of her, Y/N came to a stop. Her skin crawled.

Where was she? The girl blinked in confusion. She couldn't recall the last five minutes. It seemed like a blur. The girl pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked maps. Did she really just run another three miles out of town?

Fearful, Y/N stopped breathing. She tried to focus on the sounds around her.

It was complete silence. Not even the crickets were chirping. Her stomach wrenched. She was in the most dangerous part of town, the abandoned part of town. Whatever telepathic link caught her attention had unfortunately come from here. 

Y/N started to panic. Why did it seem like she was alone, yet feel like someone was watching her?

She took another step forward, soles crunching against the uneven payment.

And that's when a whimper echoed down the street. Y/N lifted her head in surprise, her senses erupting with a loud buzz.

She lurched forward with power, stumbling towards the sound. Y/N tried to keep her mending at bay. But she couldn't control it, the golden light starting to leak out of her fingers, floating into the air and swirling in the nighttime breeze.

The girl was in awe, eyes focused on her hands as they pulsed with light. What was happening? She had never felt this robust.

She clenched her fists and advanced forward. She wasn't going to fail this time.

Y/N ran to the end of the street, the power fluttering around her, lighting the way.

She stopped and listened to the sound again. A chain link fence stood in front of her. There was no grass from what she could see, only a sad looking dirt covered lawn. It was parched and littered with trash.

The change of atmosphere was odd. Usually she was in the heart of the city, where most of the abuse happened from public saturation. But now, she was in the middle of nowhere.

Y/N's eyes fell on the master lock a few feet away. She stepped towards it and held it in her hands. It was warm.

Her eyes drifted toward the house, and that's when she noticed a cigarette blunt laying on the ground, still burning.

A curse slipped through her lips. Y/N could feel the dog only yards away, waiting to be rescued. But she could also tell she wasn't alone with the animal. Someone was there.

She debated for only a second, then unhooked the lock from the gate.

It happened in a flash. Her hands were fiddling with the dog's collar before she even had the chance to look at it's face, before she even had the chance to stop herself. 

The sweet pit bull was laying on it's stomach, barely moving. Y/N held its face in her glowing hands and almost gasped. Deep lacerations were visible, covering her black muzzle.

"I’m so sorry.." Y/N empathized, brushing her fingers along the wounds and closing them immediately. After a moment of brief alertness, the pit bull relaxed in her arms. "That's it..." She cooed, checking the dog for any life threatening injuries. But she seemed fine, just thirsty and malnourished. She was in very bad shape. Was this what she had witnessed before? 

Y/N scooped the dog in her arms with ease. It worried her. She was so light, her condition making her useless for fighting. Why was she here? It was obviously a gang hideout. There was no other purpose.

And as if she jinxed it, the front porch lights flickered on.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There were rumors that the electricity on this side of town had been shut off, but apparently that wasn't the case.

The girl started to slowly take steps toward the gate. She kept her eyes locked on the door, her heart racing in anticipation.

And then it flew open, revealing the dog's abusers. Disgruntled middle-aged men, all of them extremely angry to see their dog clutched in a teenage girl's arms.

Y/N bolted. She didn't even look behind her. Though she was almost an adult, she was too naive to contemplate the consequences of her well-mannered actions. Not everyone was kind, not everyone would let something like this go-- because their businesses depended on it, their lives did. 

She had a head start, at least it was something. She was quick, but she knew she couldn't hold the distance forever, especially with a dog in her arms.

She heard the men shouting and cursing. She heard their feet scuffing against the pavement. All five of them were coming after her.

"Fuck.... fuck... fuck fuck fuck!" She gritted her teeth, rounding the block and running back towards the city.

The criminals were hot on her trail. She started to regret her decision as images of her bludgeoned body flashed through her mind. There was no way she could get out of this. She was already exhausted, and she didn't have much energy left, the dog weighing her already sore legs down. They were going to kill her...

Y/N was too panicked and terrified to cry. All she could think about was surviving. And it was her own damn fault.

"Help!" She screamed, voice hoarse from lack of water. Her throat burned with each cry for help. 

"Somebody please help me!" She pleaded, almost stumbling over her own two feet. The main road was closer now, but she still had a ways to go until the police station. She wasn't going to make it.

The pit bull in her arms stirred. It whined softly, as if it was urging the girl to continue. Panting coarsely, Y/N kept up the pace. But with each six steps she took, her pursuers took twelve. She was running out of gas.

She yelled again, this time with more familiar surroundings. She was on the edge of town. Someone had to be around, even this late in the evening. Anyone...

"HELP ME PLEASE!" Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs, the men right on her heels. She heaved hoarsely, shaking with each step she took.

The girl felt like she was running in slow motion. Each step took a great amount of force, but she managed to round an alley corner.

She couldn't move her legs after that. It felt like she was swimming, the air so thick it was if she was inhaling smoke. 

The men were faster, and they surrounded her with ease. Y/N gasped for air, her back touching the brick wall of an abandoned corner-side store, stopping her fully.

This time she got a better view of their faces. Some had beards, some did not. One had no hair. One was wearing sunglasses. They were all different races. There was no way she was going to remember every detail after they raped and beat her into a pulp.

"You stupid bitch." One of them snarled, flicking his switchblade menacingly. "Whatchu on about? You gotta problem with how we run things round here?"

The dog whimpered.

They seemed just as tired, all of them panting heavily with slumped shoulders. Y/N scanned her surroundings just like the time before, but she came up with nothing. Not a single advantage over her attackers.

The tallest man held open his jacket, revealing a pistol holstered on his belt. "We're gonna make this easy okay?"

"You're really going to threaten me with a gun?!" She teased out of nerves, backing even farther down the alley. "Why don't you at least fight me like a man?" The words flew out of her mouth before she could hold her tongue. Y/N had never been so scared in her life, but something about these men made her so angry. She wanted to fight them, and she wanted to win. This situation may be straight out of a nightmare, and her biggest fear; but she wouldn't go down without a fight. There had to be some way out of this, yet her options were stretching thin.

The gang advanced simultaneously. Her words had no effect on them.

"O-or you could leave me alone." She had to stiffen her posture to hide how badly her legs were shaking. 

The obvious leader opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped abruptly by another.

"Didn't you hear the lady?" A voice asked sarcastically. The voice was music to her ears. "Leave her alone!"

All five heads whipped around in annoyance. Y/N's eyes followed their lead, her jaw unhinging at the sight of a masked man.

He was suspending upside down by a clear thread.

Her heart almost stopped beating at the sight of Spider-Man. He was there to save her, like the many others before her. 

There was no way this was happening.

Y/N didn't feel so hopeless after all.

"What the hell?" The man with the gun whipped it out from underneath his jacket and pointed it at Spider-Man, recognizing the individual immediately. He pulled the trigger, sending an ear piercing sound through the alleyway.

Y/N stumbled backwards in shock. The dog yelped in pain.

She fell to the ground, her ears ringing. The girl blinked, eyes focusing on the scene unfolding in front of her.

Bodies flew left and right. She watched punch after punch, kick after kick, but each attempt seemed pathetic compared to the agile and skillful masked man.

As the ringing dissipated, she heard the sound of his sweet laugh. It was weird, out of place, but it seemed youthful and it calmed her down.

Her eyes fell upon the silver pistol, laying just inches from where she was cowering in fear. It kicked her into action.

Y/N set the dog on the ground and weakly picked up the gun. She pointed it at the last standing gang member.

But Spider-Man was faster. The girl watched his foot collide against the criminal's skull, sending him to the ground in less than a second.

Spider-Man turned to her and held up his hands.

She gave him a confused look.

"Can you set down the gun?"

Oh.

Y/N gulped and tossed it down the alley. It skidded against the pavement awkwardly. "I-I..." She stuttered, still exasperated that she was talking to him. He just saved her. This had to be a dream.

"Are you okay?" He asked, stepping closer cautiously.

She was safe.

Y/N blinked away tears, nodding her head furiously. "Y-yes..." She literally thought she was going to die, her heart still pounding in her chest. "Thank you so much... Spider-man." The words sounded so beguiling on her lips. She was very attracted to him, and she didn't even know what he looked like.

She stared at him, blushing like mad as she studied the way his muscles moved flawlessly with each movement. He was so graceful, truly a hero.

The dog limped out of the shadows, as if knowing the fight was over. She looked a little better than before. But Y/N still had some work to do.

"You saved us." Y/N whispered, gesturing to the dog. "Thank you so much."

Spider-Man nodded. He was silent for a moment, as if putting the pieces together. If anyone knew about gang crime, it should be him.

"Did you steal their dog?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulders and leaned down to pet the animal. "Maybe."

"Why?" He asked with a curious tone in his voice. He still hadn't moved.

"Someone had to do something. She was going to die." The girl ran her fingers along a cut on the dog's ear. The wound closed slowly, but Spider-Man didn't seem to notice.

"The dog looks fine to me."

"That's because I healed her." The girl huffed. Did she have to be obvious about it? Why else would she be out on the streets at 2am?

He laughed.

Y/N glared at him. "I'm serious."

"Then show me." He lifted his arm, revealing a deep gash across his torso. It looked like the bullet had grazed him.

The girl stood back up, accepting the challenge. His dialogue was playful and she was still tingling with power.

Spider-Man set his arm down, wincing. He could be hurt in other places too. He had just fought off five men, who were now lying unconscious on the ground. There was no way he came out of that without wounds. She was worried, but made sure to keep her emotions hidden.

"Where else are you hurt?" Y/N asked innocently, even though the indications were clear. His knuckles were bleeding.

He stepped towards her, closing the proximity between them.

Y/N's heart started to race again. She had never healed a human.

Spider-Man lifted his arm again, his face contorting with pain.

The suit had been torn open in multiple places, revealing his glistening white skin. She could feel his muscles underneath the fabric. He was toned beyond belief. She blushed, feeling his gaze on her as she hesitated.

Embarrassed, Y/N kept her eyes away from his, and focused on the texture of the suit. It was rough, but flexible. Only a genius could have made something like it.

She ran her fingers along it to find a seam, and she felt him shudder underneath her touch.

"How are you going to fix your suit?" She asked, ripping it open further to take a look at the whole wound.

"Hey!" He whispered-yelled, almost elbowing her in the face. "What are you doing?!"

"I need to look at the whole wound." Y/N rolled her eyes, pushing his arm back up. "Now stand still."

"I'm a little woozy." He breathed. "You better hurry up with whatever you can do."

The tone in his voice indicated that he still didn't believe her. How annoying.

And with that thought, she channeled the power from deep within.

Y/N gasped, the glowing yellow light seeping from her fingers, much easier than before. She hadn't even felt any pain.

She glanced up at Spider-Man as she worked. He was still, but watching. She couldn't see his reaction because of the mask. She wanted more than anything to pull it off.

She set her hand on his wound.

He flinched.

If fate was real, and controlled by a higher power, she believed they wanted this moment to happen. He was supposed to save her, and she was supposed to heal him.

Y/N's fingers ran across the lacerated edge, commanding it to close.

It did, and the blood flowed back into his body. She pulled her hand away with a smile, proud of her work. Actually, she was overwhelmed with joy, but she managed to hide it. Spider-Man already had to save her, she didn't want him to think she was crazy for being so excited. 

There was a slight indication of bruising, but otherwise, it looked like nothing had happened. There wasn't even a scar.

The girl stepped away, nodding triumphantly.

He stared at her hands as the glowing disappeared.

"Incredible." He whispered, touching the spot where the cut once was. All he ran his fingers across was soft skin.

She glanced at his hands. "May I?"

He nodded, fascinated by her power. His was by accident, but hers—this girl seemed to have been born with a gift.

And she was attractive. A literal angel if he could say it. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and so, so powerful in a way he had never witnessed. 

Being in her presence made him feel dizzy, but that could also be from the loss of blood.

Y/N took his hands in hers. His hands were bigger, rougher, and much more masculine.

She smiled at him. And with ease, relieved him of his bruises. There was a moment of hesitation as she touched his skin. Y/N felt more powerful than ever, a new feeling pulsing through her veins. She felt like she was on fire in the best possible way.

The girl flipped over his palms in shock, just to get a better look at them. Her skin left his, but he didn't notice; he was too infatuated with the girl.

Spider-Man felt a burning sensation, but it was somehow comforting. How did she do it?

Y/N watched his movements closely. "Do you have any more wounds?" She tilted her head, awaiting his answer.

He couldn't speak.

"On your face?" She reached up, inches away from his mask. Spider-Man watched her lips, her tongue glossing over as she stared him down, intently and sensually. The boy’s eyes flickered down, and then up-

His spider senses flared loudly, snapping him out of the trance. His hands shot up and grasped hers.

Her eyes widened, but not in surprise. It seemed she had anticipated his actions.

"It's there for a reason." He warned. But the tone wasn't angry, it was gentle.

He released her, and added, "Thank you."

She grinned, unable to deny the excitement she was feeling. She felt alive. "I'm only giving you what you deserve."

The compliment sent his senses into a frenzy. He had to remind himself that he was in costume, this wasn't like school, this wasn't a silly crush. He had to hold an image in the suit, and he knew that if he spoke-- he would stutter. So to keep that from happening, he remained silent.

They stared at each other for a long time.

"My name is Y/N, by the way."

He turned to leave, but she was persistent.

"What's yours?"

Spider-Man looked over his shoulder. Her eyes twinkled under the dim lighting when he turned back to look at her. He had to admit Y/N was convincing.

But he knew she was different. She was just like him.

So for that advantage only, all emotional feelings aside, he told her.

"It’s Peter."

Her lips curved slightly at the edges. "Well Peter-" His name sounded like a spell when she spoke it. "I'll see you around."

✭✦✭✦✭

Tag list! comment if you want to be added! part 4 will be coming in the next few days

@spn-assemble-seven​ @eridanuswave​ @fallisflame​ @used-avocado​ @pluckypete​ @vanillanestor​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @wherewecomealive​ @magicalturmoil​

[neerasrealm]

as you begged for more, here is a free pass to do another soulmate AU piece. this will appear in your inbox three times. More can be added after asking for it

OK POGGERS thank you for enabling me. Uhh this one is cody and EJ with the ‘‘soulmate can share your thoughts’‘ prompt. im still on the fence about shipping them so maybe its platonic?? idk lol. this is an idea I’ve had for a while tbh. EJ soulmate aus just intrigue me idk why. Enjoy!

‘’Food…’’

‘’Jack?’’

‘’Hunt...’’ 

‘‘Jack?!’’

‘’Eat…’’

‘’Jack!’’ 

He stopped, blinking. Blinking...but he couldn’t see. Not properly. Not the way he was supposed to. He looked around, trying to take in his bearings. He could see...outlines of the things further away. Closer up he could see better. At least- he thought he could. He could see a bench next to him, just the way it should look. Bench...wait, where was he? Was he on his campus? The benches on his campus had metal pieces on the back with things engraved, right? He kneeled onto the bench and reached over to feel for the metal but-

‘’What the-?!’’ 

That. Wasn’t. His. Hand. It was large, and had giant sharp claws on the fingertips. The hand withdrew in shock. Shock, just like Jack felt. He felt something behind him move and he looked over in fear. Behind him was...a tail. A large tail that swished behind him with a soft dragging noise. He could feel it. Weighing at the base of his back, he could control it. He- he had a tail?! He had a tail. Okay. Okay. So- were the claws-? The claws were his. The hand was his and Jack could move it. He kneeled on the bench again, taking note that it creaked under his weight, and reached out towards the metal. He leaned down to it and squinted. He couldn’t- quite make out the lettering. He huffed in frustration and reached over, tracing the outline of the letters with his fingers. Absently he wondered if he’d have to learn braille- what had happened to him…? Why was his sight suddenly so bad?

‘’Jack? You there?!’’

He jumped in surprise at the voice in his head. It was welcome though. The voice...it was a friend. A comfort. The comfort he needed in his confusion. ‘’I’m here.’’ he thought. He didn’t need to speak for the voice to hear him. He just needed to think of the other person and think his words out. 

‘’Oh thank god! I-I thought you died dude!’’ The other voice replied. ‘’Are you okay?! You went quiet after they grabbed you a-and-’’

‘’Grabbed me?’’

‘’You were just yelling! Yelling about food and eating and-’’ 

‘’Cody who grabbed me?’’ 

It was silent for a moment. "...you don't remember?"

"No?" Jack frowned. "What happened…?"

"You-" Cody stopped for a moment. Jack could picture him pacing his room, as he always did when he was nervous. "Okay okay so- Greg told you about a fire in the woods off campus, right? And you decided to go check it out. You ended up at that cave Jenny showed you- y'know, the blonde chick?"

Jack nodded though Cody couldn't see it. "I remember that…" he murmured. It was starting to come back to him now. Walking through the trees, stopping at the cave…

"There was a cult! A fucking cult! And then- and then you went silent. They grabbed you o-or something I don't know!" He heard Cody sniffle and Jack realised he was probably speaking aloud. As long as he was thinking of his soulmate, he could be heard loud and clear. "W-When you woke up you were just screaming! Screaming for help and- and your eye-"

It was all coming back now. Jenny, the cult, his eyes. Panicked, Jack reached up and realised he had a mask on his face. He yanked it off and stared at it. It was blue and flat. Trickling down it from the eyeholes was an inky black substance. Jack dropped it, recoiling in disgust and fear. 

"Jack? You still there…?" Cody's voice pulled him back to earth. He took a few deep breaths and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here." He replied. He reached up to his eyes with shaking hands. He felt something inky and black around his eyes. He gulped and poked where his eye should have been. Nothing. Empty sockets. "C-Cody-" he whimpered. "Cody my eyes. Th- They took my fucking eyes!" 

"Can you see?!"

"Yeah but it's all- d-dark and I can't see properly and I can't even read the bench-!" Jack was shaking now, fat black tears trickling down his face as he sobbed. 

"Hey, hey, dude-! It's okay...it's okay, I'm here-" Cody tried to comfort him. Jack collapsed against the bench, still sobbing. "I'm here dude, it's okay. You're safe now, you're gonna be alright."

Jack sniffled. "C-Cody…"

"Yeah…?"

"I don't think I'm...human anymore…" 

"Huh?" 

Jack took a deep breath. "I have- I have a tail." He gulped. "I have claws- m-my legs- they're bent like an animal's-" sobs started to break again. "I-I'm- I'm a monster-"

"Jack." Cody's voice broke through. "You're not. You're the person I love- you're my soulmate, my best friend…" though he wasn't there, Jack could feel himself relaxing as though Cody was hugging him tight like he'd always promised he would one day. One day, when they were done with college and could find one another. "I'm gonna be here, no matter what. I love you man."

Jack sniffled and nodded. "...okay." he murmured. "I love you too." He curled up on the bench, hugging himself. He reached up and pulled down the hood of his sweater. "...it's gonna be okay…right?’’

‘’I promise.’’

[ahh-fxck]

Chapter 7: Fire and Ice

Hello beautiful hearts! The next chapter of my main AU Warrior’s Blues is up! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) And if you do, like and reblog so that others can read!

The Ao3 link is here!

@stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​ thank you so much! You have been so much more than a beta. Thank you for co-creating this little universe with me through our chats and all of your wonderful questions. You rock!!

Please let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged from the tag list!!

@astouract​ @smolpoe​ @ladyknight-keladry​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl​

Warrior’s Blues

Chapter 7: Fire and Ice

 Morning creeps into the room, slow lazy fingers of light brushing across the rumpled quilt, the clothing tangled on the floor, the soft blue, yellow, and white braided rug covering the wood floor. Daylight also reveals an antique desk underneath a window, piled high with unruly stacks of handwritten documents. There is a trashcan next to it which contains mainly crumpled paper, a few wads of which sit on the carpet forlornly nearby, having not made it in when they were unceremoniously tossed. Towards the back of the messy, quiet room is a large closet whose doors are currently closed. This is probably for the best, as there are visible lumps of fabric peeking along the very bottoms of the white folding closet doors.

 In the bed, two figures sleep, their naked bodies entwined. At some time during the night Jaskier had moved, and was now curled loosely in the curve of Geralt’s body, spine pressed comfortably to Geralt’s ribs, waist trapping his left arm. Geralt is curled softly around him, his face nestled up near the back of Jaskier’s neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs there with every exhale. The sweet scent of his skin and soft, heavy warmth of his body weigh Geralt down, making it difficult to want to waken. A warm haze enfolds him, protecting him, blunting the harsh edges inside of him. He drifts, avoiding consciousness.

 Jaskier stirs some time later, as the room begins to warm and become bright and sweaty in the summer heat. He turns his head against his pillow and yawns, snuggling into the welcome feeling of bare skin at his back.

 Geralt startles a little at the movement, eyes popping open, noticing that he is not in a familiar environment. As consciousness filters in he feels the heavy warmth of the other man on his arm, along his side, sees the soft brown hairs at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, watches them shiver as he breathes. His heart skips a beat and he frowns. Half frightened and half fascinated, he leans forward to brush his lips along the hairs, feeling the prickle of them. He revels guiltily in the warmth of Jaskier’s skin against his lips, his heart twisting as he takes in the soft oaky, soapy smell. The world is trickling back in faster now, and with it, bleak sensations of sorrow and fear.

 “Ah, fuck,” Geralt sighs, without any real rancor. He drops his head back against the pillow and rolls onto his back, his side still pressed up against Jaskier’s skin as if he can’t quite bear to part from him.

 Jaskier lifts his head sleepily. “Hmm?” he murmurs, voice thick. He lets out a yawn and stretches, then rolls over and puts his chin on Geralt’s chest, looking up at him from under his lashes. Despite the morning stubble he looks younger in the morning light, face smoothed by sleep, his fine hair unruly. He combs his fingers lightly through it as he asks, “Everything all right?”

 Geralt looks down at him, terror and profound fondness twisting around inside of him as he gazes into those wide blue eyes. Hesitantly, he runs experimental fingers through the soft short hairs at the back of Jaskier’s head, down along his neck, feeling the light prickle beneath his fingertips. As he does so he gropes for words, golden eyes searching Jaskier’s face as if he will find answers there.

 “I shouldn’t be here,” he grimaces, voice low and rough with sleep. He clears his throat, shaking his head and breaking away from Jaskier’s gaze, glancing to the side to see out the window. There’s not much to be seen through the lacy curtains, just the driveway, Jaskier’s car, and a neighbor's high wooden fence. “This is what got me in trouble in the first place.” He takes his hand off of the back of Jaskier’s neck and scrubs his face with it. The other hand he keeps close to his chest. It aches fiercely, and the bandages on his knuckles need to be changed, but it is far less painful than it was the day before.

 Tilting his head to the side, Jaskier studies his face. “What, being in my bed?” he inquires gently, full well knowing that’s not what Geralt meant. He gets more comfortable on Geralt, unselfconsciously splaying his hand across his lover’s chest, careful not to jostle his injured hand.

 “No.” Geralt grumps, annoyed at Jaskier’s deliberate obtuseness, but obscurely enjoying the gentle touch that accompanies it. The warmth of it is intoxicating and weirdly painful, making his heart ache. He wants to bury himself in it and vanish again, but in the bright light of day it is so much harder to do that.

 “Fucking around like this is what got me fired. I shouldn’t be here.” Geralt struggles to sit up, pushing the sweet heat of Jaskier away from him even though his skin silently cries out at the loss. Jaskier reluctantly lets him, sliding off to the side and pulling the quilt in around his waist. Concerned eyes watch the big man as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and rubs his hand across his white hair, his two day stubble, his pale face. The silence stretches, and Geralt can feel Jaskier behind him, can almost feel him choosing his next words carefully.

 Normally, Jaskier wouldn’t cut right to the chase like this, but he suspects that the big man is about to make a break for it. Praying his words won’t be received the wrong way, Jaskier asks, “Geralt, I hope you won’t mind me being impertinent, but… Is that really true?" He knew that the Army had a long and storied history of coming down on gay soldiers far more harshly than others; Jaskier had seen it too many times, one way or another. Not that Geralt hadn’t done anything wrong; if he had gotten caught with another man in front of a camera, he’d clearly been out of bounds. However, it wouldn’t surprise Jaskier if he had been excessively penalized for something that might have been otherwise swept under the rug.

 Geralt turns to glare over his shoulder at him. “That’s none of your goddamn fucking business,” he growls, face hardening.

 Jaskier spreads his hands out, putting them up in a gesture of surrender. “My mistake,” he says, but he sounds more exasperated than apologetic. “Just… you would not      believe     the amount of inappropriate sex stories I’ve heard from servicemembers. People get caught doing stupid things all the time. I just wondered…” He cuts off abruptly as Geralt growls again, a deep, unfriendly sound that makes the hair on his arms stand up just slightly.

 Geralt glowers at the tousled man sitting on the bed behind him, then down at his fatigue pants on the floor. He wants to get up and walk away from this conversation, but the idea of putting on another pair of fatigues right now actively makes his heart hurt, so he hesitates. Behind him, Jaskier slowly subsides, thankfully silent for another moment.

 It gives Geralt time to think, really think, which he hasn’t given himself much chance to do since being discharged. His eyes trace the folds and contours of his pants on the floor, rage, guilt, and sorrow boiling the inside of his body raw. The untold story sits on his tongue like a lead weight. And at his elbow the steady warmth of Jaskier’s body radiates, warm and reassuring. After a life of service, that warm presence is the only one left. No one else to talk to, no one else to lean on. A sudden surge of loneliness spikes through him, cutting through his anger, and he visibly deflates. Licking his lips, he hesitantly begins to speak. He’s surprised to find himself telling Jaskier the truth, but some part of him so badly needs to hear the words said aloud that he almost can’t stop himself. “I knew better. I… I should have never let him do. Uh. What he did. It was my own fault.” He presses his knuckles against his thick thigh and cracks them nervously. “I deserved to be fired.”

 Jaskier’s face flickers as he processes this and he bites his lip, trying to feel his way across the minefield of a conversation in front of him. He scrubs his own hand across his face sleepily, wishing deep down that this could have waited until after coffee. On some level, though, he knows he brought it on himself. Closeted older men like Geralt didn’t always do well the morning after, even in the best of circumstances. And this? This definitely was not the best circumstances.

 “Mm… that sounds like a very impulsive thing to do,” Jaskier muses delicately. “But was the… uh, sex, really the thing that got you fired?” He leaves this hanging in the air, trying desperately not to push Geralt too hard, not sure if he is succeeding. It is very difficult for him to see a queer man beating himself up like this though. The sheer outrage he feels about the way the Army treats its gay servicemembers is making it very hard for him to hold his tongue or act with discretion. He flinches very slightly as Geralt snarls, but aside from that, refuses to waver, watching Geralt intently. He notices that Geralt begins to flick his fingers rhythmically against his thigh as he thinks, and that the motion seems to calm him.

 Geralt gropes for words, feeling like the air is getting sucked out of the room as he searches. After a long silence, he speaks, his voice thick and low. “You’re trying to ask me if I was fired for...uhm. For being with who I was with. Or if I was fired for being inappropriate. Right?”

 “Yes, love. That’s what I’m asking,” Jaskier replies gently, wanting more than anything to reach out and run his hands over Geralt’s shoulders and back, to soothe some of the pain away. The man’s body is humming with tension though, nasty sparks of it crackling in the air between them, so Jaskier sits back slightly instead to give him room to think. He can see Geralt’s jaw working, clearly uncomfortable to be confronted with the question so baldly. Slowly, Geralt shakes his head. He looks defeated, and Jaskier aches to see his sadness.

 “I don’t know,” he says, and he sounds bone-weary. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.” The words are heavy in his mouth, difficult to get out. In a strange way, as angry as he is, he is also grateful for a chance to talk about it. A lifetime of choking silence feels like it is giving way to something new, though he doesn’t quite understand how yet.

 Jaskier sighs, nodding, then tilts his head to the side and runs his eyes over Geralt’s back again. His heart sinks as he notices for the first time that there is a massive map of thin horizontal scars criss-crossing his back, from his shoulders all the way down what is visible of his buttocks. They are faded, old. Probably from childhood. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, and he looks up at the ceiling quickly to stop them from spilling over his cheeks.

 When he regains control, he swallows a few times, then says, “You’re not bad for… wanting… who you want. The world very much wants queers to think we’re bad for loving the way we do, but there’s no… no      inherent     harm in being interested in other men. No more than there is being interested in women, or anyone else.”

 “Tell that to my commission,” Geralt snaps, still staring at his pants.

 Jaskier grimaces, clenching and unclenching his hands and trying not to let Geralt’s anger throw him. He knows it’s not personal, but he is      so     upset about how unjustly Geralt has been treated that it is hard for him to retain his center. Wrestling with his own discomfort, he looks for something kind to say, and settles on, “Okay… yes. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want… I don’t think anyone should ever think they’re bad for being queer, Geralt. It’s just not… it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you, it’s not fair to anyone else.” He pauses, then adds softly, “I didn’t choose to be the way I am, did you?”

 Geralt’s shoulders sink until he is hunched down, cheek held lightly against his splinted hand, all of the remaining anger draining out of him and leaving him feeling icy and frozen inside. Slowly, slowly, he shakes his head ‘no.’

 The way he unconsciously pulls in after he shakes his head, like he is expecting to be hit, makes Jaskier’s stomach plunge. Unable to help himself, Jaskier reaches out to Geralt, but he twists out from under Jaskier’s hands with the speed of instinct. Jaskier leans back immediately, guessing how deeply upset the other man must be given how badly his own heart is racing. His lips thin in frustration and sadness. He pulls his hands back into his lap, eyes tracing over the scars on Geralt’s back helplessly as he thinks.

 “Well… I didn’t either. And neither did Yarpen, or any of the people you worked with or served in my bar. I don’t know who told you what, Geralt, but…” Jaskier sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Look. In my house, you’re safe. No one’s here but me, and I’m not going to terrorize you. Ok? You can work out the rest later when you’re ready.” He slides his legs over the side of the bed, sitting carefully next to Geralt without touching him. Giving the other man an awkward little smile, he adds, “That is, if you don’t run away screaming. Was this all too much for you?” He gestures vaguely at the bedroom, including himself in the gesture, recalling the intimacy of the night before.

 Much to Geralt and Jaskier’s mutual surprise, Geralt begins, quietly, to chuckle, a hollow painful sound. He puts his face into his hand, covering his eyes, and shakes his head. “Oh… I don’t know, Buttercup,” he groans, Jaskier smiling slightly as he hears the nickname.

 “I feel like I’m going fucking crazy,” Geralt confesses. “I feel like I died and just haven’t stopped walking yet, and I’m wondering when I’m going to drop. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me anymore.” He presses on his eyes until he can see stars, trying to process everything he’s feeling, feeling like he’s drowning in icy water instead. He sits, caught in a whirl of gnawing guilt and profoundly lonely hunger. Everything he’s ever thought he was is falling out from under him, leaving him disoriented and desperately craving safety.

 Feeling powerless, Jaskier sits at his side, wishing that he knew the magic words to make it better. He’d make it all go away in a heartbeat, if only he knew how.

 After a moment, Geralt heaves a deep sigh and continues, “And I know I should regret…” he pauses, groping for words. He settles lamely on, “Last night. I know I should regret you. But I… Hmm.” And he reaches out suddenly and grabs Jaskier’s hand, surprising himself. He feels like he’s tearing in two, but he craves a return to the sunny warmth of Jaskier’s touch so badly that it doesn’t matter. The heat of Jaskier’s hand in his own makes Geralt’s hungry skin sing  .  Jaskier startles, but not unpleasantly. Then he lightly squeezes his hand back, a crooked smile lighting his face. Geralt grimaces, guilt and shame and desire causing his cheeks to heat and his heart to freeze, but he doesn’t let go.

 “Thank you, I think?” Jaskier laughs softly, and Geralt ducks his head, embarrassed. “For what it’s worth, I very much do not regret being with you, either.” He gives Geralt a frank, curious look, running his finger over Geralt’s knuckles. Geralt twitches and pulls away, but when Jaskier stops rubbing, he allows his hand to fall back into Jaskier’s. He lifts his head slightly, watching his kind lover out of the corner of his eye, his expression guarded.

 Jaskier catches Geralt’s eye and smiles at him, warm as the morning sun. “Thank you for your trust, dear heart. For your body, for your… mm, everything.” His eyes flicker fondly over Geralt’s naked, scarred body beside him, and his smile widens ever so slightly. “I so very much want to do it again sometime.” He gives Geralt’s hand a little squeeze, and Geralt feels warmth race up his arm, making his heart skip and flutter despite the gnawing icy ache.

 “Maybe some coffee and a shower first, though, hmm? And we’d promised we’d have a bit of a talk,” Jaskier gently releases Geralt’s hand and stands up. “You’re welcome to use my shower, love, it’s right through that door. I’ll go put towels out for you and get some coffee going.” Stepping carefully around the tangle of clothing on the floor, Jaskier snags some boxer briefs out of a dresser.

 Geralt watches as he hops into them awkwardly, taking in the long muscular lines of his body as he wrestles with his undergarments, oddly charmed by his gawky movements. He twists between shame and longing as his eyes linger on Jaskier’s strong hips and firm ass, finds himself already craving the soft heat of his skin once more even as some part of him quietly insists that he is broken for wanting it.

 Jaskier, oblivious, slips through a door near the foot of his bed that Geralt hadn’t noticed in the dark. There’s sounds of rummaging, of running water, and then Jaskier emerges and flashes Geralt another brief smile before vanishing out the bedroom door.

 Geralt watches Jaskier go, at a loss for words. His hand is still warm from Jaskier’s touch, tingling and prickling where their skin was in contact. He flexes it thoughtfully, eyes turning to the door of Jaskier’s bedroom, listening to the distant sounds of bustling coming from the kitchen. The heat of the man’s presence is like sunlight, and without him the room feels colder, empty.

 He turns his head to take in the messy bedroom, finally registering all of the crumpled laundry on the floor, the paper outside the wastebasket, the lumps of fabric peeking out from under the closet door. The mess causes him to glower, makes him feel itchy under his skin. He wonders silently how Jaskier lives like this, with socks scattered on the floor like leaves. His own crumpled clothing lies near his feet.

 Giving it a guilty grimace, he picks it up and smooths it out, folding it and placing it on the bed in a neat pile before heading naked over to the half-open master bathroom door. After military school, much less the Army, walking bare in a stranger's room barely phases him. What does bother him, though, is his skin. It pulls where come has dried on it, and he brushes his fingers over his hip musingly as he walks. The touch conjures a little flash of memory, of Jaskier's head thrown back in the moonlight. He flinches and draws his hand back, overwhelmed.

 The first thing he sees in the surprisingly clean bathroom is a white sink under a mirrored medicine cabinet. It is fitted to a blue tiled wall. The cleanliness is a welcome contrast to the chaos of the master bedroom, and Geralt finds himself relaxing slightly. Immediately next to the sink is a tall white cabinet with several small doors, dividing the sink from the tub. The tub itself is huge, both deep and long, more than large enough for even a big man like Geralt to sink into and get a good soak. Draped over the edge of it is a large light blue towel, soft and fluffy, with a hand towel, a washcloth, and a fresh unopened plastic razor sitting on top of it. At the very end of the bathroom, built between the large tub and the wall, is a shower stall enclosed in rippled glass. It is steamed over, the water inside already running.

 Geralt takes all this in numbly, feeling like his insides are slowly becoming one great big block of ice. The gnawing feeling that this isn’t where he should be sets in deeper now that he is alone, feeling out of context in this cozy, welcoming bathroom. Still, he needs a shower, and a shave, and he can’t think of a better way to go about getting them. So he goes over to the towel and picks up the razor. Every step he takes across the bathroom sees him sink deeper into chilly, crushing depression, an uncomfortably familiar part of washing a lover off of his skin.

 He barely sees the inside of the stall, tuning it out as he goes through the motions of cleansing himself, careful to keep his injured hand as dry as possible. He uses the little mirror hanging on the wall to clumsily shave his face. The inability to perform his usual shaving routine makes him feel so tense that his shoulders and stomach physically ache, but the idea of the stubble overtaking his face is far worse, so he fumbles his way through until he is finished. When he is done he is nicked in several places, but finally feels clean. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he rinses and exits the shower.

 As he exits, he hears music playing in the other room, far quieter than yesterday, upbeat and cheery. “ Roam, if you want to…    ” he hears a woman sing, “All around the world…” The song is unfamiliar, but pleasant enough. He snags the towel and rubs himself dry with it, listening to the rustles and scrapes of Jaskier in the main living space. When he is dry, he wraps the towel and around his waist, leaving the bathroom. What he sees causes him to draw up short, depression snapping suddenly into irrationally potent rage. On the floor near the foot of the bed is a box, marked “Clothing.” On top of it are the attic keys.

 “Jaskier!” He barks out, his voice cutting across the house like a gunshot. “What the everloving  fuck is this?” His jaw clenches as he stares at the box on the floor. He hears a muffled swear from the other room, indistinct through the music, and then Jaskier’s feet thumping rapidly across the wood floor to the bedroom door.

 Jaskier opens it and gives Geralt a worried look, unsure why he’s been yelled at. “Geralt! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you, I just thought you wouldn’t want to put your dirty clothes back on…” he trails off, visibly withering under the weight of Geralt’s thousand watt glare.

 “Don’t. Touch. My. Things.” Geralt grates out, standing stiffly over the box. “Did you touch anything? What did you touch?” He rounds on Jaskier, and Jaskier shrinks back, face going from worried to ‘oh shit,’ blue eyes wide and startled.

 “Oh god nothing, Geralt, I’m really sorry, I promise that’s the only box I touched,” he replies, looking a bit panicked. Studying the tension in Geralt’s body, he brings his hands up in a gesture of unconditional surrender. “I swear, I didn’t even look,” he promises. “I just grabbed the one box and came straight downstairs, I haven’t even looked inside it. I promise I was just trying to help.”

 “Don’t help me.” Geralt snaps, turning away from Jaskier. He considers the box for another moment, weighing his options. Though he is furious, rationally, there is no real harm in what Jaskier has done, providing that none of his other boxes has been touched. He settles on snarling, “Get out of here. I need to get dressed. And…” he turns back, giving Jaskier such a menacing look that Jaskier takes a step back, “If you so much as fucking touch anything else of mine, we will have a fucking problem. Got it?”

 “Got it,” Jaskier gulps. “I’m really s-”

 “Go!” Geralt barks. Jaskier startles and exits quickly, cursing under his breath. Geralt grumbles and kneels down, picking up the box and setting it on the bed, catching the keys as they slide and setting them back on the neatly folded pile of his fatigues. He feels obscurely guilty for the amount of rage he took out on Jaskier, but also quite justified in telling the spoony little bastard to stay away from his personal things.

 Still muttering, he opens the lid to the box. As he pulls it aside he falls silent. Inside are his clothes from his first few years in the Army, undisturbed as promised. They look like they will still more or less fit him. White, crisp, short-sleeved button down shirts. Plain khaki pants. Belts. Even some rolled up dress socks that he had barely worn but felt bad about discarding.

A jet engine roared behind him as he strode confidently off of an air strip, dispersing from a column of men and heading for a steel door on the side of a tan building. Over his shoulder was thrown a duffel sack, and on his head was a neat black beret. Gold bars shone on his shoulders, showing his rank of Second Lieutenant. It was his first day on the foreign base, and he was reporting for duty.  

As he approached the door, it banged open. From within the building emerged a slight woman with a mass of curly dark hair trapped in a neat braid, an exasperated-looking man at her heels. She was dressed in an impeccable black blazer and slacks with a white blouse underneath, a pass pinned to its lapel that identified her as press. And as she barged around him, snapping, “Move it, boot!” he could see that her eyes were a startling shade of violet. He stumbled back, surprised, making way for her and her companion.  

The man following her was broad-shouldered and brown, with a closely shorn head of dark hair. He had an easygoing-looking face with a short beard, pockmarked cheeks, and kind eyes. He was wearing fatigues, and had the same press pass as the woman clipped to his tan shirt. Over his shoulder was slung a black bag, and over his neck hung a worn camera case. As he passed Geralt, he gave him a friendly wink.  

Geralt turned, watching them head across the tarmac, feeling like he’d been hit between the eyes with a hammer. Never in his entire life had he seen a woman like that, one that made his heart race just seeing her. And on the air, surrounding him, was the smell of lilac and gooseberries.  

He feels a lump rising in his throat as he reaches into the box, fingering the empty shoulders of his white shirt where the insignia used to be pinned. The anger is draining away, turning back into something cold and weary as he looks over the old clothing. Then he pulls the shirt out, flaps it once to unfold it, and begins putting it on. It is very slightly tight across the chest and shoulders, but still fits. He reaches next for pants, lost in memory.

As he stumbled into the darkness of the building, feeling caught off balance, a voice snapped from down the hallway, “Rivii! Is that you? Get your dumb fucking ass in here!” His stomach plunged with a sudden sensation of dread. That was an ominous way to be greeted by a commanding officer he hadn’t even met yet.  

     “Yes, sir!” he called down the hallway, speeding up to a neat trot and coming to a halt in front of the older man glaring in an open doorway. Snapping off a crisp salute, he said, “Second Lieutenant Rivii, reporting for duty, Sir.” The older man’s lip curled, and he grunted, stepping back into his office.  

     “You’re late,” he said to Geralt, who was not, in fact, late. Geralt suppressed a grimace, keeping his face carefully wooden as he watched the Captain stride across the room and sit behind a desk with an expression like a sour old bulldog. “Well?” he barked.  

     “Sorry, sir, won’t happen again sir.” Geralt replied cautiously, not sure exactly what was expected of him. This was not how he wanted his first day on the job to look. He planted his feet and placed his hands behind his back in parade rest, eyeing the other man stoically, waiting to see what was in store. What was in store for him turned out to be the lecture of a lifetime. The Captain chewed into him like a buzzsaw, taking him pre-emptively to task for every fuck-up he was likely to make as a green officer, plus a few unlikely ones that left him quietly impressed at whoever must have come before him. He made a mental note to find out what an ibex was.  

     As the Captain wound down, he pulled his attention back in, hands still held behind his back, shoulders thrown stiffly back. “...And the last thing,” the Captain barked. “Is that you will be taking that bitch from the AP off my hands. She is now officially your problem, Rivii. You keep that woman so happy she’s shitting rainbows, or I will have your commission. Got it?”  

     The sinking feeling that Geralt had been experiencing this entire conversation turned to cold dread. That woman was… the least happy looking woman he had ever seen. Oh fuck. “Yes sir,” he replied, carefully impassive.  

     “Good!” Snapped the Captain, turning to the papers on his desk. “You’re dismissed. Report to the barracks.” He gave Geralt a nasty smile. “Then, you better track that press bitch down before she wreaks havoc around here. Now get the fuck out of my office!”  

 He pulls on his pants, also a little tight around the hips but not unbearably so. They won’t do for long, but they will be fine until he can buy some civilian clothing. Out in the main room he can hear something sizzling, and the smells of good coffee and breakfast cooking are starting to reach him. He finishes dressing, slipping on the belt and socks, before sitting back down on the bed next to the box.

     “Oh, you’re here to keep me happy?” The woman’s lip curled. “Might have to kiss that shiny new commission of yours goodbye, pretty boy. I guarantee I am about to make your life a living hell.” She turned away and Geralt started to follow her awkwardly, not sure how to handle this situation. “Oh for the love of-” she snapped, turning back to face him. “If you follow me around this whole base, how am I supposed to get anything done?”  

     “I’m supposed to help you, ma’am.” He looked embarrassed, and the dark haired man standing behind the woman grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I uh, can’t leave you unsupervised.”  

     “Fuck.” She muttered. “Fine, then, follow me. I have people to interview.” And before he could protest, she snapped an itinerary out of the bag at her hip and shoved it in his face, where he could see the official Army seal and a scribbled signature. “Don’t start. Where’s the Major?”  

     With a sinking feeling, Geralt gestured up the hallway. The woman took to her heel immediately, the man with the big bag falling in behind her. Geralt hesitated for just a moment. “Let’s go, Skippy! We haven’t got all day! ” the woman’s voice cracked out, startling him into motion. He jogged to catch up, swearing under his breath. Army upbringing had led him to expect a hard life in the service, but this? This he was not prepared for.  

     “Fuck my life,” he grumbled.    

 Slowly, he rummages through the rest of the box, checking to make sure everything is still in place. His anger has cooled considerably now he is sure that everything is in order. He relaxes slightly, sighs, and rubs his hand across his face again. The lack of stubble is an enormous relief, the sensation of his shaved skin under his palm serving to soothe him further. Placing the lid back on the box, he stands and pockets the attic keys, then grabs his shoes. He quietly slips out of the bedroom and heads for the front door without Jaskier noticing. Fumbling on his boots, he ducks out the door and into the hot summer morning air.

 The wet New England summer hits him like a soggy, steaming blanket as the door closes behind him. Grimacing in disgust, Geralt heads around the side of the house. By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, he feels like his shirt is already sticking to him. He opens the door to the attic loft, feeling his stomach twist nervously, half expecting to see his things scattered all over the attic. Much to his intense relief, however, he can see that everything looks absolutely untouched. The box of letters on the bed is still closed, hasn't moved an inch. Every other item is still where he put it.

 He heaves a quiet sigh of relief and drops the box of clothing next to the dresser. Then he snags his bag, fishing out his deodorant and a clean pair of underwear from its depths. As he paws through it, he sees the sheaf of letters that he keeps carefully tucked at the back, and hears the jingle of his dog tags at the bottom of the sack. He’d taken them off when he was discharged, stuffed them in his bag. Not ready to confront either of these things, he leaves them in their places and heads to the bathroom.

 When he is done, he grabs his dress loafers out of their box before he heads back downstairs. He slips them on as he heads out the door. They are stiff, and shiny, but also significantly easier to get on and off than his boots were. The anger he was feeling has faded to a faint buzz of frustration, barely noticeable over the background of icy depression which has resumed its grip on his body.

 As he slips in the front door, music washes back over him, the house filled with the pleasant sound of people singing in chorus, “If you need me, let me know. Gonna be around, if you've got no place to go, when you're feeling down...” He eases the door closed, disliking the “thump” it makes when closed normally, and toes his loafers off next to Jaskier’s unruly collection of shoes in the entryway. Quietly, he pads across the house to the kitchen, towards the coffee smells, towards Jaskier, who is singing and dancing in his underwear and bare feet while he watches something on the stove.

 Jaskier is holding a coffee cup, which he sips occasionally between snatches of song. He lifts the lid of the pan on the stove, curses as he burns himself on the steam, drops the lid and sucks his fingers, then tries again. This time he is apparently more successful, because he nods in satisfaction. The steam smells good, eggy and rich.

 Geralt approaches on habitually silent feet, coming to rest at the corner of the kitchen island. He clears his throat carefully, trying not to startle Jaskier too badly. This… utterly fails. Jaskier’s hands fly up, coffee mug dropping to the floor and shattering, hot coffee splashing all over the kitchen floor.

 “Fucking Jesus! Geralt! Where the hell did you come from?!” he gasps, putting his hand over his hammering heart. Geralt, nearly as startled as Jaskier, gives him a wide-eyed look, eyes traveling between Jaskier’s wide-eyed face and the shattered coffee mug on the floor.

 “Um.” Geralt manages awkwardly, at a loss for words. Coffee drips from the hair on Jaskier’s legs, and his bare feet are surrounded by little ceramic shards. Embarrassed, Geralt kneels down and begins picking them up. Jaskier goes to move and Geralt makes a little gesture, indicating that he should stop before he cuts himself. The look Jaskier gives Geralt is a little wild-eyed, but he complies, holding still while Geralt gathers the worst of the shattered cup up off of the floor.

 “Sorry,” he rumbles apologetically. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He stands with easy grace, moving around the other side of the kitchen island to where he saw Jaskier stow the trash can near the back door last night. “I’m quiet on my feet.”

 “You are…  not wrong,” Jaskier gasps, gaping at his dripping legs. “Fuck, Geralt! How did you even get that quiet?!” He grabs the dish rag off of the stove and begins to gingerly wipe his legs off, trying not to move his bare feet and step on any of the shards. Then he shakes his head, muttering, “Sorry, stupid question, I just…”

 Geralt kneels down in front of him carefully, trying to get in his line of sight before making eye contact. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, lips quirking in a little half-smile. He holds his hand out for the towel, and Jaskier hands it over to him, still slightly flustered. Geralt very carefully wipes the last of the broken cup away from Jaskier’s feet.

 Jaskier watches him kneeling there, broad shoulders moving beneath the white button down. Darting his tongue across his lower lip and trying to restart his brain, he stutters, “It’s ok. Um. Jesus fuck, Geralt, I’m going to have to put a bell on you.” He breaks out in a flustered grin, watching as Geralt rises and goes to the bin. He shakes the towel out as best he can and sets it on the counter gingerly, then goes to wash his hand in the sink. Jaskier rakes his hair out of his eyes and looks him over.

 “Are you ok? No cuts?” He turns back to the stove, returning his attention to the pan.

 “I’m fine. Are your feet okay?” Geralt asks, keeping his eyes on his hands.

 “Fine, thanks to you,” Jaskier hums pleasantly, cutting a frittata apart in the cast iron pan and beginning to serve it. “And… look, about your stuff-”

 “Stop.” Geralt grumps, frowning. “It’s over.”

 “I just wanted to ap-”

 “Stop! Just don’t touch it again,” Geralt snaps, shaking his wet hand off and looking around for a towel. With a slightly wounded look on his face, Jaskier fishes one out of a drawer and hands it to him. Geralt takes it, his face falling a little when he sees the look on Jaskier’s face. His habits of speech could be anywhere from rough to downright unfriendly, especially when he was upset, but he hadn’t meant to hurt or scare him. He grimaces and dries his hand off, passes the towel silently back to Jaskier, and goes to sit down on the stool he picked the night before. Settling onto it, he fiddles with his bandage, feeling guilty and wrong-footed.

 Jaskier eyes him uncertainly for a moment, looking like he’s about to say something but then biting it back. Instead, he brings him a fresh mug of coffee and a plate with a quarter of ham and green onion frittata. There’s cheddar on top, and Jaskier pushes over salt and pepper grinders so that Geralt can season it. After serving himself and getting a new mug, he settles in on his own stool and eyes Geralt warily.

 Geralt avoids his eyes and digs into his breakfast, embarrassed. After the MREs and mess hall food he had been subjected to in Somalia, the eggs are just this side of heavenly. He tries to eat this meal a little more slowly than the dinner of the night before, forcing himself to slow down and chew. There’s no rush, and although everything feels desperately unfamiliar, he also gets the sense that he is genuinely safe.

 “This is really good. Thank you,” Geralt mumbles, poking a piece of egg around with his fork, still embarrassed.

 Jaskier looks up over his mug and the corners of his bright eyes crinkle. He takes a long sip of his coffee, gaze softly roaming over Geralt. He seems more relaxed now, the dangerous tension mostly gone from his frame, and Jaskier finds himself slowly relaxing too. “You’re very welcome,” he responds, warming back up. “I really enjoy having the excuse to cook, I let myself get lazy being on my own. Too many frozen pizzas after the bar,” he drawls, and chuckles. “They’ll be the death of me but I love them.”

 “Don’t you get home at three or four in the morning?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow.

 “Yes, don’t judge me!” Jaskier laughs. “Sometimes pizza and wine is the only way to wash down coming home at that ungodly hour.” He pauses and takes a sip of coffee, waving his long hands about. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my bar almost as much as I love breathing, but the schedule can be awful when the books come due.”

 “What, you do them in the middle of the night?” Geralt shakes his head, forking up the last of his frittata.

 “Well of course! Best time, when it’s all quiet and I don’t have any excuses to run off and avoid them,” Jaskier laughs. “There’s too many better things I could be doing during the day.”

 “Hmm,” Geralt chuckles, shaking his head again in disbelief. “Sounds like a terrible plan.”

 “Well, when you start running the bar, I’ll take your opinion into account,” Jaskier says lightly in return, a teasing grin playing about the corners of his mouth. “Speaking of which… What are your plans, now that you’re back in the States?”

 The smile falls off of Geralt’s face and he looks down at his mug. He flashes on the boxes upstairs again and feels an icy rush of guilt that rolls across him like freezing water. Jaskier eyes him, then stands and takes Geralt’s plate back to the stove. He refills it with another portion of frittata and pushes it across the island to Geralt, before settling back in with his coffee to wait for his answer.

 Geralt takes the plate back, grateful for something to focus on other than Jaskier’s inquisitive look, simmering with shame and disquiet. Using his fork to poke at the frittata, slowly pulling it apart, he waits for words to come. “Uh... “ he sighs deeply, shaking his head. “I don’t have any plans yet. I need to find my truck, I need to renew my US driver’s license…” he shrugs uncomfortably. “Need to get a hotel room or something. Find a job. A place. Figure myself out.” His stomach turns sharply as these words leave his mouth, feeling like they burn his lips. The future stretches out in front of him in painful relief, new and alien and empty.

 Jaskier nods, rubbing his coffee mug back and forth absentmindedly on his lower lip. He takes a drink, then sets it down. “Your truck’s been towed by now, I should imagine. I have a phone book you can use. I think I even remember which tow service the city usually uses.”

 Geralt grunts, nods, takes a bite of his frittata. It’s cheesy and warm, deeply comforting flavors that help anchor him to the here and now. He chews in awkward silence, studying his plate. To be perfectly honest, he had no clue how he was going to land a job with a dishonorable discharge on his record. People who would take an older veteran like himself on faith were thin on the ground, as far as he knew. He starts in surprise when Jaskier speaks again.

 “You’re welcome to stay in the attic while you get your legs under you,” he tells Geralt, gesturing to the house with an open hand. “No need to waste money on a hotel. Not forever, mind you, but I should think a few days won’t hurt. My house is a little too quiet with just me in it anyway.”

 Geralt lifts his head and looks at Jaskier, surprised and a little wary. “You don’t know me. Why would you do that?”

 Jaskier cocks his head to the side, pondering his answer. He runs his fingers over the edge of the coffee mug, back and forth, back and forth, then puts it down and leans his elbows on the counter. “Because I can. Because it’s a nice thing to be able to do for someone.” He smiles again, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “And because I like you.”

 Geralt flushes and looks away, grabbing his coffee and taking a long drink, grounding himself with the feeling of hot bitter liquid on his tongue. He feels grateful, confused, even a little alarmed by the offer. He also can’t think of anywhere safer to go, not with everything he’s lost. Besides… The idea of being near Jaskier longer feels inexplicably good, despite all of his misgivings. Warming. Groping for words, he settles on grunting into the mug, “It’s your funeral.”

 Jaskier laughs at that, unphased. “It’s my pleasure, darling.” He goes quiet for a moment, watching Geralt as he eats. Then he says, “You should consider getting your server’s permits, too.” Jaskier nudges him lightly with his toe. “I was really impressed by how you handled the bar during rush. People who’ve been serving for years don’t stay as cool-headed as you did. How did you learn to mix drinks?”

 Geralt blinks, not sure he heard Jaskier properly. “Server’s permits?” he asks dumbly.

 “Server’s permits, that’s what I said! Food and drink! I can take you down to the city center to get the process rolling, it’s not far from here.” Jaskier replies. “I still need a server down at the Peg. Maybe you could try it… even just for a few weeks. Until you find something better. It’ll give you something recent on your resume, if nothing else,” he points out, then rises, asking, “More coffee?”

 “Please,” replies Geralt, grateful for the opportunity to process what Jaskier just said. He holds out his cup and Jaskier refills it, then his own, with nutty, fragrant coffee. Taking another long swallow of the hot beverage to clear his head, he reflects upon Jaskier’s offer. After a few beats of silence, he speaks again.

 “I um… didn’t like most of my co-workers very much, so I spent a lot of time in bars when I wasn’t working,” Geralt reveals, flashing his canines in an unpleasant smile. “Got to know the bartenders. Finally got a mixology manual from one of them because I was asking so many questions, and I got hooked.” He shrugs one muscular shoulder, looking out Jaskier’s kitchen window at the shady, ratty yard out behind his house. “Memorized that one when I was in Israel. Next one when I was in Lebanon.” Taking another long sip of coffee, he continues. “Gave me something to focus on that wasn’t... I don’t know. Wasn’t death, I guess. And,” he pauses and shakes his head with a little shrug, "it gave me something to talk about with the bartenders. They make better conversation than most soldiers do. Better friends, too, as far as that goes."

 Jaskier tips his head to the side, listening. “Sounds lonely,” he muses, rubbing his foot against his ankle and playing with his coffee mug. Geralt snorts softly into his own mug and nods.

 “It was,” he agrees, watching the dark liquid swirl in his cup as he turns it. After a long silence he queries, “What makes you think I’d be a good employee? I just got fired from my last job.”

 Jaskier frowns. “Why wouldn’t I? Did you have any other major interruptions in your career?”

 Geralt glances up at him, surprised. “No…” he admits, eyeing Jaskier.

 “And how old are you, mid-forties? No, don’t answer that, it’s not important,” Jaskier waves his hand, taking a quick sip of his coffee and then continuing. “Point is, I guarantee you I’ve never had anyone else with a job history as stable as yours working in my bar, darling. Unless I’m missing some terrible secret, I’d hazard a guess that you’d be a wonderful asset to our little crew.” He gives Geralt a friendly look. Geralt looks back at him in bewilderment.

 Geralt is accustomed to many things, but being trusted so deeply and immediately is not one of them. It’s disorienting. Much to his horror, he feels a deep blush creeping up the collar of his shirt and making a bid for his cheeks. Turning his attention back to his coffee, he tries to get his bearings. Jaskier watches him kindly, turning his mug in his hands.

 “I don’t understand,” Geralt settles on saying, looking down at his plate. He feels so warm under that gaze that it makes it hard to think, much less answer a question like that clearly. Jaskier smiles gently as he replies.

 “I’m trying to hire you, Geralt. Was I not being clear?” Jaskier teases lightly. To his surprise as well as Geralt’s own, Geralt cracks a smile. The white-haired man shakes his head, still staring into his coffee.

 “Let me think about it?” he says finally.

 “Ah, of course, darling!” Jaskier exclaims warmly. “Do you still want me to take you to get the permits? Just in case?” He forks up the last of his frittata, then stands and takes his dishes to the sink. While he waits for Geralt to answer he begins to rinse the dirty dishes and prepare them for the dishwasher. Behind him, Geralt licks coffee off of his lips and watches Jaskier move, eyes playing over the bare skin of his long back and broad, muscular shoulders.

 “Sure,” he says, finally, and downs the last of his coffee. What the hell. His life had gone to fucking hell in a handbasket. While he felt too vulnerable to just say yes, the offer at least held up some kind of hope for his otherwise alarmingly blank future.

 He shakes his head and pulls his plate close, cleaning the last of his breakfast off of it hungrily. "I'm going to get fat if you keep feeding me like this," he grumbles, standing with his dishes and rounding the island to take them to the sink.

 Jaskier takes them with a sunny smile, tilting his head to catch Geralt’s golden eyes with his own. “I somehow doubt that,” he says, a little playful purr at the very edge of his voice. Geralt looks quickly up at the ceiling, not sure how to react but enjoying the feel of Jaskier’s warmth nearby. Jaskier gently elbows him, smiling to himself as he rinses the dishes.

 “The phone book is right next to the phone, darling.” He gestures behind him to the section of wall between his bedroom door and the kitchen, where there is a low wooden bookshelf with a phone sitting on top. “I think the towing company’s called Meehan’s.” Teetering somewhere between gratitude and embarrassment, Geralt nods his thanks and crosses to the telephone.

 What follows is a frustrating and instructive hour in the vagaries of municipal administration. Jaskier was right about the usual tow company’s name, but it turns out they were not the ones contracted for the industrial neighborhood Geralt left his truck in. Grumbling, Geralt takes down a few numbers with the pad and pen next to the phone, then begins his hunt.

 By the time Geralt has found his truck, he is boiling with frustration. The rest of the morning and much of the afternoon is consumed with visits to various government buildings to deal with paperwork. The evening is taken over by the ordeal of retrieving Geralt’s ancient truck, which obliges eventually to start at the tow yard. Geralt drives it all the way back to Jaskier’s home with the heater on high and the windows all the way open, a grueling trip in the thick summer evening heat.

 By the time they arrive back at the house, Geralt is miserable and covered in sweat, and Jaskier is running late to get to the bar. While Geralt showers upstairs and changes into fresh clothing, Jaskier quickly reheats some dinner for Geralt. By the time he comes downstairs, Jaskier is dressed in clean clothing and is pulling his shoes on by the door. He pauses before he leaves to squeeze Geralt’s arm fondly, indicating where dinner sits on the kitchen island and letting him know that he is welcome to pour himself some wine and make himself at home. Then he flits away, leaving Geralt standing in the entryway.

 Geralt watches the door close behind him, feeling a little at loose ends. He trails through the darkened house, coming to rest in the pool of light that is the kitchen. The meal is leftover chicken and potatoes from the night before, still delicious the second time around. He hunts around in the kitchen drawers for a corkscrew, helps himself to some wine, and settles in at the island to eat his meal. The house feels smaller somehow, less full of life without Jaskier in it. His depression, which he has been holding at bay for most of the day, now returns to quietly envelop him as he eats.

 The bottle of wine and the food both vanish silently in the cooling emptiness of the kitchen. When he is done, Geralt carefully rinses the dishes and places them in the dishwasher, then seeks out the recycling and dumps the wine bottle into it. This done, he dithers in the kitchen. The upstairs loft and its bed beckons, but he isn’t tired, and the idea of spending time in the company of reminders of loss and failure makes him feel like he can’t breathe. He can’t ever go home, and he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

 Instead he scans the house, searching for something to do that won’t leave him feeling like he is choking on cold water. The books, normally a draw, look like too much effort to read. The CD player looks a little out of his league, and after browsing Jaskier’s music collection (heavy on ABBA, light on the hand drumming Geralt prefers,) he gives up on that, too. Finally, his eyes settle on the television. There was almost always one running somewhere on base. While he’d never particularly gotten into watching it, he knew that sometimes it could be oddly soothing. Opening another bottle of wine and grabbing his glass, he brings them over and sets them on the little end table near the couch, grabs the remote, and flicks it on.

 There isn’t much to watch at this time of night, and he ends up settling on some awful show he can’t follow about a kung-fu cowboy. It’s meaningless, and numbing. It’s something he can at least drink wine to while he watches it. The depression settles slowly into a gnawing background torment, and in it, he eventually finds a kind of quiet. After the show ends, he finds something else. When that ends, he eventually settles on a late night Looney Tunes rerun, which is at least familiar. He empties the wine bottle slowly as he watches, and when he is done, he disposes of it carefully and washes his glass before returning to the couch.

 Jaskier finds him there some hours later when he returns from the bar, the television still flickering across his sleeping face. His injured hand is cradled against his chest, and the shadows under his eyes are deep in the pale light from the screen. Tsking softly, Jaskier turns off the television and brushes his fingers carefully over Geralt’s left wrist, waking him without startling him.

 “Hey,” he whispers, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at the exhausted man on the couch. Geralt wakes as Jaskier touches him, eyes wide and lost. He looks like he is drowning in icy water, frightened and alone. As their eyes meet, Jaskier feels like a great shard of ice leaps between them, burying itself in his heart. He reaches out on instinct, gently drawing Geralt up off of the couch. He's seen dying men before, seen the look in their eyes, and his skin prickles coldly as he sees the way Geralt is looking at him. There’s no way he can leave this man alone tonight. He wasn’t intending to get this close with Geralt this quickly, but that      look…     it fills him with a quiet, abiding fear. Without another word, Jaskier leads him to his bedroom across the house.

 Geralt follows him quietly, trailing in the wake of Jaskier's warmth like a moth seeking a flame. The wine has worn off in the intervening hours, leaving nothing to blunt the emptiness and pain he is feeling. But there, in the darkness, is Jaskier, all warm skin and good smell and      kindness.     He doesn’t really understand why he undresses next to him in the darkness of his bedroom, doesn’t know why he can’t just walk away and go upstairs to sleep. But, as they slide into bed together in the thick darkness of 3 am, he knows that the heat of Jaskier’s skin on his skin brings welcome relief to the desolation inside of him. He knows that the heavy weight of Jaskier’s head on his chest is oddly peaceful, that the sound of his breath in the silence is music. Laying in the darkness, he tentatively brings his arms up around the handsome man curled along the length of his body, and is rewarded by a contented sigh. Jaskier sinks heavily against him, and before long, he is asleep. Soothed, Geralt soon follows him.

 Morning comes slowly, in pieces. First, a sensation of pressure, heavy warmth holding him to the bed. Movement, the minute feeling of his rising and falling chest pressed against another breathing person. Scent, the smell of sweat and skin and linen. And as he wakes more fully, the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Jaskier. The elfin man is lying fully on his chest, stomach resting between his thighs, quietly studying his sleeping face.

 When his eyes open, Jaskier’s thoughtful expression transforms into a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he hums affectionately, stroking his hand across Geralt’s broad chest. The warm weight of him is alien but also deeply soothing, and Geralt’s arm instinctively tightens where it has come to rest around Jaskier’s waist. Geralt can feel his heart speeding up as a tangle of longing and confusion and deeply-ingrained fear wells up in him.

 Atop him, Jaskier firms his strokes across his chest, starting at the center and kneading outwards, providing deep, calming pressure. Geralt struggles with the fear while those soothing hands work. As consciousness trickles back in he realizes that, unlike most of his life, there’s no one here to discover him in bed with a male lover. No reason to be afraid, or to run. Safe.

 He shivers a little as Jaskier looks up at him from under his eyelashes, feeling a spike of heat run from the crown of his head to the base of his spine, breaking up the icy grip of the fear. And when Jaskier darts his tongue over his lower lip before he leans up to catch Geralt’s mouth in a kiss, Geralt groans helplessly with pleasure. Feeling like he’s falling off of a cliff, he uses his good arm to draw Jaskier in closer. Their legs tangle and he shivers again, heartsick and dizzy with desire.

 Jaskier gives a small murmur of pleasure into Geralt’s mouth, and Geralt feels his mind melting, the soft little sound washing away his worries in a flood of sudden hunger. He parts his lips slightly, instinctively inviting, and Jaskier slides his body up a little more so that he can softly tongue into Geralt’s mouth. Geralt can feel himself getting hard where his cock is trapped against Jaskier’s stomach, pressed against firm, warm skin. Jaskier purrs and shifts, releasing it so that it’s in a more comfortable position, then delicately lowers his body again. His own cock brushes against Geralt’s thigh, hardening as they kiss.

 Geralt hums a delirious little groan, pulling him closer yet. Jaskier follows willingly, deepening their kiss, pressing his cock into the crease of Geralt’s hip as he shifts. Geralt takes a stuttering breath, the last of his mind vanishing as he feels velvety heat brush over his sensitive skin. He spreads his big hand across Jaskier’s lower back to keep the pleasurable sensation close, craving more of it.

 Jaskier gives a soft chuckle into their kiss, experimentally rocking his cock against his lover’s sensitive skin again. He is rewarded by a soft, deep moan of startled pleasure, a sound happily captured between their hungrily moving mouths. Jaskier rocks more firmly this time, drawing another sweet moan from Geralt. They begin moving together, tentatively at first, mouths and tongues and hips seeking a rhythm. As they discover a good pace, they begin to move more confidently.

 The hot sensation of Jaskier’s cock rubbing along the exquisitely sensitive crease of his hip is driving Geralt crazy. It’s all he can focus on, all he can feel, and soon he is trembling with desire. His body, unused to being able to relax into a lover’s embrace, is singing with unfamiliar tension and hunger. He finds a soft cry of disappointment escaping his lips as Jaskier lifts his hips away and draws back. It only takes him a moment to realize why, however. Jaskier breaks their kiss and winks at him, then leans over him and reaches out to fumble open the drawer in the small table right next to the bed. Inside, from what Geralt can see from his vantage point, is a stash of condoms and a blue-and-white bottle of lube.

 Jaskier paws into the drawer and grabs one of the condoms, flourishing it playfully between two fingers before sitting back between Geralt’s thighs and smiling at him. Geralt gapes back at him, bewildered and so aroused he can barely feel his own face. He watches as clever fingers unwrap the condom, discarded wrapper falling to the side, watches as Jaskier reaches out and firmly grasps Geralt’s cock. A shock goes through Geralt’s body as fingers close around the base of it. He’s so sensitive that he jolts, but Jaskier is a quick study. He knows now that he has to hold firmly for it to feel good, and he does so with one hand, using the other to slide the condom skilfully down over Geralt’s aching erection.

 Geralt watches this silently, a flush of pleasure creeping up his pale cheeks. When Jaskier slides back and ducks his head down, his eyes widen, his hand instinctively coming up to hold Jaskier’s shoulder. And when Jaskier’s mouth wraps around him he growls pleasurably, a deep bass sound. Jaskier moans in response, lowering his head and taking Geralt deep. Geralt gasps, his eyes fluttering shut, and he loses himself in the wet heat of Jaskier’s hungry mouth.

 Taking his own weeping cock in hand, Jaskier begins to quickly stroke himself even as his mouth works its magic upon Geralt. His eyes roll back in his head as Geralt’s hand slides from his shoulder to wind in his hair, surprisingly gentle. He was expecting the big man to fist his hair firmly, but the way Geralt holds his head is soft, almost reverent. Tender, even. That gentleness sends a spike of hot arousal all the way through Jaskier’s body, and he moans deeply around Geralt’s cock.

 Geralt cries out at the feeling of vibration, his hips unintentionally bucking. He gentles his hold slightly on the back of Jaskier’s head, not wanting to choke him, but his lover just moves with him, taking the thrust like he barely even noticed it. Jaskier bobs his head as his tongue works, skillfully pulling another cry from Geralt, another bucking motion of his hips. His hand comes up and wraps firmly around the base of Geralt’s erection and then he leans forward, fist pumping his own cock rapidly as he gulps Geralt deep into his mouth again.

 “Ohhh,      fuck,    ” Geralt gasps, hand spasming on the back of Jaskier’s head, feeling a hot twist deep inside of him. “Oh      fuck,    oh, oh,” he pants, half leaning up off the bed, his body curling into a knot of humming tension. Encouraged, Jaskier bobs his head faster, tongue swirling. With a sharp, sudden cry, Geralt comes, his whole body shaking with the force of the release.

 Jaskier whines happily around his cock, moving easily with Geralt as his body twists and shakes. Jaskier’s own hand works harder, faster, his breath coming in short little pants as his tongue works Geralt’s cock all the way through his orgasm. It only takes a few more quick strokes to bring himself over the edge, too. As he comes he releases Geralt from his mouth and throws his head back, releasing a ragged cry that sends a wave of hot prickles across Geralt’s skin. His seed spills between his fingers, dripping onto the sheets in the sticky, stunned silence that follows.

 Geralt drops slowly back to the bed, breathing heavily. Between his legs Jaskier lets out a breathless laugh, wiping his hand on the sheet and shaking his hair out of his eyes. Geralt rumbles out a delirious chuckle of his own, bringing his hand up to cover his face as he tries to regain his senses. Jaskier leans over to the bedside table again and pulls open the drawer, fishing out a pack of wet wipes from the depths. He wipes his hand clean, then, delicately, pulls the condom off of Geralt’s cock and knots it. Geralt twitches and shudders, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder again; Not to stop him, but because the sensation is so strong.

 Jaskier smiles dopily, giving Geralt’s thick thigh a kiss before he rises to dispose of the trash. As he does so he passes a wipe to Geralt, who cleans himself gingerly as he watches Jaskier walk across the room to retrieve the wastebasket from beside his desk. He brings it back and sets it near the bed, then crawls back up, laying himself along Geralt’s side lazily.

 Geralt tosses the wipe into the trash and leans back, making room for Jaskier to lay himself out along the length of his body. The warmth of all that skin pressing against his own is delicious, and he finds himself feeling greedy for more of it. He carefully rolls and tangles himself in Jaskier, pulling his lover up against him until his chin is resting on top of Jaskier’s head and his arms are draped around him, holding him close. Jaskier hums contentedly, wrapping his own arms around Geralt, and together they drift into a sleepy daze. Geralt is quietly stunned, but the heavy satisfaction he feels spreads warmly across his body, wiping away some of his fear and shame, dragging him slowly down back into sleep.

[deliamont]

(NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO, CISFEMALE) - Have you seen CORDELIA MONTGOMERY? DELIA is in HER SOPHOMORE year. The ENGLISH LITERATURE MAJOR is 21 years old & is a LEO. People say SHE is COMPASSIONATE, CURIOUS, PESSIMISTIC and PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE. Rumors say they’re a member of HASTINGS. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE TOOK LAST SEMESTER OFF BECAUSE SHE GOT PREGNANT. 

*waves* it is i, paige, back with another character!! sweet sweet delia, altho shes not as sweet as vic thats for SURE. anyway, here’s her info

cordelia marie montgomery is her given name, not her brith name

a baby delia was abandoned at a hospital in china the day after she was born, she they never gave her a name

she spent the first year of her life in an orphanage, when she was sent over to america to be adopted by a nice family

she was with the family for about a month, right before the adoption went through, when the parents died in a car accident 

baby delia was in the car but wasn’t hurt too badly

because the adoption didn’t work out, delia was placed in an american orphanage, and she was given the name “anne” for documents and whatnot

she spent the next few years in and out of foster homes in new york, nothing really sticking. she eventually passed the “cute” stage of childhood and was no longer seen as desirable to be adopted, so she kind of gave up home

at the age of seven, however, that all changed

alister montgomery and his wife, calliope, picked her up from school along with her social worker, and they explained that she was going to be adopted

she might’ve been 7, but she knew who the montgomery’s were, and thought this was some kind of joke

however, it wasn’t. unlike her first adoption, things were concluded swiftly, and two days later, she was officially cordelia marie montgomery

growing up in the montgomery house was... interesting. a small part of delia knew that she was a replacement for the daughter that they had lost, and she felt that way, but she honestly didn’t care to question. she went from being bumped from bad home to bad home to living in one of the nicest places in all of new york

as for her brother, fitz, their relationship is strange. they never really treated each other like siblings, but more like friends that constantly shit on each other

it’s how they show their love?? like, instead of being nice they just make jokes and throw jabs but they know what they mean uk?

not only did her family kind of make her feel like an outsider, but the people around her did. being surrounded by rich, powerful people all the time--especially when she got to high school--made it obvious that delia wasn’t from this world

she developed a very “i dont give a shit” attitude. she would throw it right back to the bitchy popular girls at her high school (very “your moms chest hair” alla janis ian) and while they never liked or accepted her, they respected her

when it came to college, delia was on the fence, but ultimately chose yates (because it was where fitz was going, but she’d never admit that)

the hastings society was the perfect fit for delia because of how smart she is. her major is english literature and she loves language, books, and just learning in general

her secret is that she took last semester off because she got pregnant, which is why she is taking summer classes

basically the idea i had was she was dating a guy starting fall semester and at some point during the semester, she got pregnant. she found out over winter break and her parents gave her a choice--abortion, or adoption

delia heavily weighed her options but decided on a private adoption

she wanted to guarantee that the baby had a good home, and didn’t want him or her to go through what she had as a kid

it was delia’s decision to take the semester off, honestly because she didn’t want anyone to know. she gave the excuse she was taking the semester off to intern back home (which she did, but from home) and in april, she gave birth to a baby boy

now, delia is back at school, living in the hastings house, and trying to make up for the lost time

personality

if you can’t tell, she’s sort of based on jo from greys anatomy (but a bit of a happier childhood), so personality wise i see her as similar too

where vic is a bubbles, delia is a full on buttercup

she’s quite a pessimist/realist, because she doesn’t see worth in being optimistic and idealistic

she’s definitely got a heart, but its trapped in a lot of ice 

once you get to it though, you’re set for life. she’s loyal as hell

plots

THE BOYFRIEND the one whose baby it is. he would have no idea, just that delia went home for winter break and broke up with him over text, no explanation

old and current roommates

close friends, maybe 1 that she told about thinking she was pregnant

i feel like there’s a lot of ppl delia doesnt like (cough calloway cough) so people like that

legit everything im lame

okay this feels like a shitty intro but its all i can do rn so ENJOY

[serenzippity]

Please continue your IM mafia!AU. I'll love you five-ever

Here you go, sweetie 🖤

Warning: MAJOR ANGST. No one in my mafia AU gets a happy ending apparently.

Despite his aloof demeanor, a small part of Changkyun held onto the notion that there was someone for everyone. It could be romantic or platonic, but every single person had their other half. Like two magnets they would eventually find their way together if their opposing poles were meant to be. The romantic, almost corny side of him, liked to secretly idolize those people with a magnetic attraction. He would see them holding hands in a park or having a romantic dinner together and his mind would go into overdrive imagining you two in their positions. He’d imaging rollercoasters, art museums, white wedding dresses, and sweet picket fences as his mind laid out what your life could be. 

He’d imagine a perfect scenario until that little voice reminded him that you’d never get your fairytale ending. You’d never truly know why, but Changkyun wasn’t the prince of your dreams. He felt like an imposter playing dress up in the world that you deserved. His reassurances felt cheap, like the proverbial toy crown on his head. He was wrong, so wrong, for you and every moment that linked you to him put you in mortal danger. 

You weren’t like Hoseok’s fiancee or Jooheon’s ex-lover— bred and nurtured for this life of danger and sin. You were pure, almost angelic, and naive to the inherent evil in this world. You saw the best in everyone even if they didn’t see it in themselves. But what he found the most remarkable was your ability to see the world not as it is, but how it could be. 

You saw potential and good, but he knew that behind your rose-colored glasses there was nothing but lies and deceit. It was only a matter of time before the lenses cracked and you saw the world— and by extension him— that Changkyun helped to destroy. 

He wasn’t willing to wait any longer, which is why he was standing in the threshold of your shared apartment with a plane ticket in one hand and the shards of your broken heart in the other. 

“I know you have nowhere to go, so I got this for you. You can go back to your parent’s house. It leaves in three days.” His voice was cold and detached, but on the inside, he was swimming with emotions so much so that it took everything in him to not break. The tears that were streaming down your face made him feel like he was swallowing acid with every pointed word. He was completely shattering both of you, but he knew it was either this or the bloody inevitable.

“I don’t want to leave in three damn days! I want to know why you are doing this to me?! To us?!” It was a wonder you were able to form any kind of coherent sentence. Your hysterical tears and aching heart were making the room spin and you felt like at any moment you would pass out. Tunnel vision made you focus only on him through your shallow breaths. Rather than answer you he reached out and took your hand. Intertwining your fingers made both of you feel like you were on fire, but he maintained his composure through it all. 

Standing so close to him hurt. Smelling his cologne and feeling his warmth hurt. Looking into his void, brown eyes hurt. Everything hurt as you mind starting racing a million miles a minute. 

“Why?” You whispered, the tiny and broken syllable echoing through your stagnant apartment. There was a flicker of emotion behind his eyes, and you caught it instantly. However, it was gone as fast as it came, leaving you feeling even more broken at his seemingly calm demeanor. You’d never be able to fathom the storm raging inside of him. 

He sighed before looking down at your joined fingers. He reached out and took your other one, pointedly placing the ticket in it as you felt pressure on your left hand. Dropping all contact, Changkyun stepped back and cleared his throat as he steeled his shoulders. 

“Because I don’t love you anymore.” And with those words, he moved away and exited the apartment, pieces of both of you scattering all over like a fatal explosion. 

Seven words were all it took for you to collapse on the ground in pained sobs. The slam of the front door felt like a hammer on your already broken, glass heart. You curled up on the carpet, the plush tendrils feelings like thousands of needles on your skin. Tears came like a waterfall as the screams of your destroyed body cried throughout the apartment. 

On the other side of the door, Changkyun could hear your desperate tears and each one reminded him why he was doing this. He’d rather shatter you completely with sorrow than let Suho get his hands on you. Sadness will fade away, but he’d be damned if you got entangled in the world he lived in. He chose this life and you didn’t, so he made your decision for you. 

Looking at the delicate silver band that rested gently in his palm, he vowed that you’d remain free of him and the mafioso. Changkyun wanted you to have your fairytale ending and he knew that being with him would lead you on a different path. 

The only endgame he could see involved revenge against his enemies and your cold body in a morgue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the closed door before pocketing your engagement ring. Every step he took towards headquarters brought a fresh tear from his eye but you’d never see how badly he broke his own heart. He felt himself growing colder and colder with only anger and sadness as his only companions. Both fought for dominance, and he was an unwilling spectator to their seemingly perpetual fight. 

He was sad for the shattered love between you. He was angry at Suho for playing his hand. But in the end, he was tired because the silver ring seemed to weigh a ton as he walked. It weighed him down, taking all energy from his body and turning him into a shell. 

You didn’t even notice that he took your ring until it was too late and he was long gone. 

[gg-astrology]

How would a retrograde Mars in libra show itself? Its in my 6th house conjunct the descendant. I love the libra💕🍃⚖️ but i get confused about putting all these things together and how they add up. Oh its also opp my jupiter and trine my moon but its oke if you only answer the retr mars libraヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ" thank you in advance you’re the best🍋🥥 byeeeeee

Hey there! ❤️ Ooof thank u so much!! ❤️ This will be a little long ;u; I’m touching on the Libra Mars stuff but I hope this helps you out somehow ❤️❤️

🚫long post 🚫

Mars in Libra (rx) ⬇️

Ooooooooh, same as James Charles!! ( And prince William as well kjnkjkjjdnskjnk) – sorry that was the first thing that came to mind!! ;; Libra mars been coming up on my radar a lot lately?? idk why, but there’s been talks on astro twt about libra mars in bad positions as of late ;;  – anyways, I hope you’re doing well hhhHH ❤️

Condition of Mars in Libra

Let’s start off with addressing the base-line of things. The condition of Mars in Libra.

I’m sure you might know this already but the planet’s will (what Mars want/why it’s there) and sign’s conditions misalign somewhat, with Libra being the domicile in Venus whilst Mars is more happily aligned with Aries. This makes the planet’s expression stifled/different from achieving it’s goals (it’s just– y know, working with someone you get along with versus someone you may not understand, it’s normal to have those) 

It still– y know, go for it and stuff. But understanding that a detriment planet isn’t the same as a domicile/exalted planet makes assuming that everyone’s expression is the same as yours something to look out for. 

A lot of the time, we just think we’re a little different. We don’t tend to notice the flags of our behaviors (until it’s too late) –what others are saying/warning us about or being unnerved by – so it’s good to be aware of that and moving forward in adapting healthier mechanism/working to constantly grow as well ❤️

Mars in Libra

Mars in Libra is kinda like – imagine Mars, bad boy trope stomping into an unexpected ball-room ceremony held by Libra. Mars is unexpectedly stifled, trying to ‘fit’ into the Libra’s atmosphere. Mars– completely out of place,  bearing with it for Libra’s sake. 

All the while being aware of how-to-be-polite and careful around others, all these Libra richies are judging them and their every word (already judging their demeanor). Trying not to show it’s weakness and feeling more and more paranoid/frustrated as time goes on.

With Mars in Libra – the natives learn how to adapt and use the will of the planet under the guise of the sign. So in this case – Mars learn the strategies and counter-attacks as a vehicle for it’s goals. It doesn’t like war, but it learns to use it in order to achieve it’s peace. Learns to assert while being passive, learn to use pleasantries, deception, persuasion and manipulation for an end-result that matters/meaningful to them. It calculate, judges, weighs the consequences and actions and justify it’s means. 

Mars in Libra knows it’s not just fighting for itself– but for others involved as well, the consequences of their action or lack of action weighs down on them– sometimes decisions are harder to make, because they ultimately want to be ‘sure’ of the consequences– what each stages/steps entails before making a move on something.

Hallmark Traits

Mars in Libra can ultimately strive for balance– rather than harmony or peace, it can offend or create chaos in order to achieve it’s goals because of this as well (as a result of it’s goal). This desire for balance which is it’s base instinct – can often blindside the Libra Mars into it’s detrimental position and enhance some of it’s negative forward more often too.

Either for the self or for others– they can sometimes strongly negate or look away from situations that they have caused, justifying their own means and methods– whilst trying to fight for the ‘right’ of something without fully negotiating peace or harmony with others because of it (the will of Mars remember) – in the minds of Libra Mars– they would often push the field into being on the verbal or intellectual side rather than anything else. Lure the enemy into their terrain, or make sure there’s an ‘out’ somehow in order to escape if things go south. 

Mars in a position of Libra – often negate out-right warfare unless they can win /achieve something out of it. The Libra waits for the enemies to come– and even then, it’s innocent facade helps it push it’s agenda forward whilst knowing it holds the power in the situation (no matter what the other side thinks/knows/is aware of it or not). It doesn’t have to be as ?? whatever this sounds like – it’s just how it works. Procrastination is also a thing with Libra Mars– as they often would rather lie in wait (again, waiting for the terrain to be in their favour) than actually go out, dominate, and lose the war.

Mars in Libra has strategies, and often time it also translates to obsessive quality to it’s creation, product, conditions. Thrust and parries in fencing is not the same as swinging a sword around in battles. Often, they can be their own worst enemies– as they sabotage themselves, by either waiting too long or not knowing how to confront properly before it’s too late. 

With a strong need to come out winning– sometimes they act (or lack of action is) to the detriment of themselves. The obsessive need/desire for balance overwhelms their structure, and thus sometimes– confidence wanes and fails. Insecurity arises, and the Libra chooses to look away from it’s problems in order to wait and rationalize– see it’s options and opportunities to come again.

Mars in rx

With Mars in retrograde comes important lessons that we have to look at and solve within ourselves. Our expression of Mar’s will and power – it’s strength, assertiveness and confrontational abilities becomes valuable lessons we should focus on and learn to incorporate (over and over again). 

Competitiveness shakes and wanes under the rx– we self-preserve in order to maintain or build up our ‘confidence’. Trying to mask it’s facade. This also makes the use of deception ( ‘im not competitive or confrontational’ ) to compensate/visage, we struggle to bring our natural (healthy) competitiveness back to it’s level (actually acknowledge ways we can be peaceful and direct at the same time)

The rx can sometimes signify karmic challenges we’ll have to go through – with Mars in rx position, we are tasked with learning how to either 1. not throw diplomacy away and go full out war or 2. be so stagnant, gave up, look away from warfare/trying to advance completely as well (would rather remain passive than ‘waste’ resources, lives, energy, time, others)

The latter point may be more natural– remember that it is about winning, but if the motivation/fear is overwhelming or ‘lost’ – then there’s no ‘reason’ for Libra to feel like it should continue fighting.

Inner self-awareness and motivation to it’s strength, as well as direct, goals, ambitions helps the cardinal air sign progresses (to an extent). If looking out for the self means sacrificing others (expectations/reliance on them) or if sacrificing others means saving the self (at what cost) – the two aspects (self - others) misaligning can cause turmoil, as well as stagnancy if it’s not something the Libra can ‘carry’ going forward ( self pressure + people’s pressure pressing down on them) 

The Mars in Libra rx can have really stubborn resolutions, which is the majority of why it’s so hard for them to bounce back from things sometimes. When they are uncompromising, attached and obsessed with a certain idea themselves– it’s near impossible for anyone to change their mind/thoughts without enabling their self-destruction further.

The Libra goes back to their old battles, resisting the idea of it being a lost-cause and trying to find resolutions that would satisfy it’s desire for balance, victory and righteousness. Evading and non-confrontational tactics may become more asserted (once they find a motivation/direction) – deflection and defensive may be pulled up more. The Mars in Libra rx – creates a dynamic where ‘strategies’ become the determining factors in how they handle situations. And the desire to have balance/win it.

Mars in Libra has it’s own ways of handling things– and whilst the position itself is detrimental (just like Taurus or Cancer who falls in Mars)  – the best way to help the Libra out is to acknowledge, focus and concentrate on the lessons it has to learn.

It’s like this with other retrograde positions as well, being self-aware and re-working the inner self is something that can help see how/why we’re different from others. 

I know it probably sounds like I went a little hard on Libra detriments here – but I hope you can see how it’s strength shines through even when we talk about the challenges we’re supposed to look at. 

Libra Mars definitely has it’s own character and traits that are very useful, so I hope this answer shows how it manifests and clears up somethings for you!! ❤️

OH and if you want to hear more about Libra Mars rx - Aries Jupiter opposition  (in relation to James Charles)-- this astrologer on yt puts it in a pretty straight-forward way, what’s happening right now ❤️❤️