#im trying a lot of tags im sorry i just want to fix my wife

[webbythreads]

hey doll people, do you guys have any tips on how I could possibly fix my Biff Dr. Girlfriend figure?

venture bros fans do not spend more than 40 dollars on these figures cause they are just going to fall apart I say this with love. My mutuals' figures are also falling apart... 💔😭

She is strung together with two rubber bands (left and right side through the torso) connecting her arm to her leg.

That little connecting hook broke, so I rigged her up with wire- except it snags on clothing :( so it isn't a great fix. I tried gluing the original plastic hook back together with e6000, but it immedately snapped again.

It also looks like her other hip joint might snap eventually so. maybe that will open up more options?

she broke because I 100% stressed the joint too much by dressing her in silly litte outfits im sorry ... every figure is a fashion doll to me... but i would like to fix her so the metal doesn't snag on clothing! It doesn't matter what the fix looks like cosmetically

[crossnamara]

wjos. him. ill yap

my horrible ex husband. my beautiful wife,,,,,,,,my .john.

get ready for horrible fictkin ramblings

okay so. youre not like. in the fandom. so ill jsut explain the basics. john and i worked together. at peip. a secret part of the us military that investigated paranormal extraterrestrial and interdimensional phenomena. i was his mentor. and we. were in love. it was a secret, obviously, it was the early 2000s in the fucking us military, of course it was a secret. didnt stop us, though. he was everything to me.

but. then. the portal. peip built a portal to access a place beyond all realities, the black and white. we knew it was risky, but. they never told us how deeply unstable it was. he gave me his dog tag. as a little good luck charm. i never managed to give it back.

i went through the portal. it was dark, at first. just endless blackness. then He revealed Himself to me. first it was wiggog y'wrath, the lord in black, then his brothers. pokotho, bliklotep, t'noy karaxis, nibblenephim. it was horrible and yet everything about it was so right. it was terrific in every single sense of the word. and i knew. they would bring about salvation, the true gods. (for um. context. these are horrible eldritch gods that want to destroy humanity. telling this from my perspective at the Time but they fuckeddd with my head. a lot.)

it felt like i was there for a month, but when they finally dragged me out, i had only been gone for a few hours. still, i tried to tell them the truth and they didnt listen. said id gone mad. howd john describe it. a raving lunatic. they tried to fix me, like that was possible, but i managed to get out before they fucked with my head even more. i want to say i didnt see john until he saw me, but. thats a lie. the black and white is just. a void. mostly. and after a few years all i could feel was boredom. so i watched him. started from afar, catching glimpses of him any time he went out in public. he still looked like shit. but he. slowly got better. slowly started moving on. and god that fuckking hurt. there was a time, a few years after the portal. maybe around 2010 ish. that i would watch him sleep every fucking night. i wanted to slit his throat. i didnt.

(more plot context bc i started rambling. the lord in black wiggog y'wrath, also known as wiggly, wants to enter the world and make it his. to do so, he needs a cult, which he gets by getting people obsessed with dolls of him. peip sends the president, howard goodman, through the portal to the black and white to speak with him. try to negotiate by threatening to nuke him)

then. im so fucking close to finishing wigglys plan. but. john. he came into the black and white after the president did. wiggly was about to kill him. but john. came through. stopped it. it still worked out, in a way. johns spirit dissolved into the black and white. howie got out, they sent in the nuke, but. they forgot the russians had a portal too. moscows gone and world war 3 is imminent. we still couldve won. but that bastard gave his gun to that little brat through the black and white. she gave it to barnes, who used it to kill the prophet. the world still ended, but because of john, wiggly had no chance to reign.

and i miss him. i miss him so fucking bad. i remember him helping me go to sleep after id pulled a couple all nighters in a row. i remember letting him win at chess as i taught him until he was actually better than me. the way his breath always smelled a bit like coffee. the way he held me when i cried to him about my father. the way id held him when he did the same. the way we always promised each other we'd quit smoking and never did. his problem got a lot worse after i went through the portal.

anyway i got post limited half an hour ago so ive been able to add so much to this. sorry for the length

[randumb-fandumb-fics]

✨️Introduction to me and my blog✨️

Hiii! Hello! Welcome to my lil fandom blog! I'm in a pretty wide variety of fandoms, so I'll be writing fanfics and reblogging for all sorts of stuff.

PLEASE be aware that this blog WILL contain not only smut and sexual things, but also heavy topics on occasion. I will always try to put trigger warnings CLEARLY at the beginning of any fic with heavy stuff, and tag it accordingly but if I do slip up and forget something, please kindly let me know so I can fix it ASAP! I want this blog to have a little something for everyone and I want the people who stop by to feel comfortable here.

That being said,

DNI: MAPs, minors, proshippers, TERFs, transphobes, homophobes, racists, and just generally anyone who's gonna be a negative jerk. Leave if you don't like me or my stuff. You will be blocked and not given any attention.

I would not normally mind minors, at least when it comes to my SFW stuff, but honestly with the whole NSFW and heavy topics thing Im doing here, id rather you guys go somewhere else. Sorry yall.

ANYWAY, as far as me personally,

Hi, I go by Andromeda on here! 💜 (or just Meda!)

I am 22, I use she/her/hers, and I am demisexual/biromantic. I am a dog mom to one aloof and bossy corgi, and wife to a tall golden retriever gamer boy.

I have a chronic illness and sit at home a lot, thus I have a plethora of hobbies and I bake a mean chocolate chip cookie.

Ask me whatever else you wanna know! I'm a pretty open book tbh.

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT2) Savanaclaw and Octavinelle

Feel free to tack on your own Hc’s too!!! I love reading what other people think and how their view of the characters and of Twisted Wonderland in general change from person to person!!!

Savanaclaw:

Leona:

-Farena: We already know Leona describes his brother as being carefree and relaxed, but deep under that I think he’s a deeply intelligent man (how can you run a kingdom and be stupid?). He tries his best to make time in his schedule for his wife and child, and even try to get bonding tike with his younger brother (which never works out well). He tries to teach Cheka as much as he can, often giving him little life lessons while they play games. He’s a very kind and straightforward man, often being blunt when he doesn’t mean to. He stands a little taller than Leona, with Orange hair similar to Chekas. He keeps his hair tied out of his face as much as he can.

-Sister-in-law Kingscholar: A strong and confident woman, not afraid to speak her mind when she wants to. She’s blunt and she’d let you know about it. She’s also very kind in her own way, often dragging Leona off and trying to have serious talks with him, which he appreciates but doesn’t show. She adores Cheka and often spoils him without meaning to, and will spoil Leona too (but indirectly in a way similar to Ace’s father’s). Also very intelligent and good at reading people. I think she stands a little shorter than Leona, but she holds herself higher, and he slouches, so it looks as if they’re the same height. She has long yellow hair (again, similar to the ends of Cheka’s) that she often ties back as well.

-Cheka: We already know him, so heres a few Hcs!: He sometimes asks his mother to do his hair the same way as Leona’s, and tries to do everything like him (such as standing like him, trying to deepen his voice to sound like him, throwing sand at various objects in the castle yelling “King’s Roar!!”)

Ruggie:

-Grandma Bucchi: As he said himself, a stern and prideful woman. I think she’d be on the stricter side, having to teach Ruggie how to survive rather than him having to face those hard truths alone. She likely stands a lot shorter, likely 5’0 (sorry to anyone whos that height), than most other beastwomen. She’s a lot physically stronger than she looks, often still trying to pick Ruggie up at his age. She tries to spoil him when she can, trying to make him relax after working and taking over the household chores (which he declines, still cleaning up when she’s not looking- which earns him a smack to the head with a broom). She’s also a prankster, quietly jumping out from corners and scaring Ruggie or one of the other children. I think she feels a lot of regret over seeing Ruggie grow up so fast in the environment that he had, but she’s the proudest grandma ever. Whenever he sends pictures back she boasts to everyone at home (“See that! That’s my grandson’s school! See that there! He plays magift and is one of the best on the team! Look there! He’s got those nice ceremony robes!”), and even boasts about him with what little baby pictures they have (“See him walking at such a young age? Isn’t he so strong?”) Will never stop talking about her grandson, ever.

-Neighborhood kids: I think they’re like little siblings to Ruggie, so I’m adding them. They try to tale over what Ruggie did when he was at home, helping people fix up their houses or entertaining the baby hyenas when their mothers have other things to do. They also leave gifts to Ruggie when he comes back, between little dolls they made, bracelets they thought he’d like, charms, or pretty rocks and leaves. He keeps all of the gifts, no matter how small.

-His mom (bc the poor woman deserves a spot)(Poor meaning unfortunate)(The more i think abt it, both. It means both. Bad time?): I think she looked a lot like him, but with brighter blue eyes than his. She was definitely a prankster at heart, leaving clever traps behind for any poor soul to get stuck in. She was a very hardworker much like her son, taking on any task she could find to help out her mother. I think she’d try to leave as much behind for Ruggie as she could, which would include little notes and scribbles about how she was feeling throughout her pregnancy and how excited she was for him. Ruggie also kept all of those safe and sound, in a small box he keeps in the corner of his room.

(Can you guess who my fav chara is?)

Jack:

-Grandma & Grandpa Howl: A very loving couple, who always make time out of their schedule for their grandchildren, whether it be for school events, emergencies, or if any one of them want to come by and talk. They met when Grandpa Howl got lost and wandered by Grandma Howl’s family’s cabin (which happens to be the one they, and the rest of the family, still live in to this day) and he spent the night. I think they fell in love at first sight :’)

-Mama Howl: A very soft and loving beastwoman who is willing to sacrifice anything for her children. She is often strict, and sometimes a chatterbox, but she always reminds her children to stay safe and that she loves them. She always pats their head or cheek when she walks by, even if she has to reach a little to plant a kiss on Jack’s forehead. I think her hair would be a little darker grey, and she’d definitely be a little more muscular and taller, reaching six ft one when standing straight up. She’d have the same yellow eyes as Jack, and her hair would be cropped shorter due to her still moving around a lot.

-Papa Howl: Very similar to Jack personality and appearance wise. He stands an inch or two shorter than Jack, but is still very muscular due to working around the house and in the woods (chopping wood for the campfire, dragging around tools, carrying three wolf pups at a time in his younger days (only one now wants to be carried, which hurts the poor man’s heart a bit)

-Baby brother Howl: Huffy and a little moody, but a hard worker even if he complains while doing it most of the time. That’s often with his parents, but when he does something with Jack he doesn’t complain a bit. He’s very attached to his older brother, looking up to him for his strength and strong morals. He often compares him to superheroes and star athletes in his mind, but sometimes it slips out, resulting in one very embarrassed wolf boy and another very flattered wolf boy, ignore their wagging tails, it means nothing. I think he stands pretty tall for a preteen, around 5’7-5’8 and growing taller by the day. Same hair and eye color as Jack. Acts like he doesn’t like to play games with his younger sister but will never turn down a game of tag.

-Baby sister Howl: An absolute sweetheart. She just wants the best for her family and will do whatever she can to make what they want happen. Jack is hungry? Good thing she made her special dessert (it’s a poptart with whipped cream messily piled on top with sprinkles and literal sugar cubed wedged in it, but don’t tell her you don’t like it, please she’d actually bawl). Her other older brother is tired? She can get him extra blankets! Mama needs help cleaning? She can mop (she really just throws water on the floor and praises herself for a job well done). Papa need to cut wood? She can- no, she can’t. Please don’t give her an axe. She’ll cheer him from the sidelines with a song she made up just for him instead! She has their mother’s grey hair and father’s dark brown eyes, and loves to do her hair like the princesses she sees on Tv! (Yes, Jack will wear a too-small dress and Tiara if his sister wants to play princess. No, he will not let anyone take pictures.)

Octavinelle:

Tweels:

-Mama Leech: At first glance, a very kind woman with soft eyes. Willing to open her arms to anyone who might need help. Then, a terrifying grin similar to Floyd’s as that poor unfortunate soul realizes the trap they’d been thrown in. She’s very kind and patient towards both her boys and husband, as well as their friends (even of she is on guard near their friends, throwing a few hollow threats to see if it’d scare them away)(She doesn’t like to share her babies). She dotes on the tweels as much as possible, indulging im whatever curiosity they may have. Floyd wants to know what going through riptide is like? They leave tomorrow to find one. Jade wants to know more about life on land? She’ll find as many books as possible and ask (threaten) people for their land belongings. She knows when too far is too far though, and is very skilled at reeling the boys back in if they get to that point. Will always call them her little guppies, no matter how big they get. I think she’d have a teal bob on top, with the underside of her hair being black (which makes her hair look color changing when she swims). Im her human form shes only a few inches shorter than her boys, ranging around the same as Jack’s mother.

-Papa Leech: The definition of old Hollywood New York mob boss. Strict and blunt about his interests and problems, and not afraid to cause any problems if provoked. When the tweels were younger and they’d wrestle and bite at him, he’d throw them off him easily, telling them they need to work to beat him, even if he was impressed by their teamwork at first. Will die to protect his family, and was likely put in that position many times in the past due to his uh… business. He values his wife and children more than anything, and has done everything in his power in the past to protect them from harm. When they went to NRC at first, he felt defeated and almost wanted to beg them to stay safe with him (not that his pride would allow it).(Both the tweels can see through his facade easily)

Azul:

-Grandma ‘grotto: A very stern and prim octomermaid. What she says goes in the Ashengrotto house, and she often catches herself making unnecessary comments. She does apologize. Also a very loving grandmother towards Azul, often babying him whenever possible (doing the classic “you’re not eating enough here take some more” grandma move)(She will smooch his face whenever possible when there are no business clients nearby). Tries to boost his confidence since she knew about what was happening to him (Chances are she went through the same thing- being an octomer as well) and dod her best to protect him and make him happy. She taught him how to write with his tentacles and encouraged him to do his best in everything he does.

-Mama ‘grotto: Another businesslady in the front absolute softie in the back situation. Adores her son and is incredibly proud of how far he’s come.I think she looks identical to Azul, but more heavyset and, of course, female. She coddled Azul as much as possible, which worked out well with baby Azul’s clingy nature. She had no shame in walking around with the little guy stuck to her (unless he smacked a tentacle to her face when she was working on her restaurant), and made sure everyone knew what a good boy he was. She would show pictures to everyone (similar to Ruggie’s grandma), but respects his wishes in wanting to hide pictures of his past. She still shows anyone who asks pictures of him at NRC (compliments to the twins, who send her updates when her son is busy), and will tell everyone how smart he is and how much he’s grown.

-Step-Papa grotto: A very professional man in every aspect of his life, which stretches to his relationship with his stepson. When he learns about the contracts and Azuls UM, he’s over the moon with how happy he is. He swam around with a little more pep than usual, flicking his tail and flaring out his fins the more and more Azul told him. He helps him reword and format his contracts to his advantage, and is always willing to talk with him about Mostro Lounge or (on rare occasion) some memories before Step papa Ashengrotto met Mama Ashengrotto (which always make him happy that Azul trusts him enough). I think he’d be a pretty generic looking Mer, with an average looking tail and such

[noritoshiikamo]

reality vs fantasy 

bonus part 3.5 of the noritoshi kamo story; im just spoiling u brats enjoy [passes holy water] thread lightly, sexual content ahead

tagging: @unabashednightmarepizza @sassyeahhhh @dok-ja @sukirichi [bold means i cant tag u idky :( lemme know if wanna be tagged in the next part] directory: read the first part | second part | third part | bonus

fantasy

“does that feel good?”

he asked as his lips traced her sharp jaws, spreading kisses as his hands steadied her hips. she took a sharp breath, nodding in pleasure as moans escaped her parted lips as she lowered herself down back on his hard dick. through his opened eyes, he watched pleasurably as her tight cunt swallowed his dick inch by inch so easily, like she was moulded to fit him and only him. her long hair covered half of her face, as she flipped it to the side, sweats dripping down her chest glistening her swollen breasts. 

she looked so ethereal riding him. 

her pace was slow, and his hands were roaming all over her body. 

he whispered encouragements, how beautiful she looked sucking in his fingers hungrily, her perky titties and the way she hugged around his length made him feels so good made her roll her eyes back to her skull. feeding her kink so well. pulling her against him, her back resting on his chest, she let him take over the pace, loud moans fillers the room as the sound of her skin slapping against his with wet squelching sound echoed their bedroom. 

“you’re so needy, my wife.”

she was beyond needy, she was desperate for release only he could give, “fuck me, please, just fuck my brain out.” grabbing her chin, he smiled pleasingly as he kissed her lips so passionately. his rough hand palmed her breast, nipple swollen and hard it made her legs bucked.

“you want me to fuck you?” he teased.

she nodded vigorously, trying to move her hips to meet his pace. his other hand moved lowered below her slightly bulging abdomen, finding her swollen clit immediately. 

“please just fuck every inch of me,” she cried out, tongue lolling out, her eyes stared deep into his eyes, “i’ll be very good, i promise.” with every bat of her eyes, he couldn’t decide whether she looks adorably innocent or just a devil in disguise. 

but when he had her pressed on all four, begging for all holes to be filled, he couldn’t deny his wife’s wishes.

reality

she panted. sweaty and sticky, she looked down on the pillow tucked between her thighs. her face flushed red as guilt washed over her. the effect of the orgasm had left her legs shaking and she cursed.

noritoshi had not returned to their house for almost three days. 

she missed him dearly and she was losing her mind slowly. 3 days alone to heal from the mess from the attack at the stadium and to deal with the fact that she’s growing their child inside her reduced her to nothing but a mess. she fell on her side, pushing her sweaty hair up as she kicked the pillow soaked with her fluid to the floor. she fixed herself, not that it helped with anything; she lowered his shirt down her chest back. she has been wearing it for 3 days straight. 

enveloped by everything that reminds her of him but not able to have him physically hurt her chest. he hadn’t call, text, or even send her a letter. she was alone. 

whenever she missed him, she hid in their walk-in closet, nose buried in whatever that belong to him that her eyes caught first. when she has enough energy, she would brew the tea just as he likes it, sat at the balcony, and just not even drink it. she isn’t even a tea person; she prefers coffee but holding a cup of warm tea during the cold night makes it feel like he’s around.

she’s an addict but the drug is gone.

she felt tears prickling the corner of her eyes and before she knew it, she was sobbing on his side of the bed. she remained there, beating herself for being stubborn, blaming herself, blaming him even every single god that existed in the world for fucking her life up. she missed him; his smile, his voice, his touch, his kiss, she missed everything about him. 

shoko explained that she was 7 weeks pregnant, and her baby is as big as a blueberry. 

“i think the period you are describing last month might have been implantation bleeding, something normal that might be mistaken for period. you need to listen to me. your body is adjusting, you should stay home and rest. don’t stress yourself out.”

she felt wave of nausea bubbling in her belly triggering her gag reflex. kicking herself off the bed, she made it to their bathroom, throwing her head into the toilet and she quickly emptied her stomach out. they should rename morning sickness because the sickness haunted every single hour of her day. she spent more time in the bathroom, head in the toilet than the other part of her house. she stared through her teary eyes at the content of the bowl, clear disgust on her face when she realised it was nothing but the liquid she’d been having. she has been struggling with food, only able to tolerate porridge and juices and she was growing tired. 

weak, her mind mocked. 

she unlocked her phone and dialled gojo’s number. she waited for him to pick up, breaking into sob as she felt so exhausted, she couldn’t even move. 

“gojo, i’m in the toilet, i just can’t get up anymore i feel horrible i want to eat but i can’t i want to get out of here please-”

“y/n?”

she startled.

-

there was a lot of cum.

noritoshi was glad that he chose to release his pent-up stress in the bathroom, feeling the water showered down all over his body. all cooped up in their room back at the kamo estate for almost three days, he didn’t expect to feel a sudden wave of horniness crashing over him when he accidentally turned over to her side. 

it’s not like he wasn’t already thinking of her. she was literally all he could think about. 

her scent overwhelmed him even when he tried to push the thought of her away; but she’s still his beautiful stubborn wife and his heart ached when he thought of her. he always has a good control of himself, he believed that sexual urges should just be solved by a traditional fucking but for tonight, it was just him and his left fist. 

the way she smiles, the way her body moves, the way she ties his bangs or the way she always makes sure he wakes up with a cup of tea waiting by the bed; she missed every single thing she does. the way she teases him and the way she begs for more and more always reduced him down into a simpleton. 

he wished nothing but to run back into her arms. 

he quickly washed up, removing traces of him from the floor and exited the shower immediately. his phone suddenly blowed up. without thinking, he pressed the green button and what greeted him surprised him. 

“-the toilet, i just can’t get up anymore i feel horrible i want to eat but i can’t i want to get out of here please-”

his breath hitched and he stood there. “y/n?” he called, and he could feel the slight tension in the air. she had realised her mistake. 

“m’sorry, i-i want to call satoru. i didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“are you okay?”

he sat on the edge of the bed; phone pressed hard against his ear. talk to me, their hearts screamed. she let out a nervous laugh, trying to mask the sniffles, “i-i’m okay. i’m sorry for disturbing you. i thought you were gojo.”

gojo had been telling him how he has been taking care of her. told him that she was more than weak, could barely hold her food in without gagging. 

“she’s miserable. she’s 7 weeks pregnant. we suspected that the reason her body didn’t fully succumbed to the poison that cursed spirit had infected her with was because of the the baby. the higher up thinks that it’s carrying the same inherited technique as you. the fact that it was able to protect its host; your wife is impressive.”

he rubbed his forehead, nervousness overwhelmed him, and he felt like a child about to ask his crush out.

“you’re not disturbing me. you don’t need to call gojo, i can come over,” holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he immediately slipped on his pants, “do you need anything? are you hurt?”

“i’m just stuck on the bathroom floor. i can’t get my ass back up and out of this bathroom.”

“you called gojo for this?”

her face reddened, “i get overwhelmed easily. i’m sorry,” she rambled, “you know what? forget i called. bye,” she ended the call immediately. she slummed her head back against the wall, groaning at the discomfort of her abdomen pressing on her bladder whenever she sat wrongly. she closed her eyes, covering it with her arm before soft snore escaped her lips. she’d pass out on the floor of her bathroom. it felt like hours until she heard soft pitter patter of feet on the cold cement, arms around her body lifting it up off the floor. she was too tired to open her eyes, soft noise coming out of her lips as the arms laid her on the soft bed. she sighed in relief; the cold bathroom floor was giving her back ache. 

she opened her eyes and she let a nervous laugh. her shaky hand reached out to touch his cheek, it felt soft to touch, too realistic. no, he’s gone, he won’t come home, you’re not real, she reminded herself. “my hallucination is getting realistic nowadays” she stifled a yawn. 

he smiled, his finger brushing her stray hair back, revealing her watery eyes, “you think of me often?” 

“don’t you?”

she gasped when his warm hand cupped her cheek, another touched her neck as he straddled her. boldly, she tugged on his leather jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders, confused when the jacket fell on the floor with a loud thud. this sounds too real. the feeling of his breath tickling her cold skin, his lips tracing kisses after another, she was drowsy. 

“i’ll take care of you,” he whispered, “i promise, i’m here.”

“nori,” she called out eagerly.

“yes, my wife?”

the hair on her body stood, shivers caused her back and toes to curl in pleasure. she couldn’t differentiate if it’s just fantasy or reality; not with his hands roaming all over her bare skin. 

[saintobio]

Hi Saint! 👋 I hope you're doing good

Ok, blimey, SN was a rollercoaster of emotions but I absolutely loved it! You write amazingly!

My thoughts. Y/N has all the right to be p*ssed off with Gojo. She has all the right to separate and live her life. She's not obliged to stick around and "fix" Gojo. But, big BUT, she had no right to keep their son from him. Was Gojo an arsehole, heck yeh. But he was really trying after the first divorce incident and nanas death. He was stupid for the house thing and not just being honest when trying to fix their relationship. I think that Y/N is going to feel like absolute shite when she finds out that Gojo tried to unalive himself when he thought she got rid of the baby. And now the accident because he realised he was alive this whole time!

Gen and their dad, wasn't a great idea to support hiding the munchkin from Gojo. Yes protect your daughter and sister, but you're making her do some silly things.

Now saying all of that, I'm going to counter myself 😅 I can somewhat get why Y/N would have wanted to get as far away from Gojo. Especially holding on the beginning part of their marriage. Then to hear his stupidity at the end would have brought up the previous thoughts. As a woman, I may do the same to protect my child (maybe not exactly the same tbh... lol I still don't like that Y/N hid this from Gojo for 3 flaming years!). I can see she was trying to protect herself and her child, but it wasn't a great way imo.

In the same way, I get Gen and why she may have supported this. As an older sister, I'm a surrogate mother to my siblings and can be protective.

Right this was too long. I'm sorry 😅 don't even know if I made any sense whatsoever.

My main ask was going to be: may I get permission to write a mini one shot type scenario based on the last chapter? I was so wound up in my emotions after reading the last chapter, I had all sorts of thoughts and ideas that I'd like to jot down and share. But only with your permission! X

hahah it’s very conflicting right ?? i love how ur analysis on it tho :) and yess you may write a oneshot as long as i get tagged <33 looking forward to it !!

@hollowpurpl said

I'm not blaming y/n for keeping the baby then hiding it. Yes, it is true that my heart aches because satoru didn't get to cry in joy after the baby was born, but what matters is the munchkin is alive. It would burn me more if the lil munchkin died. Besides, it was the most selfish thing y/n has done in a while. I can't hate her. Her ex-husband was a selfish cheating asshole. I understand that satoru wanted to change but, he's not that deserving to have an expressway to happy ever after. It's just karma (or saint) doing its job.

For toji, i think he won't have the audacity to cheat on y/n because of gen and the kids like hello??? But i do think mc just reminds him of his wife, that's why he wants to marry her. (This shit hurts so much because im a toji fucker)

And im sorry for sending lots of asks. I just love sn so much i cried when i didn't get on the sincerely yours taglist.

Drink your water and eat veggies saint! Every sn reader is praying to u ❤️

Anonymous said

Y/n keeping munchkin from gojo makes so much sense to me. She just prioritised her child's health and happiness more than theirs IT WAS LITERALLY THE BEST THING TO DO IN THAT SITUATION AND PPL WHO HATE HER FOR DOING IT CLEARLY DONT KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT LIKE????? imagine a child growing up in the kind of negative publicity that surrounded gojo post the scandal... yeah no. she did the right thing definitely and I rlly hope she knows that :((

Anonymous said

I think some people forget that soulmates who don’t end up together can fall in love with someone else. Granted the connection won’t be as deep as with their twin flame, but it’s not impossible to love again. Tbh I don’t care if gojo x uhtamie happen, Toji x y/n or gojo x y/n. I just think it’s unfair that her hiding her pregnancy is going to hunt her ten fold. I really like that she didn’t hide from munchkin who her real daddy is though. Mad respect for that.

Anonymous said

Omg I’ve been dying to send an ask in! First off congratulations on sn1, it was amazing!! Okie, I’m sorry for all the upcoming grammar mistakes lmao, but I need to write it before I forget x.x Over the past few days I analyzed both y/n and gojo’s situation. I’ve seen how most people are upset with y/n for depriving Gojo 3 years of his sons life and thinking he “killed” his baby, and some agree that y/n made the right call faking the abortion. I was just shocked at how quick people switch sides instead of analyzing both parties. I remained neutral.

I do agree that her depriving him from the birth of his son and making him believe that he was at fault was wrong, but did the readers take a step back and think how his past consequences drove her to do it? It hurts that Gojo never got to tell his side of the story, and now with amnesia probably never will, but it also hurts knowing that y/n was treated horribly throughout most of their marriage. Yes, he had a lovely redemption arc, but the thing about Gojo and y/n is that although they’re soulmates, they’re badly flawed. He had this ideal dream family, but didn’t know the current y/n. Just bits and pieces. He was more familiar with the little girl he was best friends with, whom he made a promise too. Y/n suffered a lot the first few months in their marriage, which causes her to start having trust issues, and clearly those trust issues were still rooted just untouched. In my honest opinion, seeing as to how badly flawed they both are, if there was no divorce, munchkin would be the only thing that would tie them together. I’m sorry this was long :’) also hoped this made sense.

Also, I noticed something. You said the zenin family is y/nxToji, but everyone else is GojoxY/n. Does that mean Gen has forgiven Gojo? 😟

nooo gen hasn’t. i take back what i said. very few people in the snverse are rooting for gojoxyn 🥲

Anonymous said

imo, I think y/n had a good enough reason to hide munchkin from Satoru. BUT y/n should have told Satoru when she had the chance, when he came to see her.

Anonymous said

Yooooooooo I sad .

Because I don’t know who’s in the wrong in the SN finale ?? Like I get each of Y/N’s and Satoru’s feelings and mistakes and whatnot, but now at what cost? While I definitely believe Satoru is much to blame for actions to Y/N, his past and how he was brought up shaped him that way, yet he was able to change; and he’s even worse for wear?? And even now Y/N, who’s suffered so much and very much doesn’t owe Satoru anything (besides telling the truth of baby Gojo), will have to go through this again???

there’s really a huge divide among the readers bc some people understand yn’s pov (like u guys in this case) while some choose to side w gojo for good reasons. but all in all, thank u for sharing ur reactions <33 it allows me to understand how people are reading into the series and i’m glad that most of my readers are still looking at this story with depth

[ayanna-wild]

Wedding Bells

Word Count: 1600

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: the tiniest, smallest sprinkle of angst, but mostly just sickening fluff lol

A/N: This is a kind of older story from Wattpad, but I haven't had time to write a new one yet, because of cramming for exams, but don't fret my lovelies, I'll be getting back to writing requests very soon.

Summary: It was the day you'd been planning for months, the day that would change everything. It was like a dream, but the butterflies in your stomach, the way your leg bounced with unending anxiety and excitement reminded you that it was all real. That this day would be perfect, more perfect than you had ever hoped.

...............................................................................

Your day had started early, earlier than you had planned, but you woke long before your alarm had begun, long before the sunlight had graced the sky. You were quiet as you slipped out of bed, your fingers softly brushing the hair from your fiancé's face, a small smile pulling at your lips. He shifted a little, but remained soundly asleep. Your feet softly padded across the smooth cold floor as you headed towards the living room. 

The sight of a beautiful white gown hanging from the closet door caught your attention and you paused. You reached a hand out, softly tracing the lace and pearls that decorated the silk material. Today was the day, the day everything changed.

The day you married the devil.

"I do hope you're not getting cold feet darling, I'd be terribly embarrassed to be left at the altar."

The sound of your future husband's voice pulled you from your trance and you turned to face him, a small smile graving your lips.

"You're not supposed to be awake yet." You chided him softly.

He chuckled a bit, slipping out of bed to stand behind you. You leaned into his touch when he embraced you from behind, resting his chin on top of your head.

"I never did sleep well without you by my side." He murmured.

You placed your hands over where his wrapped around your waist. For a silent moment the two of you stood there, staring at the dress before you. The shaky breath Lucifer took in broke the silence and his words made your heart skip a beat.

"This is it isn't it? The day you become mine forever. My Queen. My darling wife." 

Your voice shook just a little as you spoke, the fluttering of the butterflies in your stomach spread goosebumps across your skin.

"Yeah, it is..."

Lucifer kissed your cheek as he released you from his hold.

"Mustn't dawdle darling, we've got a very busy day ahead of us."

You watched him disappear into the closet, and you looked back at your dress, fingers ghosting over the material one last time.

"Right... so much to do..."

You straightened your back, taking a small breath to steady yourself. With a small nod to yourself you walked out of the room, ready for whatever this day had in store for you.

~

Your morning seemed to drag on, and the longer it did the more your nerves grew, the more you wrung your hands, the more you resisted the urge to bite your nails that Lucifer had spent a fortune on.

Despite you insisting it wasn't necessary, but he'd insisted.

'Anything for my bride to be.' 

You smiled a little at the memory and bit your lip a little, careful not to smudge the makeup Linda had spent a careful amount of time doing for you. A hand rested on knee and you turned your head to look at Chloe.

"Are you okay? You're bouncing your leg a lot." 

You gave her a smile, one riddled with unspoken anxiety, underlined with excitement. She smiled back, fixing a stray curl in your hair Ella and Maze had spent so long on.

"I'm just nervous." 

"That's normal, I remember when I was marrying Dan, I was a bundle of nerves and stress, you're handling it a lot better than I am." Chloe laughed.

Her laugh put you more at ease, and  you found yourself laughing a long with her.

"I tend to internalize things." You shrugged.

Ella chimed in as well, and you were thankful for your four bridesmaids distraction. 

The ceremony drew nearer and people began to arrive at Lux; you insisted the wedding be there, it was first place Lucifer had ever truly called home and he was so happy when you told him you wanted to be married there.

But now you didn't want to leave the safety of the penthouse. You wanted nothing more than to walk down that aisle, marry the man you knew would give you the world if he could. However, the anxiety of it all was beginning to catch up to you and you found yourself unable to leave the bathroom you'd locked yourself in. Try as they might your bridesmaids could do nothing to convince you out. 

Linda volunteered to be the one to tell the groom of your unfortunate situation and Lucifer didn't look the least bit concerned. He simply looked out of the crowd of people, people you barely knew but had invited out of polite obligation. Your own family had refused to come, they'd never cared much for the devil. 

"I've just got the most splendid idea, you grab Daniel and Amenadiel, and meet me upstairs." Lucifer smiled cryptically.

Linda watched him walk away, standing there confused for a moment.

"Okay?" 

She went off to find the groomsmen. Dan had only been asked to be one because Lucifer knew you two were on good terms and friends, much to his disdain. Linda did as he asked, gathering everyone up, ushering them to the elevator as discreetly as she could. The crowd didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

When they stepped from the elevator they were surprised to see Lucifer and Maze moving furniture while Chloe and Ella decorated the penthouse with extra decorations left over. 

"What are you doing?" Dan was the first to ask.

"Why we're having a wedding Daniel! Don't just stand there, lend a hand!"

Dan shrugged before moving to help Amenadiel place the rug.

"Doctor be a dear and fetch my bride would you?" Lucifer hummed a little.

Linda stood there a moment, still trying to process everything.

"What about all the guests downstairs?"

"They've got the reception to enjoy, they'll be just fine, although this isn't really about them now it is?"

That was good enough for her and she walked to the bathroom, knocking lightly.

"Y/N, can you come out for a minute."

It was silent for a moment before there was a soft click of the lock. The door opened and Linda smiled.

"Come on, we have a surprise for you."

You could hardly believe your eyes, the penthouse although nothing extraordinary was decorated beautifully, and filled with the only people you truly cared where there. A small laugh escaped and you blinked back tears. Dan offered you his arm, as Linda took her place with the other bridesmaids. Dan led you closer to where Lucifer stood, more handsome than ever in his tux, Amenadiel standing ready to marry the two of you.

Lucifer watched you draw closer, and although he'd seen you in your dress before the sight of you now made his heart stop and he stood up straighter, his eyes refusing to look away from you for even a second, wanting to etch this moment into his memory forever. Amenadiel placed his hand on Lucifer's shoulder, smiling at his brother.

"Luci, you're crying." 

Lucifer cleared his throat, fixing his sleeves. He sputtered a moment, like he was trying to deny it but his expression softened and he found he didn't much care for the tears blurring his vision.

"Well of course I am brother! Just look at her... have you ever seen anyone more beautiful..."

Amenadiel smiled folding his hands in front of him in as Lucifer took your hands in his. Dan took his place beside Lucifer and the devil smiled at you.

"I'm sorry about putting you through all this trouble." You spoke softly.

He squeezed your hands a bit, his smile reassuringly.

"Darling it hardly matters where I marry you, just that I have you forever."

You smiled and Amenadiel cleared his throat.

"Can I continue?" 

Lucifer huffed, waving his brother off dismissively.

"Yes of course, let's hurry this along, I'm eager to begin my honeymoon."

You and the others laughed joyfully relieving the anxiety you'd been feeling. This was Lucifer, your best friend, the man or rather devil, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You had no reason to worry, and with that thought in mind, a warm content feeling settled over you.

As Amenadiel went through the ceremony Lucifer held your hands a little tighter, his eyes never leaving yours.

When Amenadiel finally announced you as husband and wife Lucifer had almost impatiently pulled you into that fateful kiss. Your small group of friends cheered and you had smiled so wide as Lucifer dipped you. 

The moment hadn't been what either of you had originally planned, but it had been perfect nonetheless. And you knew you wouldn't change a thing.

~

The other guests had been understanding and were more than happy to simply enjoy the reception with the new Mr. and Mrs. Morningstar. So you drank, and you laughed and you danced, and when you danced that slow dance with your husband you couldn't help the tears that escaped, prompting your new husband's worry.

"I'm crying because I'm happy Lucifer." You assured him.

He swayed with you in his arms, and you cupped his face in your hands.

"I married the man I love, surrounded only by the people who mean the most to me. Today was perfect and I wouldn't change a thing."

Lucifer smiled, giving you a soft kiss, before you rested your head on his shoulder as the two of you swayed to the soft melody of the song playing.

"And I will love you forever, my beautiful wife."

You smiled as he held you tighter, joyful tears filling both of your eyes, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You'd done it.

You said your vows.

You said I do.

And you had kissed that devil with everything you had, and you'd never been happier, knowing you'd spend the rest of time with the man who loved you the most by your side.

..................................................................................

Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @kelly-n-russell @aiofheavenandhell @beththedemonhunter

[dekuscrybaby]

I was wondering if I could request a scenario in which Bakugou introduces his girlfriend to his family for the first time -Thanks so much

hi anon! i’m so sorry this took forever for me to finish, so i’m hoping you’re still around for you to read this. i’ll be honest though, i really hate how this turned out but i can’t seem to find a way to make it sound better than the trash i have down 😔 so i hope you like it! also, i know bakugou’s mom is a really controversial person in the anime and fandom alike, so hopefully i wrote her in a decent way? anyway, there’s some cursing in this so just a little heads up! thanks for requesting this!! <3

word count: 1.2k+ words (almost turned to a fic and idk why)

bakugou introducing his girlfriend to his family for the first time

“do we really have to go meet see them?” bakugou groaned as he began to tug on the collar of his button-up shirt.

“they’re your parents, katsuki. they have the right to meet your girlfriend, you know?” you laughed quietly, pulling his hands away from his shirt.

this made bakugou roll his eyes, “what does it even matter to them? isn’t my opinion a lot more important than theirs? it could even be considered to be the most important.”

you mimicked his actions and allowed your eyes to feign slight annoyance at his attitude. regardless, you fixed his shirt and took his hand in your eyes, to which he (happily) accepted. would he willingly admit to that? of course not, he can’t have anyone knowing he’s soft for anyone.

“yes, babe, your opinion is the most important. but that doesn’t even mean that your parents aren’t allowed to meet me. plus it’s only for a little while, you’ve lived with them your entire life. i’m sure you’ll be fine on a about a two hour visit.” you laughed softly.

“can’t we just stay home and do whatever? we can have a movie night. i’ll even let you choose the movie, no matter how cheesy it might be.” he whispered in a low voice, moving his arms to snake around your waist.

“mmm that does sound good,” you replied, connecting your arms loosely around his neck. “but, meeting with your parents sounds even better.”

“why do you want to meet them so bad?” the blonde questioned, voice still low but with a slight tingle of annoyance.

“they’re your parents, i want them to know that their son makes me very very happy. i’m sure they want to know if you’re doing a good job as a boyfriend or not. that and im also sure they’ll want to know about your adventures as a hero course student. just a couple hours, okay?”

he scoffs before reluctantly nodding his head, “fine, then, but just for two hours though. we’ll leave earlier if the old hag starts to piss me off while we’re there.”

after pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you unwrapped yourself from his body, pulling him towards the exit of his dorm room.

“you’ll be fine though. just a couple hours okay?”

“just a couple hours,” he reaffirmed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

the car ride to his parents house was full of all kinds of teenage shenanigans. well, you filled the car with those shenanigans.

bakugou was “too busy trying to keep us in one piece” to indulge in any of your singing or jokes. so you took it upon yourself to enjoy the moment for the both of you.

the moment the car pulled into the driveway of katsuki’s childhood home, you felt some nerves begin to creep on you. just as you grabbed onto the door’s handle to step out of the car, bakugou squeezed your knee.

“don’t be nervous. they’ll love you and even if they don’t, their opinion doesn’t mean shit. only thing that matters is that i love you, okay?”

you nodded in response and smiled at him before getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. the blonde’s hand was already holding yours as his other hand knocked against the wood of the door.

a few seconds after, a blonde woman poked her head out of the door. grumpy expression, resembling that of your boyfriend before a wide smile replaced the scowl. the door instantly opened completely, allowing the mother to hug her son.

obviously, this made bakugou frown in annoyance. he wasn’t the biggest fan of his mother. yet, it was somewhat sweet to see them embrace.

“katsuki, you’re home! oh, and this must be the lovely girlfriend we’ve heard so much about! please, come in, and make yourself at home, sweetheart.” mrs. bakugou spoke in an energetic voice as she pulled away from katsuki, letting you both enter the house.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you, mrs. bakugou,” you spoke in a soft tone, making sure to bow to the woman as you stepped into her home.

said woman playfully pat your shoulder before pulling you to stand straight up again, “skip the formalities, hun. i’m practically your mother-in-law now! so feel free to call me mom if you’d like!”

honestly, you were stunned by the enthusiasm that was dripping, practically pouring, out of her voice. it wasn’t what you expected at all. in all honesty, bakugou always painted out his mother to be a scary monster, which could be true behind closed doors, but she seemed to be a very animated person.

“mom, this is y/n, my girlfriend that spoke about a bit. y/n, this my mom, although she can be considered more of a witch than an actual mom.” he grumbled from beside you.

this caused the “witch” to smack the back of his head, “would it kill you to be nicer to your mother!?”

“it just might!” he retorted, angry lines now covering his forehead.

“now, now, why don’t we all take a minute to calm down.” another voice called out as he walked out of a different room. unlike katsuki and his mother, this man was a brunette but appeared to be the same age as mitsuki, so you assumed that he was katsuki’s father.

he walked to stand next to his wife, rubbing small circles into her back as a way to calm her down. similarly, you took katsuki’s hand in your own, rubbing your thumb across the hot skin, trying to get him to relax.

“it’s nice to meet you, i’m katsuki’s dad. you must be y/n, katsuki has spoken about you a few times. it’s a pleasure to finally meet the girl our son has been crazy about lately.” the man offered you a warm smile, completely easing up your nerves.

“shut it, old man. i don’t even talk about her that much, and i’m not crazy about her either,” a small blush rose onto your boyfriend’s cheeks, which confirmed what the father spoke about. the fact that he tried to deny it, made it adorable.

“likewise, it’s nice to finally meet katsuki’s parents. you guys have raised an amazing son. i’m very thankful i got to meet him and even more thankful that i can call him my boyfriend.” the blush on bakugou’s face only grew after that.

“no, we should be thanking you, sweetheart! i’m glad this idiot was able to find someone that loves him for him. he’s a bit much to handle but it seems like you’ve whipped him into shape. it’s glad to see our son has found someone to love,” mitsuki spoke in a softer tone, taking quick glances at your hand intertwined with her son’s.

“it’s really not anything to thank. your son makes me really really happy. i love him a lot, so i hope you guys can approve of me and our relationship,” you smiled softly.

“of course! anyone who makes our katsuki happy, gets our approval. i’m looking forward to getting to know you better. we should go out and get a coffee or something on one of your days off, i’d love to see that charm that got katsuki to fall in love.” mitsuki replied, which also made masaru nod as well, agreeing with what his wife was saying.

at the sound of this, katsuki smiled softly, squeezing your joint hands. he may seem to dislike his parents but something about how they seemed to really like you. maybe visiting his parents more often wouldn’t be too bad. not if you’re going to be tagging along.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

PLAY SMART

Che “Taza” Romero x Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: Another crazy idea. I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @arveeee ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Adjusting the green shirt to your chest, you go out of the clubhouse followed by Creeper drinking a coffee on a cardboard cup. You’re walking faster with your gaze on the front, directly to the car scrapping. It supposed that you should start in one hour, but if you arrive earlier, you can also leave earlier. You don’t want to see Taza after what happened last day, when his ex-wife came to the workshop because her car was having problems with the engine. She talked you as if you were a servant, or something like that, so you couldn't shut up and spoke to her in a sarcastic tone that she didn't like. Of course, she told Taza. At first, you didn’t care, until you saw how they said goodbye, with so much love and affection. Gilly told you that they have been married for almost fifteen years and that she was back to town indefinitely. It was like a shoot straight to your heart.

You aren’t nothing, but for the last months there has been a flirt environment installed between both, always pulling and loosening. But with his ex-wife in Santo Padre and by the way she had of touching him constantly, you know that what you wanted so bad it’s not going to happen. So you’re trying to not match with him. And that hurts. The only thing you can do it’s work and go home. No Mayans parties, no more nights at the clubhouse and no more rides back home on Taza’s bike. You can’t fight with a woman who knows him since ever and who was married with him for too many years. You didn’t know that something like that could happen, he didn’t talk you about her and it seems like it was a surprise for him too.

“Dammit, mama, you look like shet’”. Angel’s confused voice pushes you back to reality, making you shake your head for an instant.

“I didn’t sleep last night”. You shrug your shoulders and arms.

Messed bump, eye bags, no makeup and the shoelaces untied. You sigh after having a look of yourself, leaning down to tie them. The sun seems to disappear, raising your gaze surprised till you find your boss’ eyes, crossing his arms over his chest covered by leather. You swallow quietly, licking your inner lip before continuing with your task. 

“Everything ok?” You ask playing fool, hiding your nervous voice for a while.

“I don’ know, everything ok?”

“Yea’, I just… start earlier ‘cause I need to go to Santa Madre”.

“Sure. Why you didn’t come to the ranch last night?”

“Last night? What hap— Oh! Oh!”

Taza raises both eyebrows, while you still playing the innocent one palming your forehead.

“Shit, I forgot the Mayan dinner...” Clicking your tongue, you snort heavy.

“Let me tell you something, (Y/N)”. Facing you with hardly two inches between both, he leans above your ear provoking you some chills. “Soy un perro muy viejo, para que un cachorro me intente engañar”. (I'm a very old dog, and a puppy can't lie to me”.

“I forgot it”. You insist. “I was tired and I fell asleep on the sofa”.

“Look at your face”. The man says without changing his position. “Not everything is what it seems”.

“Ok, boss. I get it”. 

Taza doesn't say anything else, hitting his shoulder against yours to pass you away. Rubbing it you turn to the oldest rolling your eyes. Creeper and Angel are staring at you, trying to understand what is happening, but you don't wanna talk about it. Work and go home, that's all you want. The Reyes, putting an arm on your shoulders, shake his head disappointed 'cause he's starting to know what's going on having all the clues on the table.

Going upstairs to the office, you hug Chuckie as soon as you see him, asking for the hours signature quadrant. Your turn is already finished and completed and you also have the afternoon free, so you could rest the time you didn't last night thinking about the things that it's not going to happen, driving you crazy. Leaving the car scrapping' shirt in your hanger, you grab the helmet next to your bag, ready to leave. 

And she's there again. You can see her from the top of the stairs, hugging your boss and kissing his cheek as you used to do it. You're going downstairs slow, concentrated on not looking like you're jealous. Yes, you two were nothing, but you feel some kind of things that you would like not to feel right now. Taking off your phone of the pocket, you dissemble when he catches you looking at them, walking towards your motorbike to put the helmet on. 

“Wait a second”. You hear some meters away, while your sitting on your bike. “Eh, (Y/N)!”

You want to make that you didn't listen his call, but it would be too evident, so Taza waits for you to reversing and stop again. 

“I'm sorry for the hit”.

“Yeah, it was rude”.

“Are you hurry?”

“Yeah, a little”.

“When will you back at home, ah?”

“I don't kn... Why it feels like I'm talking to my father?”

“Because you're so fuckin' annoyin'”.

“Great, thanks. Another bullshit, Taza?”

“You know what? Fuck off”.

“Yeah, pretty one”. Rolling your eyes, containing the tears in them, you turn the engine to run away from the front yard.

Bishop texted you about four pm to tell you that Yuma and Stockton charters were coming to Santo Padre by night, so they're having a party and he needs you along with EZ to attend the bar. That's precisely what you were avoiding to do, be at the clubhouse more time than necessary. But guessing that you should work just for two or three hours accompanied doesn't seems a big trouble to deal with. So you're in.

Driving you car, 'cause it's gonna be easy to come back home after the party, you reach the car scrapping parking there so your Camaro will be safe in case that anyone decided to start a friendly fight. They usually do, for no reason. Last time, your motorbike suffered the consequences, even if they took care of the fixed. Walking betwixt a lot of crap mountains, your steps go straight to the green main door with mayans symbols finding the crowded yard. Stockton are already there, mixed with the Santo Padre' ones. EZ whistles you, claiming for your attention with that charming smile he always have on his face. You greet the guys raising your chin for a second, whilst going close to the prospect.

“Take the Jose Cuervo in the warehouse, I'm on my way for beers”.

“Okay”. You nod then, turning to the right and guiding your legs to the huge metallic structure by a side of the clubhouse. 

Grabbing the trolley at the entrance, you walk towards the end of the warehouse to leave it there, so you can place five boxes on it. Bishop calls to the door, even if it's opened asking you for come in without words. He walks in, closing it and resting his body against a shelving.

“You ok, kid?”

“Yea', just a bad night, prez”. You nod showing a soft and fleeting smile, presing the low rod of the trolley leaning to you and putting im by the two wheels.

“You didn' came to the dinner”.

“I'm sorry, I forgot it”.

“Did you?”

Leaving a sigh on air, you don't know what to say, pursing your lips as you place your gaze in nowhere.

“I saw you… kinda arguing with Taza this morning. Twice”.

“I—”.

“You know you can talk to me, rai'?” He sounds serious, crossing his arms.

“I just… made some illusions. The kind that fuck you down, when you realize that they're… just that. Illusions”.

“I know what you're talkin'bout. Play smart, kid. You're not stupid”.

Might be the best advice someone could give you, and you know you should. But sometimes, you can't simply do it. After leaving you there, you continue your walk to the clubhouse, going upstairs carefully with the tequila boxes. Opening the door with a push of your back, EZ notices you ready to help you. When everything is placed, the prospect offers you a shirt with the Mayans logo to change it for yours. Like somekind of uniform.

Once you're wearing it, you walk outside to receive the Yuma charter, hugging Canche as soon as he sees you.

“What's up, chamaca?”

“Not much, just another party working, not enjoying”.

“When you finish, make a place fo' me in your busy schedule. I need some help with my bike”. He says placing a hand on your shoulders, so you can follow him to his men to greet them too.

“Sure! I'll let you know when I'm done”.

A car coming calls your attention, turning under Canche's grip, to find the owner.

“What the hell…? Isn't that Taza's ex-wife?”

“Yep”.

“What she doin'ere?” The president asks you confused.

“Don' know. Ask her ex-husband”. You answer with a singing voice and both eyebrows raised.

“That bitch fucked him up”.

“Did she…?”

“Yea', I heard something 'bout a one-night-stand with a Vato. Oscar told us”.

“But they seems so close”.

“Taza is a good man, you know him”.

“Yea'...”

Pursing your lips at the man, you shrugs before start with your tasks of serve beers and tequila shot for everyone there, with EZ help. You can't help but thinking about that woman who came from nowhere with some kind of clear intentions, and now you're understanding was what Bishop trying to tell you. “Play smart”. So you will. Grabbing the coldest beers and putting them on a tray, you carry them to the first picnic table outside, where the main members of your charter are sitting. Leaving there, one for each one, you sit close to the Padrino who puts an arm around your waist.

“You look good in that shirt, kid”. He says proud, having a look from top to down. Since you started to work there, he has been the most gentle man on earth with you and it's something to be thankful for. “How's your week goin'? Didn' see you last night”.

“Tired week, need to rest, padrino”.

“You look like. Are they treating you good, or taking advantage that you're so helpful, ah?”

“To be that ‘helpful’ you have to show some respect first”. You hear that irritating feminine voice behind your back, before she appears in front of your eyes with a hand on Taza's left shoulder.

“Take off that Vato's dick of your mouth, before talking about my kid”. Padrino's voice is calm and peaceful, surprising you about it, and creating an uncomfortable silence on the table. 

You're fucking done. Done in a good mood, 'cause well, no one piss off padrino's kid. Palming his back, you get up of your seat to grab the tray and go back to work, as soon as Oscar claims your attention to ask for some beers. At least, now you know what happened, even if you're trying to figure what's she doing here. Not for you, but for Taza. Because she doesn't deserve someone like him, not after what she did. Double disloyalty. And that's screwing you more than you thought.

Even if it's something that it's in your head all the time, you make sure that doesn't influence in your work, letting it for later. And when you're already finished with it, leaving EZ with the rest, you go straight to Canche. As soon as you're done with him too, you can be close to Taza to make it up to him because of your paranoia. And so you do, sharing the same table with a beer in your hand. You don't know why his ex-wife continue there, but you don't care. Not anymore. Sitting in front of him, again by padrino's side and Bishop at the other, you try to get in the conversation. Easy task 'cause they're talking about a travel coming soon, and they need your help to check the motorcycles before leaving.

“Okay, I can do it tomorrow evening. Just leave me the keys at the office”. You say then supporting both forearms on the table, nodding for a while. “So, gas, oil and pressure… Yeah, it's fast to do'et”.

“Can you check my bike's direction? I think it's a little bit turned to the left”. Taza says then, and you know that's only a excuse to talk with you. Like, right now.

“Is it?” You hesitate, raising an eyebrow before having a sip of your drink, getting up of your bench.

“Yea', and the brake is a little hard. I think EZ squeezed too much”. He's getting up too, letting go the uncomfortable grip of his ex-wife.

“Okay, let's see”.

He walks next to you, offering you the keys so you can turn on his bike. Pressing softly the gas, to do the same with the brake. It's not. But seems like he wants to leave the yard, at least, for some minutes.

“I have the tools in my car”. You say then, turning of the engine to push the handlebar so you can make it moves. 

Going down the alley, with the Vicepresidente behind your back smoking a cigar, you reach the Camaro. You don't have any tools on it, but you really want to hear what he wants to tell you. So you simply leave the motorbike parked, next to your car, and resting your body sitting on it giving him the keys.

“She asked me to stay at the ranch”. He says then, keeping them inside one of his pockets. Sounds like you should reply something, but you'll not. It's his house, not yours. “I don' know what she doin'ere. But I don' even care”.

“Good for you, Taza”. You shrug with pursed lips.

“Let's be clear, kid. We're nothing”.

“Okay, I'm done with this bullshit”. You laugh loud getting up from his bike, and shaking your hands, trying to hide the bitterness and looking for the control remote of your car.

“Listen, listen”. Catching you by your left wrist, he stops your moves.

“It's fuckin' okay, Taza. You don' have to give me any explanation. I'm not your... fuckin' wife, nor your fuckin' girl. I get it. But let me tell you something. It's fucking grievous seeing a woman how fucked you up with a fuckin' Vato, trying to get back what she lost. And you, let her doin'et. You deserve good things, and you should love and respect yourself a little more”.

“Well, than'ya' for your kindly words. But I'm not letting her doin' nothen'. And I also talk her 'bout you”.

“Seems like she doesn' give a f— You did what?” Narrowing your eyes and letting you go, you cross your arms on the chest.

“We're nothing, but I would like to be something”. He clarifies you. “I asked her to leave and just came to pay what we fixed in her car. She stayed for a beer”.

“Yes, close of his ex-husband”.

“Focus on the fact I wan'to be with you, and not with her. Think about'e”.

Taza leaves you there, alone, carrying his bike when seems like you don't know what to reply at this words. Sitting on the hood of your car and lighting a cigar between your lips, you have a long smoke that rips your throat and also your tongue. You're somewhat jealous, you can't help but trying to see the point of playing smart to mark somekind of territory without looking like he's a piece of meat. But with that kind of women, it's all you can do. 

Putting well your shirt on, after throwing away the cigar, you walk towards the front yard with hands in your pockets. Some ideas are dancing in your head, trying to choose the best way to deal with it. But when you see her, sitting again by his side, and trying to hug him… Good lord, you can't help but losing your modals and your gentle mood. 

“Che, take me home”. You just say, stopping in front of the crew.

“Haven't you a car, ah?” She asks raising her chin somewhat proudly, grabbing the Vice's arm between hers.

“Haven't you a Vato's dick to suck, instead of annoying everyone around you?”

God, those words come from the depths of your soul. Making the guys chuckle as she gets up full of rage.

“Watch your mouth, niña. You don' know who I am”. Pointing your chest with a finger once and again.

“Yea', looks like I don' give a shit that I don' even know your name”. You face her, not afraid. “Southern border is close, come back to your hole, whore. You don' have anything to do here”.

“Did you ju—”.

“Shit, yes, I did”. You roll your eyes, being fast enough to avoid the slap straight to your face.

El padrino takes you back, as Bishop and Angel go to her before she can try it again.

“You heard her, go back to southern border”. Taza says placing himself between both, turning then to hold your forearm and leave the front yard.

You don't say anything into your way to his motorbike, putting on the helmet as he turns it on. Grabbing his waist with your hands, he runs out of the clubhouse. You know he's mad. You can feel the tension on his body, driving the road he knows by heart to your house, taking his time as he looks like he's thoughtful.

When he stations the bike in front of your house, so you can jump off of it, you keep his gaze.

“'You gonna leave?” You ask him a little bit nervous, taking off the helmet to supporting it against your abdomen.

“'Don' know. What you want?”

Hesitating for a second, you take a step closer placing a hand on his nape, to press your lips on his. It's the first time you two kiss, after some weeks wanting it. He pulls you away, thinking that you screwed it up, until you see him getting up to leave behind his back the motorbike. Cupping your cheeks on his huge hands, Taza kisses you again. Tangling your fingers in the flannel shirt to push him closer, your lips move alone on his. It's better than you could imagine, tasting the tequila in his saliva and beer in yours. A perfect mix. 

“So, are you gonna stay?” You almost beg between short and dearly kisses, finding yourself walking to your house, giving your back at it.

“Fuck, yes, baby”. He nods lifting you up, so you can surround his body with your legs.

[drabblily]

pairing: akaashi keiji x female reader

genre: angst, fluff for like...5 seconds, TLFY! au

warnings: mentions of cheating, reader is in denial, akaashi is an asshole

word count: 1148

synopsis: you hoped to repair your and akaashi’s marriage when he came to visit you, but things have seemed to go the exact opposite

author’s note: chapter three of ellie and i’s “the last five years” au collab ! i kinda like this chapter so,,, enjoy <3

i guess i can't believe you really came 

you sat at the edge of a familiar pier next to your husband, akaashi keiji, smiling lightly at him, admiring all of his pretty features. he hadn’t been able to make time for you in a while lately, saying he’d been much too busy to come and visit you. you knew your marriage had hit a rough patch lately but you still wished he would try harder to see your shows and yourself like you had always made time for him. but at least he was here now, and for your birthday too, and that’s all what mattered.

you inhaled quietly before speaking up, “hey doesn’t this sweater make me look like daisy mae?” you nudged him slightly with your shoulder, showing off the piece of clothing you stole from some costume shop. akaashi’s quiet chuckle filled your ears, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he stared at you. the sound of him caused a small laugh of your own come out; hope fluttering in your chest.

see we’re laughing...i think we’re gonna be okay

you grabbed onto his slightly calloused hands, laughter slowly dying down and the mood becoming more serious, “i know...that we haven’t had the best of days lately. but i know we can fix that keiji, if we just try a little harder i know we can make our relationship as beautiful as it was five years ago,” you told him before a smile came back onto your face, “and hey! i mean, this is already a start. you came to visit me all the way over here so if we can do that, we can do anything, right?”

i think you’re really gonna like this show

you started talking to him about your upcoming musical that you’ve been preparing at the arts program, “we’ve been practicing a whole lot, you know? i think it’s going to be good, er--at least it won’t suck?” the blue-eyed male snorted, his laughter sounding like a beautiful melody to your ears, a grin to making its way onto your face. you gazed at your interlocked hands, looking at the golden rings on both of your fingers.

and you’re mine...we’re doing fine

akaashi signaled with his head to start getting up off the pier, standing up--with you following shortly after. side-by-side, you walked next to each other, the wood under your feet creaking with each step you took down it. “i know i’ve made a lot of mistakes in this, but you have too,” you started, clearing your throat before continuing, “but that just shows that despite all of what we’ve had to go through, i know we can end up stronger than before, together. i guess that’s why i’m so happy you’re here for this weekend, because we can start repairing us now.”

suddenly, akaashi stepped in front of you this time, turning around to face you and grabbing your other hand, “i’m so sorry, my love, but i won’t be able to stay this weekend...it’s this random house thing that i was invited to tomorrow and i can’t miss it, i wish i could but i’m afraid i can’t.” he brought your knuckles up to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to them.

i didn’t know you had to go so soon

“o-oh...well! hey that’s alright! we didn’t need a weekend anyways...after all we still have all of tonight, right?” you asked with a gulp and furrowed eyebrows, feeling sick to your stomach, going in to hug him before he stopped you by your shoulders with an apologetic look.

“love...i’m afraid we won't have tonight either. see, i tried getting a plane ticket for tomorrow but the only available ones left was for tonight. of course, i can always come back on another day if you--”

you know what makes me crazy? im sorry, can i say this?

you pulled away from akaashi as if he had just scorched your skin, a sour expression sewed into your face, “are you serious right now, keiji? really? we could be spending our time together, but you’re going to leave the chance we had to fix everything because you want to go spend time with someone else?!”

“love, you know that’s not true--”

“no! it is! that’s exactly what you’re doing...of course it is!” you cried out, hands coming up in exasperation.

you could be here with me or be there with them...as usual guess which you pick

akaashi flared his nose in annoyance, trying to explain himself, suddenly raising his voice, “y/n i have to!”

you scoffed bitterly, spiraling into an argument with your husband, “no akaashi! you don’t have to, that’s the thing! because instead of staying with me, your wife, on my fucking birthday; you’re deciding to go to another stupid party with the same stuck-up jerks you already know! you don’t even come to see any of my shows, the shows i work so hard on to do!”

and i know in your soul it must drive you crazy that you won't get to play with your little girlfriends

“poor little akaashi keiji can’t go back to his girlfriends, is that it? is that why you’re leaving so early?? is there even a party to begin with, huh?!”

akaashi stepped towards you, arms reaching out to grab you and stop you, “y/n, youre being irrational! stop acting crazy!!”

pulling out of his grasp, you thrashed away from him--desperate to want to get away from him, “no--no i’m not! don’t you dare call me crazy after all you’ve put me through.”

he gaped at you, blue eyes opened wide, “what i’ve put you through?”

a sharp pained laugh escaped you, “everything is all about keiji this, keiji that! you make EVERYTHING about you and nothing but you because you think you’re some high classed snobby writer--oh im sorry, do you prefer the term marvelous writer? just like everyone else says?”

isn't he wonderful, just twenty-eight! the savior of writing…

“all i deal with is you!” you yelled, fat hot tears streaming down your cheeks, “i’m always here for you, always trying to push you to do your best, all those nights i stayed up because of you since i was here for you and now look at you, a hotshot writer! but you obviously can’t do the same for me, can you?”

i swear to god i'll never understand

he watched you break down, not saying anything but standing there and anxiously fiddling with his fingers. breaths coming out uneven and shaky, you spoke through your sobs, “h-how is it...that whenever i’m here crying...you just stand there, in all your glory and don’t say anything...not one word of comfort...not one word at all…why…?”

and see i’m crying...and not do anything at all

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[freddiesaysalright]

Part of Your World - Chapter 5

Ben!Prince Eric x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Prince Ben is trying to escape an arranged marriage. A young mermaid wants to escape the sea. Their paths cross and they may just be what the other is looking for.

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​, @radiob-l-a-hblah​, @xviiarez​, @butlegendsneverdie​, @sunflower-ben​, @godblessthisgardenpigeon​, @okilover02​, @xhaliemax​ if you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Y’all ready to see a classic fanfic trope? I know we love it ;) Also, I’m sorry this update took for fucking ever I’m just horrible at time management

Warning(s): None :)

Moodboard

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

The next morning, you woke to find Ben missing from his hammock. You rolled out of yours, careful to land on your feet, and then headed upstairs to the deck. The morning was misty and chilly. You shivered and hunched your shoulders as you pressed on. You found him at the bow, looking out over water, clouded by fog. His expression was hard. Distressed. You placed a hand on his shoulder to alert him to your presence. You felt his muscles relax beneath your touch as he turned to face you.

“Good morning,” he said shortly.

Is it? You questioned.

He shook his head. “No...no, I suppose it isn’t.”

Talk to me, you insisted. Why are you so upset by this?

“Because,” he said. “A king is supposed to protect his people. To run his kingdom with knowledge and care. Until I joined Behati, I didn’t know anything that was going on. I feel...stupid. And completely unprepared for the next step in my life.”

Well, you know now, you said, trying to be encouraging. Maybe now when you do get home, you can explain what you’ve seen to your father and work together to fix it.

“That’s another thing that’s bothering me,” he said. “I don’t like to think my father knows about this and is ignoring it, but what if that is the case? What if he isn’t ignorant and he just doesn’t care? What do I do then?”

I can’t say for sure, since I don’t know him, you signed. But if he's anything like you, then there is no way this information wouldn’t affect him. Look at how your heart is hurting for your people. If your father has half your heart, it will shock him, and he will do everything he can to correct it.

A hint of a smile passed over his lips.

“I hope so,” he said. “But who knows when I’ll be able to get back to him?”

You aren’t Behati’s prisoner, you reminded him. I’m sure she’d take you back home if that’s what you wanted.

He shook his head again. “No, not really. She’s so close now to finding Sycoria. And I’m not ready for this adventure to end yet. Crazy as it’s been, and as much danger as I’ve encountered, I’ve never had so much fun.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“It seems completely mental, I know,” he chuckled. “But...before, I was looking at the life that was being handed to me. It was soft and comfortable in the palace. With a pretty wife who would take my word second only to God’s, and give me heirs. I’d do the same things every day, with the same people, without any idea of what goes on beyond the palace walls. It was frightening. Running away from that - especially the marriage - was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

You don’t want to get married? You wondered, a little dejected.

“I do someday,” he said. “But right now it just felt like a way to trap me and keep me right where I was. I barely even had a taste of freedom.”

Believe me, that I understand, you signed.

“Controlling parents?” he asked.

You nodded. A controlling father, mostly. My mother died when I was little.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened to her?”

Pirates, you told him, because you couldn’t say “humans.” 

Ben heaved a sigh. The wind blew and you shuddered. 

“Cold?” he asked.

You nodded, hugging yourself. He offered a gentle smile as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. You smiled gratefully at him. Then, he did something you did not expect. He pulled you into his arms and held you there. Your soft gasp was lost in his shirt as you rested your forehead against his chest. His embrace was warm and comfortable. You could hear his heart beating.

“The world is cruel,” he said heavily. “I’ve seen a great deal of wickedness and devastation since I left home, but I must say that you, Y/N, have been a bright light.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and you felt heat rise to your face. 

“Despite all you’ve been through, you’ve remained kind and gentle,” he went on. “You’re genuinely the sweetest person I’ve ever met. I know it’s only been a couple days, but you’re a very precious friend to me.”

You looked up and beamed at him. He held your gaze and seemed to inch closer. Your stomach turned at the thought. Was he going to kiss  you? Already? You were definitely fond of each other, but was it love? It certainly felt like the beginnings of it.

He pressed his lips to your forehead. You released a breath of relief. As badly as you wanted to kiss him - and you knew what was at risk if it didn’t happen - now was not the time. He was vulnerable, and he needed support. It would have felt like taking advantage of a weak moment. 

“You’re freezing, you should get out of the wind,” he remarked as he pulled away. 

I’m warmer with you, you returned. Besides, I miss the sea.

His brow furrowed. You had not meant to make that thought apparent, so your mind raced to come up with how to back track.

I just mean that I miss my old life, you signed, going vaguer. 

“Tell me about it,” he said. “Goodness, you’ve listened to me ramble on about my nonsense long enough.”

You smiled. What do you want to know?

“Let’s start with where you’re from,” he said.

It’s a whole other world, you signed. Beautiful in some ways and completely frustrating in others. I had interests my father didn’t approve of, and eventually I was punished for doing something I considered to be the right thing. I knew I had to get away. 

“That’s the worst, isn’t it?” he said. “Feeling like your parents are just trying to control you.”

Especially when they say it’s just because they know what’s best, you replied. How can they know what’s best if they don’t listen?

“Honestly!” he agreed. “All we want is the choice to make our life for ourselves.”

Absolutely, you signed. It’s about freedom. 

“Thanks for this, Y/N,” he said. “For listening and sharing. It’s been a real treat.”

You smiled again. Whenever you were around Ben, no matter how serious the discussion got, you always ended up smiling. You hoped that was how it would always be.

The sun began to rise over the water and the air warmed up. You returned Ben’s coat to him just as Behati was emerging from her quarters to address the crew.

“Ladies and Benjamin!” she began excitedly. “We now have the way to find Sycoria!”

Everyone cheered, including Ben. You clapped enthusiastically. Maybe if Behati was successful, you’d be free too.

“I’ve waited years for this moment,” she continued. “I’ve been a prisoner on my own ship all these years, but no more. But I wouldn’t be the captain I am without each of you. I collected my crew carefully, choosing those who I knew could work with me, and bring a fresh perspective. You have all proven more than worthy. Before we take on this final stretch of our journey, I’m letting you all celebrate. Our next stop is Dram, so you can all enjoy the Mermaid Festival, and then, we go after Sycoria with everything we’ve got!”

The crew cheered again. You shot Ben a questioning look. You had never been to a human festival before, and to hear they had one dedicated to mermaids was both scary and intriguing. 

“The mermaid festival celebrates Saint Asenora,” Ben explained. When your face lit up with recognition, he laughed. “My mother is named for the saint, but is not the saint herself. They both come from Dram, and my mother got her name because she was the first girl born to the Duke’s family there since the time of the saint.”

That’s incredible!

“We’ll dock in Dram tonight,” Behati said. “So you’ll have the whole day to celebrate tomorrow.”

You counted it up in your head. That would mean after the festival, you would only have another day with Ben.

Why is the saint celebrated at the Mermaid Festival? You asked.

“Because the legend goes that Asenora was a mermaid, and she fell in love with a human man,” he said. “She went to a witch to make her human, and the witch did it, but at great cost to Asenora. Her new legs were painful, and if the man did not love her in return, she would become sea foam.”

You swallowed. That hit a little too close to home.

What happened with the man? You asked.

“She found him, but he was already married,” Ben went on. “His wife was not as beautiful as Asenora, but she saw the smile on his face, and knew he was happy. Unwilling to disrupt his peaceful life, she sacrificed herself to the witch’s fate.”

That’s a horrible story, you signed with a pout.

“It doesn’t end there,” he said. “God had seen what Asenora did, and that her love was pure. He saved her spirit, and named her saint of the sea. Sailors across the kingdom pray to her for safe passage. Every year, they celebrate her at the Mermaid Festival.”

Well, that’s not so bad, you signed. But it’s still sad she never found love.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But lots of good came of it.”

You shrugged. Makes sense.

You and Ben spent the day together, working, talking, and laughing. Ben found himself impossibly more attracted to you as time went on. All he wanted was to be by your side. As he watched you help Ari with a rope, the way your face scrunched up in your way which was so cute. Your bright smile and sparkling eyes. The goodness and openness of your heart.

He felt a hand on his shoulder which drew him out of his stupor. 

“Y/N,” Behati said. “How do you feel about her?”

“She’s great,” he answered bashfully. “Really helpful and sweet and patient and -”

“Pretty?” she finished.

His cheeks got pinker. 

“She’s beautiful,” he said.

“There seems to be a real connection there,” she observed. “She likes you too.”

“Captain, what are you getting at?” he asked pointedly.

“I’m saying that what I see is the beginning of what we call love,” she said. “And I think you should pay attention to that.”

He blinked, astounded. He had never thought about it like that. But his attraction and appreciation of you definitely stood out to him. He had never felt that way about a woman before. But love? 

“I dunno if we’re there yet,” he said with a shrug. “But I...I really like her.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “Show her a good time tomorrow.”

“I will,” he said. “I’m actually excited for it.”

Behati smiled, nodded, and then left him to his work again. She walked over to you.

You beamed at the captain as she approached, but it faltered at the look on her face. She looked serious.

“Y/N, come with me to my quarters, we need to talk,” she said.

What’s this about? You wondered.

“Just come with me,” she insisted.

You put down your things and followed her. You shot Ben a questioning look as you passed him, but he only shrugged. He watched you disappear into Behati’s room.

“Hey, Ben,” Ari said. “Don’t you think that a sweet, charming girl that’s right in front of you might be better than some mystery woman you aren’t even sure exists?”

He sighed. “I suppose…”

Inside, Behati  sat on her desk, facing you. You stood before her, a questioning expression on your features.

“We’ve never addressed this, but I did see you that day you rescued Ben,” she began. “And you didn’t have legs. You were a mermaid.”

You looked at the floor and nodded.

“And I know Sycoria gave you your legs,” she said.

You nodded again.

“What was the price?” she asked. “And what are the conditions of your agreement?”

You took a deep breath. Then, you explained everything. How you’d always been fascinated by humans, that night you listened on the side of the ship and that was how you were there to rescue Ben. You told her your father punished you for it, and then you went to Sycoria to become human. You even told her the limits of your spell. That after the festival you would only have another twenty-four hours to get Ben to kiss you. 

“Well, you’re in luck, he likes you,” she said. “How do you feel about him?”

I’m starting to fall in love with him, you signed. He’s so brave and kind and caring. And we both value freedom and love. It feels like we’re meant to be.

“You very well may be,” she agreed. “The only thing is Ben is still caught up on the woman he thinks saved him. I think you should tell him the truth. During the festival.”

You nodded. I agree. I want to be totally honest with him so that he doesn’t feel tricked. 

“I like that,” she said. “To get this going, I’ve got something for you.”

A present?

She smiled and then crossed the room to her wardrobe. You watched eagerly as she opened the door, reached in, and pulled out a gorgeous gown that was on a hanger. Your mouth dropped as you looked at it. It was stunning - gold thread with soft pink lace and delicate frills along the sleeves and neckline. You had never seen such a garment.

“Wear this,” she said with a smirk. “That should put some serious hearts in his eyes.”

But if it’s yours, how will it fit me?! You wondered.

“It was actually part of a plunder I took a few years back,” she said. “I think it looks about your size. Dresses never suited me anyway. But they do suit a princess.”

You grinned. Thank you so much.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Shall we try it on?”

You nodded enthusiastically. 

Behati had everything that went with the dress - the undergarments, corset, and even gold slippers to match it. As she finished lacing you up, you finished letting your hair out of the braids. Then she walked you over to the mirror that was on the wall. You gasped.

“My, my, you’re stunning!” she cried. “Look at you, gorgeous!”

You blushed, flattered by her praise, especially since you found her so beautiful. 

Thank you, you signed. I really feel like a princess now.

“You look like one,” she said. “You are one. Ben is a lucky, lucky prince.”

You blushed deeper. 

“We’ll be docking soon,” she said. “Stay in here as long as you like. I’ll have Ari and Kay get you dressed tomorrow.”

You giggled together, and then she departed. You looked at yourself again, twirling gently back and forth. You pictured yourself on Ben’s arm, looking like you actually belonged there. The way this dress would shift and move, the way it would swirl as you danced. The festival became a whole lot more exciting. 

When you docked at Dram, You had changed back into your crew clothes, but the dress was carefully packed and with Ari. Behati also handed Ari a pouch of gold to pay for rooms at the inn. She whispered some instructions into Ari’s ear that you guessed were about the dress. The captain shot you a knowing smile, and then you were all off into town. 

Dram was much more peaceful than Henrietta. There was a heavier military presence and the people were clearly wealthier. Most of the women had jewels around their necks and fingers. Their dresses were made of luxury fabrics, and most of them were escorted by a man. 

Not that there wasn’t poverty. There certainly was. The shopkeepers and merchants were dressed similarly to yourself and Behati’s crew. Although, the dress you knew was waiting for you would make you fit in right along with those fine ladies.

The inn was not too far from the dock, and Ari went to check you all in. The innkeeper gave Ari the keys, and she began assigning rooms. Your stomach turned when she said that you and Ben would be sharing. 

“Strictly for space,” Ari said. “You see, everyone else is rooming with their partners.”

You nodded slowly. I suppose that’s alright. Ben?

“If you’re comfortable, Y/N, then so am I,” he said.

There was a reassurance in his voice that eased you. 

“Y/N, come to my room tomorrow morning,” Ari said. “For your gift from Behati.”

She handed you the room key and winked. Ben looked between the two of you, confused.

“What?” he questioned. “Behati’s given you something?”

You nodded. It’s not important right now. Let’s just get to our room.

He agreed, and you walked upstairs together. You went to the room indicated on your key, and you turned the lock. You opened the door and walked in. The room was nice and cozy but to your horror, there was only one bed.

There must be a mistake, you signed. Ari would get us separate beds.

“Relax,” Ben replied, though he was also nervous. “I’ll go downstairs and see if there’s another. Wait right here.”

He left, and you stood in the doorway, anxiety coming off of you in waves. Being so close to Ben - sharing a bed - that would create a whole other level of intimacy between you. You didn’t have much time to fret before he returned.

“Sorry, no luck,” he said. “Between the Mermaid Festival guests and now us, all the other rooms are booked.”

You nodded and swallowed.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can sleep on the floor,” he offered, scratching his neck. 

No, you signed. We can share. That is, as long as you’re okay with it.

“Of course!” he said, and at the look of surprise at his enthusiasm, he collected himself. “Sorry. I just, uh...I dunno, I like being close to you, Y/N.”

You smiled. I like being close to you too.

It was getting late, so you both got ready for bed. Ben watched as you slowly shed a few layers of clothing. He found himself blushing at the sight of your bare shoulder, and the soft skin there. He resisted a brutal urge to walk up behind you and press his lips to it. 

He shook his head and began to take off his own clothes. You peeked over your shoulder and tried to not drool as his shirt came off and you saw his body. He had tan lines from his work and time with Behati, but it did not take away the appeal of his strong build. You happily would have thrown yourself into those arms. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, bringing you back out of your thoughts.

You nodded stiffly. He allowed you to get in the bed first, and you hesitantly pulled back the blankets and slid into the spot. As he followed suit, you became acutely aware of his body heat beside you. You looked resolutely away from him, so you wouldn’t make him uncomfortable, but you felt his eyes on you as he settled in.

He chuckled. “You can look at me, you know.”

You turned your head in his direction, but your eyes remained fixed on the sheets. His forefinger and thumb came to your chin, and he gently lifted your face to his. 

“Look, I understand that this is a bit uncomfortable,” he said kindly. “But I think we should focus on the positives. At least now, we have time to talk without any interruptions or worrying about anyone overhearing us.”

Should we have worried about that before? You asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. But I like that it’s just you and me now. So tell me something new about you.”

You smiled. You considered confessing to him now where you really came from and the deal with Sycoria, but it still felt too crazy. And you wanted to know how he felt about you before taking the risk. So you talked about other things to pass the time. You talked with him until your eyelids grew heavy. You settled yourself against him and rested your head on his shoulder. Sleep took you. Ben watched you ease into slumber and admired your peaceful expression for a while before it came for him as well. He slipped out of consciousness with his arms around you.

You woke the next morning warm and cozy in Ben’s embrace. It was so comfortable you almost didn’t want to get up and go anywhere. But you were excited about the festival. And you thought it might be the perfect place for you and Ben to have your first kiss. And you could finally tell him everything. 

Ben’s eyes fluttered open and met yours gazing at him. He smiled lazily.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep.

Good morning, you signed back. I’ve got to get to Ari’s room, but I didn’t want to disturb you.

“I wish you could stay,” he said through a yawn. “You’re so cozy.” 

You grinned. I’d be content to stay here with you for days, but we do have a festival to see.

“That’s true,” he conceded. “I’ll come get you in an hour, yeah?” 

You nodded. 

To your own dismay, you got out of bed, dressed quickly, and went down the hall to Ari’s room. Ben drifted back off for a bit, but found himself missing the feeling of you next to him. 

When you got to Ari’s room, she, Kay, Sharna, and several other girls were in there waiting for you. Ari flashed you a knowing smile.

“How was your night?” she asked.

It was….nice, you signed with a sheepish grin. He just held me all night. 

“Awww,” Sharna cooed. “What a sweetheart he is.” 

“Well, let’s get you dolled up for your sweet man,” Ari said. 

They all jumped in. While Ari was getting you dressed, the others were helping you with your hair. You really felt like a princess, but not the kind you were in the sea. The kind from storybooks. Only, you didn’t have servants. You had friends. 

Before you knew it, there was a knock at the door. Ben had arrived. Ari went to answer it, and she allowed him in. When he saw you standing there, in that elegant dress, with your hair curled and styled, and just a hint of rouge on your cheeks and lips, his jaw dropped. The breath was stolen out of his body, and his face grew warm. 

“Y/N, you - I - wow - you look….you look…” he sputtered.

“Beautiful?” Ari finished.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still locked onto yours. “Stunning, actually.”

You flushed under his gaze and tried to relax. Somehow, you were more nervous around him now. It felt like he was properly courting you or something. The feeling only grew when he bent at the waist and bowed to you, extending his hand. 

“Y/N, I would be honored if you would allow me to escort you to the festival today,” he said. 

You took his hand, and he looked up. You beamed at him and nodded. He grinned back, losing the dignified air he’d created, and you were back to normal. Only, there was a real feeling of couplehood blossoming. 

He began to lead you out the door. Ari wished you good luck and said they’d be around if you and Ben needed anything. You both waved to her quickly, and then you were off. 

Ben took the lead, since he had been to the festival before. It was mostly local vendors selling products relating to the legend. People were everywhere, shopping and talking. Children darted back and forth, collecting candy and toys. Laughter and music floated through the air. Ben took you first to get a seashell crown to wear. 

“That really suits you, Y/N,” he said, placing it carefully atop your head. 

Thank you, you replied.

You continued walking. It shocked you to witness how fascinated humans were by mermaids. There was mermaid art, mermaid jewelry, mermaid themed food. None of it was accurate, but it was certainly amusing to you.  

You stopped at another booth, where you purchased a pendant for Ben. It was silver, hung down to his chest, and had a perfectly round pearl at the end. It was delicate, but still looked handsome on him.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do all this,” he said, admiring it. “This is much too kind a gift.”

You have been most kind to me, you replied. I want to show you I’m grateful to know you.

He pulled you close and kissed your forehead. 

“Thank you so much,” he said. 

You beamed at each other. 

Exploring the Mermaid Festival took most of the day, but it was a whole day you got to spend with Ben. You talked, laughed, shopped, and got to know each other. In the afternoon, you went to the town square to see the dancing. 

A group of string players were creating a jaunty and upbeat tune. The dance was known to the citizens, as they were all in step with each other. You even saw Ari and Kay out there together. Ben looked over and saw your eager expression.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. 

You nodded so hard, he laughed. 

Taking you hand, he led you out. You got a bit nervous since you had never danced before and you didn’t know the steps.

“Don’t worry,” Ben said, as if reading your mind. “Follow my lead, and keep the beat in your head.”

His reassuring smile made you forget all apprehension. You leapt into the crowd, one hand in Ben’s, the other on his shoulder, while his free hand took your waist. Nothing else mattered. You danced and danced, and whether or not the steps were right was of little consequence. You were in Ben’s arms, moving together, with laughter in your eyes and on your lips. 

The song came to an abrupt, but jubilant halt, and you stopped, breathless and smiling. Ben was similarly delighted. Then you both burst into laughter. 

“That was great, Y/N!” he praised. “For someone who once struggled to walk, you’re a helluva dancer!”

You smirked. Well, I think with dancing, it’s about having the right partner.

He blushed and smiled in that way that absolutely melted you. Then, the music began again, this time much slower. You watched all the other couples return to the floor.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Ben asked.

You shook your head. He quickly showed you a box step, and you told him you trusted him. So, he took you out again. 

The waltz was smooth, with a romantic sway that was exactly what you had envisioned for the dress. You were much closer to Ben now - chest to chest. Both of you were rosy cheeked from the previous dance, but your breath was evening out. Your heart rate on the other hand was picking up rapidly.

“Y/N, I…” Ben began, but trailed off. 

You poked him insistently in the shoulder. He met your eyes and you questioned him with a slight downturn at the corners of your mouth.

The truth was, as he looked at you now, the only thing on his mind was kissing you. 

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I like you,” he said. “I think...it’s becoming more than just a liking, if you know what I mean.” 

You did, but you wanted to hear him say it. You furrowed your brow and looked confused.

“Y/N,” he said again, and as the music slowed to a stop, so did your feet. “I think I’m starting to…”

He was leaning in again, and this time there was no confusion about where he was headed. He was going to kiss you. Properly. And you were more than ready to accept him. To break this curse and regain your voice so that he could know truly everything about you. And you weren’t scared to tell him anymore. Because you knew that he loved you.

Your eyes began to close as you got closer to each other. You felt his breath hot on your face. His lips just barely began to touch yours. Just a little closer. A little closer and then…

“Time for the mermaid tears!” cried a young boy who came bounding between you, forcing you back a few feet. 

You tried not to look annoyed because it wasn’t intentional, but the moment was gone. Ben cleared his throat and looked at you.

“Well, I suppose we can’t miss the mermaid tears,” he said.

What’s that about? You wondered.

“It’s when we all go to the beach and make a wish,” he explained. “Everyone takes a bit of sea glass, makes a wish, and throws it into the sea. The sea glass is meant to be Asenora’s tears she shed for her lost love. But we give them back to her - and you let go of whatever is weighing on you - then she’ll grant your wish. According to the legend.”

Does it have to be right now? You asked.

He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s always right at sundown.” 

How quickly the day had flown! You weren’t ready for it to be over, but maybe, once you got back to the room, there would be another opportunity for him to kiss you. 

With a sigh, you took his arm and headed for the shore. 

All the jewelers were handing out the pieces of sea glass as each person approached. Yours was a deep blue, which reminded you of home. Ben’s was a soft green, and matched his eyes. You walked out to the sand, kicking off your shoes about halfway to the water. You let the ocean come and swallow your feet. 

You decided you were letting go of your old life in the sea. Where you felt trapped by your father and had no control. Your wish was for Ben to try and kiss you again. You hurled the sea glass as far as you could. It disappeared inside a wave. Then you looked at Ben. 

“Go ahead back to the inn,” he said, still holding his sea glass. “I need a moment.”

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, nodded, and began walking back. He watched you go, making sure you met up with Ari and Kay, before you were out of sight among the crowd. Then he looked back over the water. 

His heart was torn. He was certain that he loved you, but he could not forget about the woman who saved his life. It clawed at him, made him feel guilty for falling so hard for you. But how could he help loving you? Even if there was someone out there he owed a debt to. 

That was what he was letting go of. He was releasing himself from the burden of having to love someone for that reason. If he ever found that woman, he would see his debt repaid. But he was committing himself to you. His wish was only that you loved him in return. And that you would have a long and happy life together. 

He realized that he was now alone on the beach. He reared back to throw the stone into the water, when a voice caught his attention. He turned around and saw a woman walking toward him. At first, he hoped it was you, but he knew it was not your silhouette. 

“Benjamin,” the woman said. 

Her voice was intoxicating. He noticed an odd, purple and gold glow coming from a shell around her neck. It hypnotized him so that he dropped his sea glass without even hearing it hit the sand. 

Behati was whistling to herself as she walked near the stern of the ship. She had a great view of  the beach from her spot in the harbor, and she had seen you and Ben making your wishes together. Now, as she was making a second round, a foggy glow caught her eye. She stopped and watched.

A woman she had never seen was talking to Ben. The woman was certainly beautiful from what Behati could tell. But when the glowing fog went straight into Ben’s eyes and his body went rigid, the captain knew something was horribly wrong. The woman began to lead Ben into the sea, walking right into the waves.

“BEN!” Behati screamed, but he paid her no mind. “BEN, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

He continued to ignore her. Then Behati watched with dread as the prince’s head vanished beneath the inky black surface of the water. A wicked cackle echoed through the air. A laugh Behati could never forget as long as she lived. 

“Sycoria!”

[meldy-writes]

Luckiest Girl in the World (Daryl Dixon X Wife! Reader)

Context:So I have an alt AO3 because for some reason I didn’t think a walking dead fic fit with the fanfictions I had under my Pen Name’s account, but at this point, I don’t think it really matters. Anyway, there’s this Daryl X Reader fic I’m writing on this alt account and I’m at the point where I’m writing two ways the story could branch, and there’s this little scene from the path I didn’t take that could work as a drabble. If you like this, or if you want to read the fic for context, it’s here. Be warned, it’s pretty long.

Summary: The Reader has been with the group since the CDC, and along the way, she fell in love and married Daryl Dixon. Now they’re in Alexandria and Aiden, one of Deanna’s sons has begun to harbor a crush. He doesn’t seem to realize that she’s taken. (Daryl’s not really mentioned until the last couple of paragraphs, but I thought those paragraphs were cute enough to warrant this being tagged as an x reader fic.)

Aiden sat at the top of the fence with her, casually leaning back in his seat. The front legs of the plastic chair were off the ground, his feet planted as he rocked back and forth.

“You’re gonna to fall backwards, you know.” (y/n) stated.

“You worried I’m going to get hurt?” he teased, leaning even farther back.

“No. In fact, I think it’d be funny. I just don’t want your mommy to yell at me.”

He let out a snort and put his arms behind his head as he began to rock back and forth. She rolled her eyes, amusement dancing on her features as she eyed the back legs of the chair in anticipation. As she predicted, they eventually snapped, and Aiden promptly fell backwards just as she’d cautioned.

She let out a barking laugh, and a few people passing by stopped to look up at her as the flushing boy tried to shake off the embarrassment.

“All right, all right, it’s not that funny.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, that was the most entertainin’ thing I’ve seen all week,” she argued, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Then your life must be very boring.” He countered bitterly, his pride hurt just a tad from how demeaning her tone was and how promptly she’d always shut him down.

“Oh, no. it’s not borin’, it’s just not fun, either.”

He finally recovered from his little mishap, tossing the broken chair down into the grass below to be fixed later, and choosing instead to sit against the wall. (y/n) kept to her perch, eyeing the expanse of pavement in front of the fence gate.

“You know, if you can’t find fun, you can always make it. There’s a game a lot of us play when we’re on watch to pass the time, want to play?”

She rolled her eyes. “I gotta keep my eyes on the gate”

“It’s a talking game. You can still keep watch. It’s called The Worst. We each share the worst experience we’ve ever had with something, and the one that’s the most terrible wins the round.” He continued, eyeing her with a charming smirk that, despite his best efforts, she hadn’t registered as flirty, yet.

He was an attractive guy, and after she’d saved his life on that run, and yelled at him, they’d bonded. He’d even swallowed his pride and let her train him. They’d gotten close, and they were both attractive, sarcastic, and confident people, so he couldn’t understand how they weren’t together yet. No matter what he did, she always shut down any plans he tried to make to hang out alone outside of the occasional look-out duty, and she always spoke to him like she was talking to a child. A very stupid child.

He didn’t let it deter him, though. No matter how much it hurt his pride. She’d eventually come around.

She turned her nose up at his suggestion, looking at him like he just told her the sky was green, and she was about to gently tell him he was a dumbass.

“That sounds like a game you don’t wanna play with me.”

He asked her why she felt like that.

“Because you’d always lose.” She stated simply, turning back to the scene past the gate.

“Okay, you don’t always have to play the jaded soldier. This world is shit, it’s fucked us all over one time or another, quit acting like you’re the saddest sack in the world.” He scoffed, smacking her shin with the back of his hand playfully.

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

“Alright, then. But if this ends up bummin’ you out, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Internally, he celebrated. This was the first time he’d ever gotten her to agree to something she initially said ‘no’ to. Slowly but surely, he was winning her over, he was sure.

“Alright, easy. Worst night of your life. Mine was that time I left that supply run group behind. Usually, we’d go into detail, explaining what happened, but, you already know about that night ‘cuz I told you about it.” He stated sadly. She’d talked a big game, so he was pulling out the big guns. “What about you?”

Let’s see you top that, Debbie Downer.

She smirked, sensing the challenge in his voice.

“A long time before we all came here, we were stayin’ on Maggie’s dad’s farm. One night, it got overrun by a horde, an’ everyone got separated. I was with Carol, an’ a walker fell on top of me, tryin’ to bite into my shoulder. She thought I was bit, so she left me behind, but I was wearin’ a real thick jacket. I was fine, but I had to cut it open and drench myself in its blood so the herd wouldn’t sniff me out and tear me to shreds. I had to slice my way through a sea of those suckers, an’ then stumble through the woods covered in gunk for a whole day and a half ‘fore I found my people again. That was the first walker I ever killed on my own. Damn terrifyin’.”

He was quiet after that, face white as a sheet as he shuttered and coughed awkwardly.

“Y-your turn to come up with a topic.” He finally uttered.

“Worst walker encounter you ever had. Mine was this time at a mechanic shop out in… It had to be North Carolina. A guy tried to--well, it’s not important what his intentions were, the point was that he had me handcuffed to one of those automatic levers they use in autobody shops to lift cars, an’ I was hoisted off the ground. He had the keys in his front pocket, an’ I’d managed to get his head ‘tween my thighs to snap his neck. I was tryin’ to reach for the keys with my feet when he re-animated. I was strugglin’, I couldn’t go anywhere, I couldn’t use my arms, the only reason I got out of it was ‘cuz he accidentally bumped up against the control for the lift, and his head ended up crushed under the mechanism. I’ve had a lot of close calls, but I think that was the only time I ever truly felt like I was gonna die.”

Aiden let out a low whistle, letting her words settle. Maybe she’d been right after all. Still, depending on how she saw things, his might still be worse.

“Mine was right at the beginning. My girlfriend was with us while we were traveling for Mom’s campaign. I left for twenty minutes to grab some lunch, and when I got back to our hotel room, she was a walker. I don’t know if she was bitten, or if she had an accident, or if someone… I don’t know. All I know is that I had to kill her with my bare hands just to stay alive. I... dropped the hotel room tv on her head.”

He shuttered at the memory, and to his surprise, he felt (y/n) place her hand on his shoulder and squeeze comfortingly. He grabbed for it, but she pulled away before he could.

“Let’s uh, choose a more up-beat topic,” he continued weakly, “Worst date you ever went on. Mine was this girl Cierra Mauldry in sixth grade. I kissed her goodnight on her porch, and our braces stuck together.”

She laughed at first, but a long-suppressed memory resurfaced at the mention of dates, and instantly she was somber again.

“A guy I worked with at the CDC,” she started softly.

“He’d had a crush on me for a while, an’ I’d just learned that my dad died, so I was in kind of a vulnerable spot. I said yes to grabbin’ dinner together, an’ takin a walk ‘round the facility. When we got back to his room, he wanted to sleep with me, but I didn’t. I didn’t really like him that way, an’ I didn’t think it was fair to him to string him along, so I told him ‘no’, an’ that we should just remain professional from now on. Next day, he didn’t show up in the lab, an’ my boss sent me to go get ‘im. I found him as a walker hangin’ from his closet.” She took a hiccupping breath, reliving the memory in her mind, and scrunching her eyes shut. “Worst part is I cannot, for the life of me, remember his name.”

They were both quiet after that, and soon, they heard Spencer calling up to relieve (y/n) from her shift. She grinned sympathetically down and Aiden, and gave him the goodbye of:

“Told you it was a bad game to play with me.”

Still, when she got up, he scrambled to his feet as well grabbing her arm to stop her before she made her way down the ladder.

“Well, hey, I still had fun. I got to know you a bit better. I’d like to continue doing that, maybe you could come over for dinner and eat with my family tonight.”

She smiled the smile she usually did; like she was talking to a slow, and simple child.

“I’m sorry, Aiden, but tonight’s not great. Daryl’s gotten kind of close with his recruitn’ buddy, and his husband wants us to come to dinner tonight so he can finally properly meet me.”

Aiden scrunched up his eyes in confusion.

“What? What does Daryl getting close with them have to do with you? If they wanted to get to know you, couldn’t they just approach you without having to go through him?”

She smiled wider like he’d said something adorably stupid, as she clarified:

“I didn’t explain it very well, It’s more like a couple’s dinner party sort-of thing.”

Aiden blinked. What? What the fuck? Was she insinuating that she and Daryl were… she couldn’t be, right?

“You and Daryl are together?”

She nodded as if his statement was beyond obvious, “we’re married,” she corrected.

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to picture the violent, mean, constantly dirty guy with the long, long hair together with the clever, beautiful, and secretly caring woman he’d been trying to flirt with for the past week and a half, but he just couldn’t picture it.

“How?” he blurted out.

“How do people get married?” she teased flatly.

“No, how did you two end up together? You’re so different!”

She smiled softly, looking down at her fingers as she began to twiddle them. This smile was different than any of the ones he’d reluctantly wrangled out of her. This one was genuine, and bashful, and affectionate, and dazzling. Aiden knew it wasn’t for him, and it almost felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t be just by looking at her.

“He an’ I are a lot more alike than people realize. We’re more alike than even he realizes, I think. That doesn’t matter though. These days, it’s not about whether you’re similar, or if you’ve known each other for a long time, it’s all about who you can trust and depend on. It’s about who you’d die for, and who’d die for you. We might not have ended up together in the old world, but in this one, we’ve got somethin’ strong. Somethin’ special.”

She grinned brightly, practically knocking the breath out of her companion as she looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

With that, his grip on her arm retracted, and she finally made her way down the ladder. He watched her walk down the street and run into the man they’d just been discussing. He watched as she strode over to him, and gripped his leather vest, trying to pull him down for a kiss.

He noticed how Daryl grinned fondly and put his hands on her waist, placing a quick peck on the tip of her nose. He noticed how she leaned into him with her whole body. He noticed how the sun reflected off the ring on her finger, the ring he had not gathered was supposed to be a wedding ring until that moment. He noticed how soft Daryl was for her when no one else was around.

Or maybe, he was always like this around her, and Aiden had just been too absorbed in himself to realize.

[flamehairedwritings]

Hey I love your Jim Hopper hcs!!! Could you do some about jealous Hopper? Maybe with Mayor Kline hitting on the reader? Thank you!!!

Thank you so much, lovely!! I’m so sorry this is late!

as I’ve said before, Hop is not a jealous man.

He’s not. He deals with jealous assholes at work all the time, and he just hates it. Besides, he trusts you.

.................... uhm

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally get a little jealous, though, mainly because he can be a little insecure, in himself that is.

He can’t help but think every now and then, in a tiny corner of his mind, that he doesn’t deserve you, that you could do better. He can’t help it, he’s always been insecure, and after his divorce and you being his first proper relationship since then, it has just exacerbated it.

He hasn’t had those feelings in a loooong time, though. With your love and care, he’s worked through it, and trusts you completely.

And then came the fair.

He never used to attend it, but this year, when you’d come home from work with the leaflet, eye-wide, smile wide, he’d begrudgingly agreed to go.

When the day came, your excitement was kinda infectious, especially when you’d classed it as a date, so he’d dressed in his new, favourite, tropical shirt, washed and brushed his hair, and had nearly thrown you on the damn bed with what you’d dressed in.

You’d held hands in the Blazer as he drove, laughing and singing along to the radio, both of you the most relaxed you’d been in a long time. It was getting more and more rare these days that you get an evening off together and actually do something with it, though you’re also quite happy to sit on the couch and hold each other as you half watch something.

This is exciting, though, something different, something new, and who doesn’t love a fair?

Once he’d parked up, you’d gotten out and held hands again, your eyes wide at the lights and sounds and laughter. He’d taken a breath and, though it’s not particularly his scene, he seizes the opportunity to just spend time with you.

And he soon relaxes, his arm going around your shoulders, around your waist, his hand back in yours, laughing as you do, and trying his damn best to win you a damn toy. He excels on the coconut shy and the shooting games, winning you whatever you want. You’re both soon hungry, though, and you grab a free picnic table as he gets in the queue for food, his hands in his pockets.

A couple of people will talk to him in the line, and he’ll be polite and talk back, then Callahan will bump into him and talk his ear off while he eats cotton candy. Hop will half listen, nodding and humming and glancing over Callahan’s shoulder at you.

The fourth time he glances over his shoulder, he’ll see that you’re not alone.

Mayor Larry Kline.

Hop has... not much of a relationship with him. He has to meet every week or so with him of course to report on what’s going on in Hawkins and to just be seen to be doing so, really, Kline never really listens and just kind of waves him off as everything seems to be fine.

But even from the short meetings he’d had with him, Hop knows what kind of man Mayor Kline is; a sleaze.

He’s charming, handsome, witty, everything a successful politician is.

And Hop watches you laugh at something Kline says.

Watches the way Kline talks to you, engaged, animated, attentive, and it... it makes something twist a little inside him.

Hop knows who he is, and knows that you love him, he knows you do, but... sometimes he wishes he could be more for you, that he could hold a room, be charming like Kline and make you beam with pride. At seeing Kline with you, he forgets that you already do that when you see him.

Running a hand down his mouth and beard, he keeps his eyes fixed on you, Callahan still going on and on, oblivious.

Kline laughs charmingly at something you say... and rests a hand on your knee.

He’s too busy staring at the hand, that he doesn’t notice you tense slightly and try to shift it away as you laugh politely.

Then, Hop’s striding out of the queue, ignoring Callahan’s ‘what the hell?’s

You were sat on your own, smiling to yourself, so happy with how the evening was going, that you and Hop were getting to spend real quality time together, when you’d heard someone approach.

Getting ready to say no, the table is not free, you’d then met the gaze of Mayor Larry Kline.

You’d smiled automatically, wanting to be polite, and he’s the mayor, after all, and he’d returned it, charming as ever.

You’d heard from Hop that Kline had... an interest in woman who weren’t particularly his wife, so that had been ringing in your mind as he’d introduced himself and sat down. You’d never met him, but he knew you were Hop’s girlfriend so even more alarms had started ringing when he’d turned on the charm.

You just tried to be as polite as you could, though, because, again, he’s the mayor, and he wasn’t doing anything that overtly called for you to call him out, and hoped Hopper would be back soon.

‘Wow, you’ve won a lot today, huh?’

‘Oh, no, not me, my boyfriend, Hopper, Jim Hopper,’

‘Ah, yes, of course. It’s good, that you have a man like that to take care of you.’

‘Yes, I’m very happy with him.’

Everything you said, you tried to make it very clear you are happy with Hopper, but Kline either wasn’t getting or was ignoring the message.

‘I have a gala next week, you and Hop should come, I bet you’d be the belle of the ball.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t think so, I think your wife would outshine me.’

He laughs, his hand gently resting on your knee.

‘Oh, I don’t know, you may give her a run for her money.’

Oh my God.

You laugh, politely, and try and shift your knee away, and you’re about to politely remind him of his wedding vows when Hop is suddenly there at your side, his hand settling on your back.

Kline smiles brightly, charmingly, as he looks at him.

‘Hopper! So good to see you—’

‘Yeah, whatever, pal, can you get your hand off my girl’s knee.’

Kline stares at him as you stare at Kline, your lips twitching.

‘... Oh, I was just—’

‘Hand. Off.’

Kline’s hand comes off your knee instantly and he laughs, albeit rather nervously this time, and gets to his feet, straightening his suit.

‘Just a misunderstanding, Hopper, I assure you—’

‘Yeah, I bet, you have a nice night with your wife, Kline.’

Kline’s smile is forced, fixed, and you’re biting at your lower lip to hide your own smile.

‘Well, I... Good evening, have a great night, both of you.’

Hopper watches him walk away until he hears your throat clear. Looking down at you, he finds you grinning.

‘My girl’, huh’?’

‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’

‘Oh...’

Rising to your feet, your smirk wide, your arms go around his neck as you look at him.

‘... Yes, I am.’

His own arms go around your waist, a low hum coming from him.

‘Think I might need to remind a few people of that.’

‘Chief...’

‘Shut up and come here...’

Your laugh will be muffled by his lips descending on yours, and with a single kiss, Hopper will remind everyone in the vicinity that you are his, and he is yours.

—

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[unfortunatelysirius]

╰☆☆ ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ 𝔾𝕀ℝ𝕃𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 ☆☆╮ [Sirius Black – Marauders Era] [Part 14]

Previous Installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

╰❂╮ prompt ╰❂╮ ☾ ¡Original! ☾ With the perpetrator on their tail, and Sirius’s prejudices no longer something that can be ignored, relationships shatter and a safe way out is near unimaginable. ╰❂╮ author’s note ╰❂╮ Sorry this is so, so late. I hope the installment is to your satisfaction. AND IM SORRY IT’S SO SHORT BUT PLS, FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED AND I’LL BE MORE PROMPT ON UPDATES. Will be updating Chocolate Frogs and Love Notes soon. Tell me if you want added to any of my tag-lists! ╰❂╮ warnings ╰❂╮ Angst, Swearing, Violence ╰❂╮ word count ╰❂╮ 2043 ╰❂╮ tag-list ╰❂╮ @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines  @random-quartz @ruefulposts @seabasstiantrash @starlightspidey @pinkettepoet @peppermintspecks @jiongyongguk​ @bethanystan​ @raindancer2004​ @where-are-my-gummy-bears​ @cutebutnotinorcent​

           IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT, and a disturbing sort of cold Y/N thought she might never experience in her lifetime, shivers up and down her spine within the dark, suffocating corridor. The stars were like silver dewdrops splattered across the navy sky, visible through each old window’s silhouette littered around the castle; with every passing step, Y/N caught another glimpse of Nature’s finest canvas. She was curled into Sirius’s side, squished between his subtly muscled body and James’s near-identical shape, both Remus and Peter trailing the three of them by seconds. It was reminiscent of times that seemed so far away.

         Y/N thought it was all too good to be true. Everything, from her and Sirius falling back into same-old, same-old routine like they’d never left the honeymoon phase to James looking quite sullen compared to his usual upbeat, enthusiastic self. She wondered if it was all a twist on reality to make her think things were fine when really, Sirius wasn’t anywhere near, James still hated her, and the Marauders were leading her somewhere to hex and discard their latest “conquest.”  It made all the more sense the longer she thought about it, but thoughts of the way Sirius felt—flesh, bone, whole—made her realize she was daft, and just a little bit mad.

         He was so obviously here, a living, breathing wonder, and she was trying to make it a mirage. She wanted it that way.

         Or maybe she’d just went long enough with things going wrong that miracles seemed far too good to be true.

         “I have to meet with Regulus,” murmured Y/N into the quiet air, after the silence became a tad bit too smothering. She was also alert of her own negligence, from her delirious daze to her angry soul’s demands for an apology, as Sirius’s arm looped around her became a bone-crushing reality. Not so much a reality she craved anymore, but one that needed multiple bandages slapped across it; the Muggle way of rekindling old flames and licked wounds. Y/N was beginning to grow agitated and nervous, as this reality crushed down on her. As her newly-put-together world fell apart in the wake of unanswered questions. “He—wants to help. He thinks I was Obliviated.”

         Sirius glanced down at her, looking unsure, his own face not betraying the inner turmoil running their world ragged. The two of them didn’t know how to approach their current problem, the one that kept them from falling together as happy memories asked them to; Y/N was afraid of what lay in wait, Sirius’s admittance that he thought so lowly of her that for even a millisecond he thought she might have been a slag, and Sirius dreaded the moment he had to let his betrayal out into the open. Neither of them were willing to ruin their reconciliation by simple, trivial ire, the kind that winded up someone alone and heartbroken, the kind that could get anyone and everyone hurt.

         Even the most painful of thoughts were best kept internalized, if it meant staying locked tight in a dream.

         Even now, the two of them were so different. Differences Y/N once overlooked in favor of what made them compatible.  

“Regulus doesn’t care about anyone except for himself,” Sirius snapped at Y/N, the three Marauders looking nervous in anticipation for the argument to come. “He’s a Slytherin. The bloody git is tricking you.”

         “How the fuck would you know?” Y/N was never one for confrontation. This was all new territory. She was tired, and depressed, and dying of questions; she loved Sirius, she did, but he was still the prejudiced, arrogant prat he was before they started dating. He’d always hate Slytherins because he grew up in a world full of snakes that rejected him for being who he was, and maybe that was a drawn line for why they weren’t meant to last. He was the charismatic, hateful railroad tycoon, and she was his subdued wife that tiptoed around his temper. Stupid, foolish—she was letting herself use another goddamned Muggle analogy—Americanized, no less. Maybe Y/N was running low on a lucid mind as much as she was excuses.

         He knows nothing about Regulus, she thought anyway, looking into those silver grey eyes she’d always loved. Sirius didn’t. He refused to talk to his brother; maybe Regulus was growing into himself and losing that part of him that preened and prawned from pleasing his parents. If he was scared, if he was determined to find the truth because he wanted to sabotage dark plans, he never once betrayed it. But deep down, there was nothing else rational to explain his motivations, and Y/N knew he was a scared little boy afraid the monsters would someday catch up to him—

And they’d eat him alive like all wolves just so happen to do.

“Regulus is your brother,” continued Y/N. “He doesn’t want to be part of whatever it is your parents do. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You didn’t grow up with him. You didn’t see him do nothing when his brother was lying on the ground, with their father standing above him,” seethed Sirius. “Don’t act like you know him; you sure as hell don’t.”

Y/N felt like crying, as she wrenched herself away from Sirius’s warm, comforting embrace. “Don’t act like you know me,” she spat. Sirius’s jaw fell downwards, a flicker of hurt flitting across his face. “Go mope in your dorm. I’m getting down to the bottom of this, with or without you.”

Sirius was silent. Y/N continued to watch him, imploring him to say something, wishing he wouldn’t just let her leave. If she left, she could get hurt, and Sirius wouldn’t be her knight in shining armor. They went so long in turmoil that Y/N wanted there to be some sort of compromise; if they could argue and fight for so long, the two a mess with their friends on the fence on how to fix them, then they sure as hell could be soft and melted together, too. Maybe they were different, maybe Sirius couldn’t let his old ways go, but truth be told—Y/N always wanted to show him a new perspective.

She’d tried doing that before things went wrong.

“Really, Sirius?” she said now, staring brokenly at him. “We could finally figure this out, and you’re backing down? Really?”

“Whoever’s done this is dangerous,” Sirius told her. His voice had lost all its shake, all its fury, rendered a new sort of mellow Y/N had hardly ever seen from him. He looked like he itched to hold her and reassure he was just an asshat, but his asshat ways betrayed none of his true love for her, or his need to protect her. None, nada, zilch: right? He was a teenage boy, a prat, but he didn’t mean anything out of his pathetically unfiltered mouth. “I want you safe, Y/N. We should leave this to the professors.”        

Those words were foreign out of his mouth. Y/N took a heavy breath and she said, “Sirius, do you even hear yourself? Merlin, what’s happened to you?”

“What’s happened to me? Me?” Sirius’s laugh was humorless. “You’re bloody mad.”

“Sirius, Y/N, this isn’t the best time,” said Remus, looking between the two with apprehension.

“This is the best time, Remus,” Y/N said, refusing to look at any of them. She knew Peter was fidgeting; she knew James was gap-mouthed like a pufferfish; she knew Remus was trying to hide his trepidation. She knew Sirius was silently seething. All of them, they weren’t clearly thinking. They didn’t have their nerves together. Y/N was terrified that solving the bottom of the mystery would never come if they fell apart before they came together. But Y/N could no longer go on if her experience with the love of her life was only going to be heartache and pain, two things she had felt since coming to this God-awful school.

You’re not any better than him, thought Y/N, her brain suddenly going to Ashton. He was dead, and she’d never get to see him again; she’d never get to tell him she was sorry, that she never meant to use him, that he was someone she came to love in her desperation to feel. He taught her about love. He taught her that it was okay to be without for a little while because wholes always regain their lost pieces. Maybe he threw her into an abyss after he broke her heart that left her sad and lost of all hope, but now, with her head on her shoulders again, she could safely say he taught her a lot—yet she gained nothing.

Y/N was happy with Sirius, but he did not teach her anything. He was a fun partner in crime, but when it truly came down to life lessons, he wasn’t a teacher; he was along for the ride, a mere passenger in a bus packed to the brim with faces from the crowd.

Standing in the hallway, letting these thoughts wash over her, Y/N could not do this anymore. She needed to find Regulus and reach the climax of this game. Someone was toying with her and her feelings, and if she didn’t put a stop to it, if she didn’t find a way to draw the villain out and stifle the madness, there was no way for her to get peace—and she’d stay stuck in an endless cycle of being a living ghost.

“I can’t anymore, Sirius,” whispered Y/N. “I can’t.”

She turned around and ran.

The Marauders watched after her, one looking horrified, two looking shocked, and the one this mattered to most—he looked heartbroken.

And none of them even bothered to go after her, as the guilt sunk in and they realized—

Was the love-potion maker truly the villain? Or was it them?

-

Y/N had stopped running after reaching the fourth corridor. She eventually stopped walking altogether. Her pace slowed until it was nonexistent, her harsh, shaking breaths fell into soundless sniffs, her erratic thoughts slowly but surely came to a close. All she could think about now was Regulus, who was waiting at the library for her presence. And that half-blurry, half-familiar memory of a white-haired girl in the very same forest Y/N was in herself

Y/N knew it mattered. She knew she’d been Obliviated, and she was foolish not to go to Headmaster Dumbledore for help in retrieving her memories… but she was a foolish girl, and foolish girls wanted to figure out mysteries by themselves.

“I’m a bloody fool,” mumbled Y/N to herself, clutching her head like that would heal all trace of confusion, as well as her sadness. It wouldn’t, but it felt like it did—so Y/N continued to grope at her temples and scalp. The corridor echoed with spooky creaks and even spookier whistles. Y/N felt regret seep into her bones, as she realized she was still a bit of ways away from the library—and she was totally, utterly, completely alone.

Y/N heard someone laugh.

“You are a bloody fool,” they said.

Out from the end of the corridor emerged a girl, whose entire face and hair were obscured by shadows—but the pretty little patch on her robes had a snake on them. Y/N knew it was a Slytherin. But all she saw was the patch, as her body and face were near invisible—and even then, the patch’s emblazoning was blurry to her. She felt her head grow light, her eyes squinting to see within the darkness. She was so caught in looking at the patch to even pay any regard to the words the stranger spoke or the wand as it lifted, pointing right at Y/N’s chest.

“Who are—”

The girl flicked her wrist. “Stupefy,” she said.

Suddenly Y/N was knocked off her feet by a powerful spell, the backlash sending her head cracking against the corridor wall, rendering her immobile and near-unconscious.

She felt her body crumble, but only half of the way—a steady stream of numbness shooting through her like lightning.

         The stranger walked up, a laugh emptying from her mouth.

“Got you!” the girl sang happily.

That was when things went black.

[ahh-fxck]

Warrior’s Blues Chapter 9: Mockingbird

Hello, my lovelies! Here is the next chapter of Warrior’s Blues! In it we feature nervous Jaskier making comfort food while Yennefer finally lets him in on the big secret with her marriage to Geralt. Yennefer lives her best life making the poor bastard nervous again, and Geralt getting his feet a little more under him. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!

A huge thank you to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​ who is the co-creator and beta of this fic. Your patience and hard work are SO appreciated you don’t even know <3 <3 <3

Ao3 link here

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

“Are you telling me that you’re not here to kill me? I admit I was a little worried when you showed up without Geralt.” He flashes her a lopsided little grin, trying to ease the tension of the situation.

“Afraid not. I would happily murder you, but Geralt would get upset…” she sighs, then smirks. “Step out of line and you die, but keep me happy and play your cards right? Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re free to pursue him. If you want him.” She takes another sip of her coffee.

Jaskier blinks, caught so off guard that he finds himself actually panicking a little. Wife not killing him? This is not in the usual script. Possibly still being able to see the unbelievably hot husband? Mind broken. He pulls his coffee in close against his chest for the warmth, trying to restart his brain. In the background of his mind is a steady stream of whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck repeating in circles.  

Yennefer laughs, watching his face journey through a number of stages of confusion. Eventually, she takes pity on him. “Breathe,” she quips. He sucks in a breath and looks at her, blue eyes wide and startled, and she gives him an amused grin. “So. Are you going to let me grill you, or should I just leave now?” she asks with a teasing twist of her lips.

Jaskier puffs, then sputters, “Grilling? Grilling’s fine.” Still looking like he’s been hit between the eyes, he turns away and sets his coffee cup down on the counter near the stove, then opens the fridge and begins nervously pulling fruit out and setting it on the counter. When strawberries and blueberries have been pulled out, he walks across the kitchen to hanging baskets and pulls down an apple and a banana. If he was going to be interrogated, he was damn well going to have some comfort food while it was happening.

Yennefer watches with amusement, sipping her coffee. “You crossed some lines by jumping into bed with Geralt so quickly, why don’t you start there?” she says sweetly, enjoying the way he winces.

Chapter 9: Mockingbird

The road outside the bar was quiet. She pulled her black blazer up around her shoulders, neatening her outfit in a storefront window. Then she eyed her reflection critically. When she was satisfied, she approached the door of the bar. From the outside, the place looked like a dive, but when she pushed inside she saw that it was actually a neat, well-appointed little space. The floor was wooden, and brass fixtures winked in the dimness. There was a subtle, pervasive odor of cumin lingering in the air, a memory of good cooking mixing with the more typical bar smells of spilled beer and cigarettes. Sitting in the far corner was a pale, broad-shouldered young man with ice blond hair shorn in a military cut. He was dressed in a plain tan shirt and khaki pants.

He raised his head when he heard the door. The place was almost deserted. Despite this, there was a cozy, well-lived feeling to the neat seating and lovingly polished tables. When he saw her, his face lit up. Yennefer had been running a little late, and his anxiety had been starting to get the best of him. 

“Yennefer,” he rose to his feet to greet her as she crossed the room. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” 

“I’m the one who asked you for a drink, Geralt, why wouldn’t I come?” She gave him an irritated look. She slung her purse off of her shoulder and hung it on the chair, putting herself bodily between the young man and his attempt to pull the chair out for her. Her violet eyes flashed as she fixed him with a look that very clearly said, ‘don’t touch.’ 

His eyes widened, and he gingerly took one step back, then another, waiting until her expression softened before he stilled again. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, then gestured vaguely towards the bar. “What can I get you?” Despite her sharp temper and sharper tongue, or perhaps because of it, Geralt had become fascinated with her as they worked together. She was whip-smart, merciless, and graceful in equal measures, and he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame even though she didn’t seem to like him very much. It had made his week when she’d grudgingly asked him out for a drink to get to know him better, but he hadn’t been certain she liked him enough to actually follow through. 

She eyed him impatiently as she considered. She found herself wishing he would stop looking at her like a nervous puppy, and she stared at him in vaguely concealed irritation. If anything though, the stare made it worse. She came to a decision and pulled the chair out neatly, seating herself at the table. “Arak, please. On the rocks.” 

“Chalav shel Ariot,” he said with a quick little smile. “Sure, I’ll be back.” 

She cocked her head at him, eyeing him curiously as he turned to leave. Milk of Lions, another name for the liquor arak. It was a common enough term among the locals, but she didn’t think she’d heard anyone else on base use it. 

As he returned a moment later, she sat back skeptically and took her glass from him. He sat down across from her with a beer and a shot glass full of clear undiluted arak. Her own was white, the sugars transformed by contact with the water from the ice. She drew her fingers along the cool sides of her glass, noticing that he didn’t seem to be making eye contact. Instead he watched her fingers trace beads of moisture. 

“Is this what you do all day? When you’re not being a pain in my ass?” She asked, observing the softness of his face up close. He usually had a stern expression. It was easy to miss how handsome he actually was, with wide topaz eyes and a cupid’s bow lip. To her surprise, he smiled crookedly and looked up at the ceiling fixtures, taking in the brass on the lights and dark iron brackets. 

“Yeah. This is where I spend a lot of my time. Coën likes it here too.” 

“He mentioned,” she replied dryly. “More than once.” She took a slow sip of the arak, the sharp burn of the aniseed flavored liquor pleasant across her tongue. 

“What brings you to this part of the world?” He asked quietly, now studying the table. His big hands were wrapped around his beer mug, but they gave the impression of nervousness stilled, like he would normally be in motion but was concealing it. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Yennefer had a keen eye for body language. Though she wouldn’t have readily admitted it, she’d been observing him closely for some time now. They had spent a lot of time together, both in and out of the field, and it had given her time to catalogue his tells.  She crossed her legs and considered his question, examining her glass. 

“I was assigned back here after college because I speak a couple of the local languages,” she said. “I grew up Ashdod, down the coast from here.” 

He licked his lips, nodded, then assayed a reply in Hebrew. <<Where did you go to college?>>

She frowned, putting her glass down and leaning towards him. <<What did you just say?>>

<<You said you came back after college. Where did you attend school?>> he tried again, shooting her a hopeful look over the edge of his mug. 

Surprised, she sat back. <<University of London. Why?>> She’d known from their field work that he knew at least a little of the local languages, enough to get by, but she had apparently underestimated how fluent he actually was.

<<I was wondering where your accent came from. You have an Israeli accent but you don’t sound quite like the locals. I thought the UK maybe..>> He took a long swallow of his beer. <<I graduated from Lexington Military College.>>

<<I know,>> she said wryly. <<I did a little digging after you got pinned to my ass by your CO.>> 

He shook his head and flashed another crooked grin, chuckling. <<Sorry about that. I don’t think he likes me very much.>>

<<Yes, well, I don’t like you very much either,” She replied, without any real heat. 

He tilted his glass at her ironically, then took a drink. <<Why the invitation, then?>> he inquired, lifting his gaze and catching her eyes with his own for the first time this whole conversation. A small shock ran through both of them, and she held his gaze for only a moment before looking off to the side, feeling oddly off balance. 

<<Coën kept insisting that I should get to know you, since we’re stuck working together so often.>>

He smiled at the table top. <<Coën’s a good guy. I like him.>> 

<<He is.>> She admitted, taking another swallow of arak. The burn was pleasant, smoother now that the ice had begun to melt into the alcohol. Rolling liquor on her tongue, she considered him with renewed intensity. <<How did you learn Hebrew?>>

Golden eyes came up and played briefly across her face, then dropped off to the side to study a nail in the floor. <<When I heard I was being assigned out here I picked up some books. And…>> he shrugged, taking a long swallow of his beer. <<I listen to the locals. I try to talk with them. David corrects me a lot.>> With a jerk of his head, he indicated the bartender quietly puttering around behind the bar across the room from them. 

She frowned, leaning towards him again. <<How much time did you have? That doesn’t seem right.>> 

<<Uhm… A year? Less? Not long.>> He replied, shrugging. <<I got more serious about it after I was assigned to you. I know people enjoy hearing their own language. I thought you might like it.>> His lips quirk as he feels her gaze on him, feeling put on the spot. 

Despite herself, she found the corners of her lips tugging with a smile. <<That’s insane,>> she said. <<I don’t believe you.>>

He shrugged, tossing back the last of his beer. <<Believe what you want.>> He chased it with the shot of arak, then shook his head to clear his burning sinuses. 

She leaned back, taking her glass with her and cradling it close to her chest.  <<Do you just speak, or do you read, too?>>

Licking his lips, he nodded. When he spoke again, she stared in astonishment. 

<<Not the peace of a cease-fire,

not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,

but rather

as in the heart when the excitement is over

and you can talk only about a great weariness.

I know that I know how to kill,

that makes me an adult.

And my son plays with a toy gun that knows

how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.

A peace

without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,

without words, without

the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be

light, floating, like lazy white foam.

A little rest for the wounds—

who speaks of healing?

(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation

to the next, as in a relay race:

the baton never falls.)

Let it come

like wildflowers,

suddenly, because the field

must have it: wildpeace.>> 

<<Where on earth did you learn that?>> She asked after a long, shocked silence. 

He shrugged awkwardly.. <<I saw the book in a pile of your things while you were working. Yehuda Amichai, Not For the Sake of Remembering. Uh. I got my hands on a copy of it. I thought you might like that one. I like it.>>

<<It’s my favorite from that whole book,>> she replied, taken aback. Not even her cameraman Coën, her closest friend, knew that. She tossed back the rest of her glass, taking the time to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts.  

<<Why are you a soldier? With a mind like that, you’re wasted in the army.>>

The smile he gave the table, brief though it was, was like sunlight flashing across still water. 

<<Thanks, I think?>> He toyed idly with his empty glass. <<I’m uh, in the army because my old man’s a Colonel and he raised me to follow his footsteps. Ran the base out in Powidz, Poland until they forced him to retire. I guess I always was headed here.>> Shrugging, he stood. <<Want another round?>>

<<Please,>> she said, offering her empty glass. He nodded and took it, returning a moment later with new glasses of beer and arak. Placing the milky glass of liquor in front of her, he sat back down. 

<<Why are you a journalist? Especially writing about what you do… interviewing who you do? It’s fucking dangerous.>> He leaned back in his chair, holding his beer against his chest and eyeing her curiously. The tension in his body was starting to fade, and he looked both kinder and younger as a result. 

She felt a curious warmth, looking at him. It was similar to the burn of the alcohol, but it tingled in her hands, in her chest. Taking a long swallow of liquor, she considered his question. They eyed each other curiously. <<I think I did it because I hate people lying.>> She waved her hand as she took another sip, explaining, <<Which, granted, makes what I do for a living ironic.>> He nodded and chuckled, taking a swallow from his mug while he listened. 

<<Um… I think I do it because I get to write everything down. Even if what I publish is… what it is, what I do to get paid, I know that somewhere there is a true and real account of what happened. What was said. Who was saying it and why. I know it’s written down somewhere, impossible to erase. And every now and then I get to really destroy someone awful, which makes some of the bullshit worth it.>>

<<Good answer,>> he said, eyebrows going up. <<Not sure what I was expecting, but I like that. You’re ferocious. I love watching you scare the shit out of people around here.>>

She laughed, genuinely and openly. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh like that, and he liked it. He never wanted her to stop. 

The road is wide and quiet, shaded by drooping, dusty trees. They are big, old, their gnarled branches weaving together to create a dim canopy that covers the early morning road and sidewalks in flickering shadows. The houses lining the street are old Victorian and Craftsman style homes with white gables. 

Yennefer drives slowly along it, violet eyes intent as she studies the neighborhood. The hum of the rental car’s engine is quiet as she rolls past house after house, scanning for the proper number. The first thing she spots even before that is Geralt’s battered old truck. It sits in the driveway of a simple blue house with a white wooden staircase spiraling up the outside. Next to it is a small white car with black songbirds printed on the trunk, done in pen-and-ink style art. They carry flowers, small splashes of color against the plain background. Yellow buttercups, blue cornflowers, red poppies, even blue forget-me-nots are carried in their beaks. 

Flicking on the turn signal, she waits for a green van to slowly pass going the other way before she pulls up in the driveway behind Geralt’s truck. Pulling the parking brake, she leans back in her seat to rest and gather herself. It had been a long, emotional night and she was still jet lagging terribly. Still, she thought that getting out while Geralt was still asleep was probably for the best, so she had risen early to take care of things.

When she gets out of the car a wall of sticky, humid air hits her immediately. With a brief expression of displeasure she eyes the sky, then turns around and retrieves her purse from the car. She pauses to flick open her compact, checking over her appearance. Despite her exhaustion, she is impeccably appointed as always, black pinstripe suit pressed, white blouse spotless, makeup crisp even in the soggy heat. She tucks a hair back into place, snaps the compact closed, and locks up the car. 

Striding up the driveway, she follows the concrete path around the side of the house to the front door. As she goes, she curiously studies the place that Geralt has been living. The walkway is plain, lined on either side with a leafy, ill-kept rock garden that has seen better days. Many of the rocks are painted, little friendly blobs of swirled color intermixing with odd little symbols and tiny hand-painted fairies from children’s movies randomly amongst the plain stones. The door itself is wooden, with a rectangular stained glass panel in the middle containing a simple diamond and square motif typical of the town during the era that the house was constructed. She rings the bell. 

“Just a moment!” She hears a voice call from the depths of the house. The door opens a beat later, revealing Jaskier. He gives her an uncertain look, hesitates, then opens the door wide so that he can face her directly.  

He is wearing long blue shorts that look like they belonged to a suit before someone shortened them and took to them with a bedazzler. There is a swirling pattern of rhinestones up each leg, with little hearts winking on each of his hips amidst the swirls. His big loose button down shirt is white, with splashes of blue watercolor style flowers all over it. Near the breast of the shirt on the left is a silk screened mockingbird in black and white, with a little curl of rhinestones coming from its beak like it is exhaling them in song. He looks tired, with shadows smudged under his eyes, and his hair is damp from the shower. 

“Can I help you?” He queries, wary. It had been a long, shitty night full of self-recrimination for him that had left him feeling like the middle of him had been scooped out, leaving him empty and sore. He’d been expecting to see Yennefer today, but he didn’t think anything could prepare him for dealing with her again. He was a grown adult, though, and if he had to face the music, he would do it with as much dignity as he could muster.

She looks him up and down, considering him. Of all the types of men she’d expected Geralt to go in for, someone as colorful as this wasn’t even on the list. It’s oddly sweet that her quiet, withdrawn husband would be attracted to someone so different than himself. Too bad he picked an idiot. “I’m here to talk,” she announces, her eyes flashing. It is hard to resist intimidating him just a little more, especially since she isn’t entirely sure she likes him yet.  

He presses his lips together, a flash of pain and worry going through his eyes before vanishing behind a carefully constructed neutral expression. “Of course,” he says, and steps back to gesture her inside with a broad motion of his arm towards the kitchen. “Please come in. I just made a pot of coffee, would you like some?” 

“Please,” she replies, stepping past him into the house. The inside is gleaming, practically spotless, and smells like orange oil. Spotting the rack of neatly stacked shoes next to the door, she toes off her black pumps next to it. Then she strolls across the house to the kitchen island and seats herself confidently on one of the tall stools. 

Jaskier follows her with rounded shoulders, giving her a respectfully wide berth and watching her every move. He serves them both a cup of coffee, then brings out the little buttercup dishes full of sugar and cream and sets them on the counter near her. She smiles but otherwise ignores them, taking a sip of the black coffee. It’s good coffee, complex and almost sweet at its finish. As she rolls the beverage on her tongue, she looks Jaskier up and down again.

He has come to rest with his back up against the fridge, one foot up on it, knee bent, sleepily sipping his coffee. His expression is still wary as he waits for her to begin talking, cautious of her temper after yesterday’s encounter. When the silence stretches out a little too long, he stirs. “Look, if this is about his stuff, I can take you upstairs to get it…”

She shakes her head, waving this statement away. “Not necessary. Not right now, anyway.” She smiles around her cup as he frowns, as if he’s not sure he heard her correctly.

“What?” 

“I said that won’t be necessary yet. Hence,” she says, cocking her head and locking eyes with him, “why we need to talk.”

Jaskier gives her a long look of puzzlement. Pushing off of the fridge, he pours some sugar and a generous splash of cream into his coffee. “I’m afraid I’m a bit lost,” he admits, a worried note entering his voice. She didn’t want the boxes, so what did she want? Was he in trouble or not? 

Yennefer smiles again, leaning back with her cup of coffee held close. “Did Geralt talk about me at all while he was here?” Jaskier cautiously shakes his head no, taking a sip of his coffee. He goes to say something but she gently cuts him off. “Fine. Geralt should tell you most of this, but nothing is going to make sense unless I throw you a bone first,” she smirks. 

Jaskier nods, mystified but listening. Normally, this was the part where the spouse started demanding blood, not throwing proverbial bones. Drawing his mug in close against his chest, he leans against the counter. 

“I’m asexual.” Yennefer explains bluntly. “He and I don’t have a sexual relationship. We married for our daughter’s sake, but we’ve never been,” she gropes for the right phrase, “physically in love. We’re as close as two people can be…” She pauses and takes a sip of coffee, giving Jaskier a direct look over the edge of her mug. “But our relationship is unusual.” 

Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up, but he has the good sense for once to remain quiet, allowing her to continue. Daughter? With a wife Geralt didn’t have sex with? This conversation had taken a hard left turn, and he felt like he was mentally scrambling to catch up. He had so many questions. Instead of letting his nervous tongue get away from him though, he takes a long swallow of his drink.

Yennefer lowers her mug, enjoying Jaskier’s obvious puzzlement. The pleasure she feels is bittersweet, though. Sex or no, Geralt had been hers for a long time. Her heart ached a little to think that she might have to share him with the tall, elfin man in front of her. Deep down though, she had always hoped he might find someone. She draws her fingers along the side of the mug, hesitating, but finally she says, “I always hoped he was going to find someone special… eventually.” Eyeing Jaskier, she flashes him a sly look. “Maybe someone like you.” 

The way Yennefer looks at Jaskier makes his stomach flip. What the hell is she saying? He thought she was here to terrorize him again and collect Geralt’s stuff. Now it is starting to sound like she is implying he still has a chance with Geralt. He feels caught somewhere between a sudden weird hope and the gnawing guilt of knowing he’s crossed lines he can’t uncross with this woman, mysterious marriage arrangement or no. He pushes off of the counter and leans forward to spoon more sugar into his coffee, trying to stir his nerves away.  “I don’t think I understand,” he grimaces, shaking off the spoon and setting it aside on a little saucer. 

“No, I would be surprised if you did,” she chuckles and takes a sip of her coffee. “The reason I’m here is because it seems like he’s become very attached to you.”

Jaskier gives a bashful, confused smile. “I… I like him too,” he admits softly. “Quite a bit.”

Yennefer gives him a measuring look, but a smile is slowly creeping up her lovely features. “I should hope so.” Leaning forward onto her elbows, she fixes him with a serious gaze. “When Geralt and I got married, I knew he was going to meet someone someday, and I didn’t want him to feel guilty about it. So we discussed it, and we decided a few things.” She holds up fingers, ticking them off as she goes. “One, that he is free to choose his own lovers. Two, that said lover doesn’t get to meet his family unless he’s serious about them. And three, I get to have a long talk with anyone he does want to bring home.” 

She pauses again, giving Jaskier another measuring look. “While our current apartment being in England makes bringing you home rather difficult, we can still have that long talk. I want to know more about you. If anyone is going to be seeing my husband, I have a right to know who they are.” She pauses, obviously unimpressed as she looks him from head to toe “Especially if they’re foolish enough to jump in bed with someone without asking questions first.” 

Jaskier gapes, at a loss for words. He fiddles the coffee cup nervously, mind reeling. The jab stings, but he knows he deserves it, so he leaves it. Taking a swallow of his sweet creamy coffee grounds him, the sweetness biting through some of his confusion. “Are you telling me that you’re not here to kill me? I admit I was a little worried when you showed up without Geralt.” He flashes her a lopsided little grin, trying to ease the tension of the situation.

“Afraid not. I would happily murder you, but Geralt would get upset…” she sighs, then smirks. “Step out of line and you die, but keep me happy and play your cards right? Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re free to pursue him. If you want him.” She takes another sip of her coffee.

Jaskier blinks, caught so off guard that he finds himself actually panicking a little. Wife not killing him? This is not in the usual script. Possibly still being able to see the unbelievably hot husband? Mind broken. He pulls his coffee in close against his chest for the warmth, trying to restart his brain. In the background of his mind is a steady stream of whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck repeating in circles.  

Yennefer laughs, watching his face journey through a number of stages of confusion. Eventually, she takes pity on him. “Breathe,” she quips. He sucks in a breath and looks at her, blue eyes wide and startled, and she gives him an amused grin. “So. Are you going to let me grill you, or should I just leave now?” she asks with a teasing twist of her lips. 

Jaskier puffs, then sputters, “Grilling? Grilling’s fine.” Still looking like he’s been hit between the eyes, he turns away and sets his coffee cup down on the counter near the stove, then opens the fridge and begins nervously pulling fruit out and setting it on the counter. When strawberries and blueberries have been pulled out, he walks across the kitchen to hanging baskets and pulls down an apple and a banana. If he was going to be interrogated, he was damn well going to have some comfort food while it was happening.

Yennefer watches with amusement, sipping her coffee. “You crossed some lines by jumping into bed with Geralt so quickly, why don’t you start there?” she says sweetly, enjoying the way he winces. 

Jaskier putters nervously with the fruit, setting up a cutting board and knife, then he bends over and pulls a stand mixer out of a cabinet, setting it up on the counter. The movement gives him time to catch up to the conversation. As he fiddles the paddle off of the mixer and goes to hunt for the attachment he is looking for, he says, “I’ve been thinking about that a great deal myself. And you’re absolutely correct,” he tosses his hair out of his eyes and glances across the room, apologetic. “I handled things with Geralt inappropriately. I’m sorry.” His lips thin out as he presses them together, looking tired and angry with himself. “I let my feelings get ahead of me sometimes. It’s not my best trait.”

“Clearly not,” she replies wryly, slightly mollified by his apology but still unimpressed. “So why did you do it?”

"I…" he returns to the stand mixer, fitting a whisk attachment onto the end of it. Then he takes the bowl out and wipes it down with a damp cloth in the sink, nervously scrubbing away miniscule specks of dust.  “That’s complicated. If I answer you honestly right out the gate, I’m worried I’m going to sound crazy to you, which is the last thing I want right now.” His lips quirk in a brief, bitter smile. “I’ve already done quite enough damage, thank you. So...” he pauses and heaves a sigh, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m going to tell you a little about myself first. Maybe help you understand?” Bright blue eyes meet hers for a moment, giving her an uncertain look. She meets gaze unflinchingly until he drops it to study the bowl in his hands. He shakes his head and returns it to the mixer stand, then goes over to the fridge. 

“Fine,” she replies, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “What do you want me to know?” 

“Well…” he bends over and sticks his head into the refrigerator, chewing his lip. “I’ve been a part of the queer community since I was a teenager. And,” he grimaces, hunting for something, “I was twenty years old when HIV was first identified. There was an outbreak at Fire Island, are you familiar?” Finding the carton of heavy cream hidden at the back of the fridge, he snags it with a satisfied noise and straightens.

“Geralt told me you were there. About your friends.” Yennefer replies quietly. “I’m sorry.” And she genuinely is, no matter how else she might feel about Jaskier. Being at the center of something like that leaves marks on people. She’d been all over the world in her job and seen many types of trauma, and the HIV epidemic had scared her to the bone wherever she encountered it.  

“Right. Well then, I don’t need to tell you the rest. Good.” Returning to the stand mixer, he dumps in cream and flicks the mixer on at a relatively slow speed. “What’s important about it, that I want you to understand, is that, in my experience queers are already not terribly good at staying in one another’s lives after the…” he waves his hand searchingly. “The romantic spark has passed. And the few people that I thought could be constants, slipped through my fingers without recourse.” Turning, he riffles through one of the nearby cabinets and retrieves vanilla, confectioner’s sugar, and bourbon. “So when I say that I don’t expect people to stay around long, I want you to understand what I mean.” 

She frowns, understanding dawning. “You didn’t expect him to stay.”

“No, darling. I’m afraid not. When I met Geralt… Ah. I didn’t expect much to come of it. While I’m not running a fuck-and-release program,” he cuts her a sharp look over his shoulder, “I must say I wasn’t expecting him to be around long. Which is why I didn’t ask nearly as many questions as I should have. I wanted to leave him what little peace he had… I… I felt like prying would have made things worse.” He trails off into a brief silence, measuring vanilla and bourbon and dumping them into the mixer. 

When he looks at her again, his expression is deeply worried. “He looked like he was in a lot of pain.”  

She grimaces at the pointed comment, hiding it with a sip from her coffee mug. Irritated that she’d let him get to her, she schools her face into a carefully neutral expression until he finishes speaking. She remembers Geralt’s distress the night before, and a flash of worry and sadness crosses her face. Pain was the understatement of the century. She’s still not sure she would even be here, but for that. Geralt was in danger, and she would do just about anything to make it better.

Taking a deep breath, he measures sugar and then starts carefully sifting it into the moving mixer with a small sieve. “I thought… why make it worse for him when he’ll have moved on shortly anyway? I thought... “ he shrugs uncomfortably, setting aside the sieve and turning up the speed on the stand mixer by increments. “I thought, he’ll stay for a few weeks, get his first few paychecks, find his own place, and be gone. And not long after that, he’ll probably find a new job, and that will be that. Good deed done.” 

“That’s… questionable, but fine. I’ll leave that alone for now. It still doesn’t explain why you started fucking him within twenty four hours of meeting him,” she points out, unimpressed. 

“No, you’re right.” He replies, shaking his head and pulling a face. “And this… is where I sound a little crazy, and I hope you’ll forgive me.” Once the mixer is at the proper speed, he turns to another cabinet and pulls out a big bowl, which he sets near the cutting board. “Um.” 

His stomach does a double flip as he tries to summon the words, feeling her violet gaze boring into his back. He begins to speak, stutters into silence, and then tries again. “I have… spent a long time ah, vigorously jousting in the lists of love, so to speak,” he observes wryly, starting to top and halve the strawberries, tossing each one into the bowl as he finishes. “Mm. And I’ve known many different kinds of love, as a result. Some, admittedly, deeper than others,” he gives a rueful chuckle. Behind him, Yennefer smirks. 

“But with Geralt…” Jaskier pauses, feeling his throat close up a little bit with sheer nerves. Taking the cutting board to the trash, he sweeps the strawberry heads into the bin and then returns to the counter to start processing the banana, peeling it and chopping it. 

“My life has always felt like a hurricane. Like there is a hurricane blowing around me and I’m just trying not to get swept away with all of the rest of the debris. But- I’m sorry, I know this is insane, oh, I sound like a crazy person. But when I’m around him, it feels like…” he heaves a shaky sigh. “It feels like the center of the hurricane found me. When he’s nearby I feel like the whole world goes silent and still. All the other madness is still whirling around the outside edges, but where he is, there’s this intense quiet… Silence so loud it makes my whole body just ring with it, no matter what he’s doing. It’s the most beautiful feeling. And I’ve never felt that around another human being before. Not a single solitary one. And… it was terribly impulsive of me, and selfish, and I shouldn’t have done it… but I wanted to wrap myself up in that feeling for as long as I could before he vanished, too.” 

He trails off, dumping the chopped banana into the bowl. Then he glances at the stand mixer. The cream is starting to stiffen, but hasn’t reached a proper consistency yet. He turns back to the cutting board, starting to process the apple now. “I know that’s… insanely inappropriate to tell someone about their husband. Ah. And I know I’ve only known him two weeks. I don’t… I’m not saying I’m in love with him. That’s the kind of thing you only find out with trust, and time, and we haven’t had that. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m just trying to say that he’s different. And I like him. And I would be very fortunate to have the chance to know him more.” 

He dumps the apple into the bowl, then turns and looks at her. “I hope that answers your question.” His face is tired, and he looks like he doesn’t particularly expect her to be receptive to any of this. He knows he shouldn’t have kissed Geralt when he did, no matter how attracted he was to him. Normally, he would have even had the restraint to wait until things were more above board. But something about the situation had triggered him deeply, and between that and the incredible depth of feeling he experienced around his handsome lover, he had lost his head.  

Yennefer takes all of this in thoughtfully, her face softening. She’d been expecting Jaskier to tell her he’d done it because he was a horny idiot, and while that is partially what he’d said, the rest gave her pause. She didn’t hear people speak like that about anyone very often, much less her taciturn and often unfriendly Geralt. 

“Thank you for your honesty,” she settles on, then takes a swallow from her cooling coffee. “I’m really not impressed by your boundaries, but…”  she sighs, relenting slightly. “It’s nice to see that you like him so much.” 

Jaskier blushes awkwardly at the backhanded compliment, busying himself by stopping the mixer to check the flavor and consistency of the whipped cream. He finds himself feeling thrown for the umpteenth time since he’d met her the day before. “I’m really very sorry I wasn’t more… uh, circumspect,” Jaskier stutters awkwardly. “I’m kind of impulsive sometimes, it’s a problem. I’m sorry.” He sprinkles a little more sugar and another dash of vanilla into the cream, then starts it going again at an even higher speed. 

“Good. You should be.” Yennefer says sharply. He winces and nods. She leans forward, putting her elbows on the counter and twirling her cup in her hand. Her face softens into a look of curiosity. “Let’s talk about your family. Where were you raised? Who raised you?” 

Jaskier tosses some blueberries into the bowl, then returns them and the remaining strawberries to the refrigerator, pulling out lemon juice in their stead. Then he fishes out a bottle of honey from a cabinet and sprinkles it and some lemon juice into the bowl of mixed fruit. He gently tosses it to coat them. Pursing his lips, he ponders where to start. He’s not sure that he wants to share this much with the intimidating stranger sitting at his kitchen island, but on the other hand, he was already in over his head. Chewing his lip, he decides to plunge forth.

“I was born here, in Rhode Island, at the local hospital. I was almost born on a ferry, point of fact.” He smiles, shaking his head and flicking off the stand mixer. “The Pankratz family home is on Martha’s Vineyard, out off the coast. My father thought he could finish one last thing before getting in the car to leave, and my mother has never let him forget it.” Chuckling ruefully, he lowers the mixer’s bowl and retrieves the whisk attachment, shaking it as clean as he can. 

Yennefer snorts softly, thinking that if Geralt had done that to her, he’d probably have suffered permanent injuries. Her pregnancy had been bad, but Geralt had been painfully attentive to her needs. Getting to the hospital hadn’t been the problem; keeping him from jumping onto the ceiling at every minor mishap had been the real issue. “Sounds like a poor choice on his part,” she smiles.

Jaskier casts a brief smile at her. “It was. Even when I was in my teens, it was still favorite material during fights.” He grins lopsidedly as Yennefer laughs.

“I can only imagine. I would have murdered Geralt if he’d done that to me,” Yennefer admits.

“He doesn’t seem like the type,” Jaskier observes as he rinses the whisk in the sink. 

“He wouldn’t have survived my pregnancy if he was,” Yennefer smirks. “He’s a good father.”

“Now that, I believe.” Jaskier replies with a soft smile. “How old is your daughter?”

“She just turned twelve at the end of spring,” Yennefer reveals, clearly proud. She takes another sip of her coffee, then sets her mug down. “That’s neither here nor there, though. Were you raised on Martha’s Vineyard, or…?”

Jaskier nods, placing the dripping whisk on a towel. “Yeah. I was raised on the Vineyard for the most part. Summers in New York, sometimes winter holidays with our grandparents in Warsaw. Well, at least before they passed away. Attended a private school on the island all the way through high school.” He takes the mixing bowl off of its base, setting it near the fruit absently. 

“My parents are… highly motivated people. They own and operate Pankratz Enterprises. It’s the family company, and it’s been passed down for… ugh, generations. I don’t know. My father’s parents passed on before I was born, so he and my mother have been more or less in charge as long as I’ve lived. It very much consumes their time.” He tastes the whipped cream one last time, nods, then tries a piece of fruit. Shaking his head, he drizzles a touch more honey into the bowl and gives it another few stirs.

“I am… the baby of the family. No surprise there,” he gives a breathy little chuckle, shaking his head. “Um. Older brother, fifteen years older than me. He’s the actual heir of the whole… family business monstrosity. Good riddance, he can have it. And a sister, ten years older. She’s uh… I think she’s in London now, working for Sotheby’s last time I checked.” 

Yennefer’s eyebrows go up. “That takes quite a few connections to achieve, last I heard.” 

“Well…” Jaskier shrugs. “That’s my family.” He tastes the fruit again and this time he nods, setting down the bowl. “Anyhow, I came along rather late to the party. I’m ah… Rather the embarrassment of the family. My mother and father hadn’t been in each other’s beds in years by the time I was conceived.” He pauses in the middle of getting two little ceramic bowls down, smirking at Yennefer over his shoulder. “At a swinger’s party. There’s still rather some debate as to whether my father is actually my father.” He gestures at his face. “No one in his family has blue eyes, you see.” A mischievous grin makes his eyes twinkle, and Yennefer finds herself chuckling, shaking her head. He’s charming enough, she’ll give him that. 

“So, what. He just raised you anyway?” she asks wryly, draining the last of her coffee. For the embarrassment of the family, he seemed oddly pleased by his story. 

Jaskier smirks and shrugs. His family had never failed to remind him that he didn’t quite belong, so he felt few qualms about airing their dirty laundry. It was petty, but the story usually made people smile, and knowing that somewhere his parents’ ears would be burning gave him a feeling of satisfaction. “Well, admitting I wasn’t his would have been a far worse scandal, so they never actually bothered to find out who my father was. It didn’t change much… even if I were his, I don’t think either of them would have raised me with any more care than they already did.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement,” Yennefer observes, watching as Jaskier sets the bowls on the counter. Using the big spoon, he measures honeyed fruit into each bowl. 

“It wasn’t meant to be, darling. I was mostly raised by a nanny and our cook, if I’m going to be perfectly honest. Anything that took my mother away from work and organizing social events seemed to make her terribly nervous, and my father was worse. I don’t think he knew what the word ‘vacation’ meant.” He puts the big spoon down and grabs the freshly made whipped cream. “Even when he’d actually bother to accompany us someplace, there was always a briefcase with him.”  With a shrug, he measures a dollop of whipped cream onto each bowl. 

“Do you want nutmeg?” He asks, giving her a curious, hopeful look. Yennefer eyes the bowls on the counter with interest. They look tempting. Pursing her lips, she nods. “Sure.” Geralt hadn’t mentioned he was quite the little cook, but if this little display was anything to go by, he’d been fed quite well while he was in Jaskier’s home. Good. At least there was something the idiot had been doing right. 

He smiles and turns back to his spice cabinet, pulling down a grinder with part of a whole nutmeg still in it. He grinds it briefly over both bowls, then sticks a spoon in each of them. Turning, he offers it to her with a flourish. 

She gives him a skeptical look but takes it, setting it on the island in front of her. The flourishes are lost on her, but the food looks good. Privately, she marvels again that this is the kind of man that had her husband so frazzled. There’s no accounting for taste, she supposes. 

“Can I offer you more coffee?” He asks, holding up the carafe. She nods, holding out her cup, and he fills it. Then he picks up his own bowl and spoons the fruit around, covering it in whipped cream. “Where was I?” Taking a nervous bite, he looks at her again.

“You mentioned you were raised by the staff,” she replies with a twist of her lips, as if she finds the word ‘staff’ a bit distasteful.

“Ah. Yes, I rather was.” He nods, giving her an apologetic look. He wasn’t overly fond of having staff in his childhood home either. It had never felt right. “My father preferred to pay to make problems go away, and cooking and childcare were problems for him.” Jabbing a banana with his spoon, he gives it a little moue. 

“When I said nanny, I really mean there were a series of people who got me to school, got me home… hmm, made sure my homework was done. I wasn’t particularly close with any of them. The cook was special, though. Klaudia. She was Polish, we met her through my grandparents… I spent quite a lot of time underfoot in the kitchen, but she never seemed to mind. She’s the one who gave me my name,” he says with a fleeting smile. “Jaskier. I used to bring her flowers from the garden, and sometimes she would put them in salads. Buttercups are poisonous, of course, but I was about five when she told me about the little game of sticking a buttercup under your chin after you speak the name of someone you have a crush on… That your chin will shine yellow if you’ve spoken the name of your true love. Terribly silly, but I adored it when I was small. I became so attached to them that she started calling me Jaskier, and I loved that, too. So I kept it.” Shrugging, he takes another bite of cream covered fruit.

Yennefer smiles, taking a bite of her own fruit. The bourbon in the whipped cream is barely there, but it’s enough to make the strawberry she just bit into sing. Delicious. Apparently Klaudia had been a good teacher. Whatever else he had going on, she could admit that she was impressed by the food.

“After I graduated high school I went to New York for college. I… that was a chaotic time in my life. I’d just left private high school and had an enormous amount of freedom all at once, and I spun out for a little while. Spent a lot of time clubbing and fucking, not nearly as much time studying as I should have.” Jaskier blushes and sets his bowl aside, grabbing his coffee cup and taking a quick swallow to conceal his embarrassment. He’s usually quite unabashed about his love life, but something about this whole conversation is making him feel awkward.

“Studying?” Yennefer inquires. The idea that this man might have fucked his way through New York doesn’t entirely surprise her, but she’s curious what someone like him might have studied. “College?”

“Yes! I was lucky enough to matriculate into Juilliard as a young man. I,” he proclaims, his eyes twinkling, “have a degree as a Master of Music in historical performance. Despite a rather rocky start, I did quite well for myself by the end of my courses. I’m an adjunct professor now at the college up the street! I teach medieval music theory.” Lifting his head, he gestures to the opposite wall in the living room, indicating the different types of lute hung on the wall. “My favorite instrument is the lute.”

“Do you compose?” She asks, allowing herself to be slightly impressed. It took a fairly talented musician to even get into a college like that, much less walk away with a degree. Perhaps he was more intelligent than she had been giving him credit for. She turns to look at the beautiful instruments gleaming softly where they hang. 

“Well… Yes and no,” he says, suddenly uncomfortable. “Mostly right now I recreate ancient pieces. Put them back together and record them, style of thing. Maybe add a little of my own flair, when I’m just playing at home.” He hesitates, temporarily at a loss for words. Yennefer turns back and looks him up and down, curious about why he suddenly seems uncomfortable. 

Fingering his shirt, he gestures to the mockingbird. “The woman who made me this shirt also did the birds on my car,” he reveals quietly. “We dated for a while, after I got out of college. She ah… this is one she gave me right before we broke up. She said, it was fitting for a man who hides behind the music of other people.” Shrugging uncomfortably, he says, “I do compose, but I don’t feel I’ve ever quite gotten my legs under me with it. Maybe someday.” 

Yennefer frowns, then slowly nods. “You must be very angry with yourself to be wearing something like that today,” she observes. 

Jaskier looks up at her over his coffee mug and nods, a little surprised at how perceptive she is. “I am. I slept with your husband without thinking it through, and I feel… Embarrassed. Guilty.” He looks down at his coffee mug, swirling the remains at the bottom of the cup. “He has his own song. I don’t necessarily get to be part of it, and I understand that.” He shrugs, downing the last mouthful of his own coffee. 

Yennefer nods, finding herself reassured as he makes that admission. Good. He didn’t have a right to be any part of Geralt’s life, and she was glad he was aware. Any future access Jaskier might be granted to Geralt would be a privilege, and one he damn well better cherish. It was best he was aware of that now, and thankfully he seemed to be. She purses her lips, studying the shirt again. The little rhinestones wink in the light. It’s far too gaudy for her tastes, but it’s clean, well made, and on Jaskier it has a certain charm. Her eyes run over the delicate ink like feathering of the screen printed mockingbird. As she watches it glitter, another question occurs to her.

 “You date women?” She asks, gesturing to the bird.

Jaskier chuckles ruefully, picking his bowl of fruit back up. “Yes, darling. I’m pansexual. When I said I’d had my share of lovers, I really did mean I’ve run the gamut.”

Yennefer shakes her head and spoons up half of a strawberry, bemused. “I would not have guessed that. You’re very…” 

“Campy? Flamboyant? Yes.” He tosses his hair out of his eyes and gives her a winning smile. “Always have been.” 

Yennefer eyes him curiously. His comfort with himself was unusual, a confidence she rarely saw in queer men. Privately she wonders how he managed to stay so at ease, but files away the question for later. If all went well, there would be time for questions like that another time. 

“So. You pulled your shit together, got through school… then what?”

“Well, then I spent a year or so running myself ragged around New York and the surrounding areas trying to care for my loved ones as the AIDS epidemic worsened. I’d already been doing it during school, but once I got out, it ate up all my free time. And the ah… hospital up the road from here ended up being friendly. So over time, I ended up spending more and more time in this city, ferrying my loved ones to appointments. And eventually I started getting sick and tired myself-” He flips up his hand gently, waving away the unintentional implication. “From stress, I mean. And so I bought this house. It was good… A little spot of bright in all the shit, you know? Something stable.” He spoons up another portion of fruit, shaking his head. “So, that was my life for a while. Um. It’s also sort of what led to the bar.” 

“How so?” Yennefer asks, interest piqued. She takes another bite of fruit as she listens. This was definitely a story she wanted to hear. 

“Well…” He licks his lips and ponders. “A lot of my HIV+ friends ended up experiencing a lot of stigma. People were scared… No one understood yet what was happening. And I started getting more and more people showing up at my house every night.” Laughing, he gestures around. “It’s quiet now, but it used to have a lot more furniture. Wall to wall queers some nights, darling. We’d host art parties and try to keep up the spirits of the sick men I had living with me… It was fun.” 

Yennefer half-smiles, looking around the room behind her, trying to imagine the quiet, elegant space full of rowdy queer people doing art. “Sounds like an adventure,” she muses with a quiet chuckle. “So what then?”

“Then, one of my friends who I was hosting wanted to go to a bar. One last time, sort of thing… And we discovered that the few bars around here didn’t have much in the way of wheelchair access or safety accommodations for someone who was immunocompromised. We worked for months trying to get someplace to do the right thing, and he kept getting worse…” A dark look comes over Jaskier’s face. “At a certain point it became urgent. So,” he shrugs uneasily, “I paid for it myself.” He sets aside his empty bowl and turns around, turning on the kettle. 

“I prefer very much to make my own money and leave my family alone, but some things are worth it. In this case my friend who we were doing all of this for- James- uncovered a secret need in the local scene. There were a lot of queers who wanted a clean space with wheelchair access.” Digging in the cabinet, he pulls out a sachet of loose chamomile flowers, a strainer, and a small teapot. 

“I imagine there were,” Yennefer replies softly, her heart constricting. She looks around the room again, seeing it in a different light now. 

“So… Once I’d gotten everything fitted and set up, I had everyone come in and put up a bunch of the art we’d done while we were at the house. Most of it’s still up in the bar,” he says with a fond smile. “And now, I don’t have nearly as much traffic through here. There’s a safe place for my queers to be, I can still check up on my regulars, and I get some peace and quiet at home.” 

Yennefer nods, then looks down at her bowl to cut apart a strawberry. Then she looks up and fixes Jaskier with an inquisitive look. “You said queers… Is your bar not just for men?” 

“Heavens no,” Jaskier flaps his hand dismissively. “That’s primarily who shows up, but I have different theme nights for different parts of the community every month. Dyke nights, Trans nights, Ace nights… Leather night,” he chuckles, “is usually a blast.” 

Yennefer’s eyebrows go up, not sure how to even start with this. A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth, as she imagines Geralt in the middle of a leather night at a gay bar. He’d probably be mortified at first, but she has a feeling he would enjoy it more than he’d outwardly let on. She breaks out slowly into a smile, which she hides in her coffee cup. 

“When you said that you check up on your regulars… what did you mean by that?” she queries, studying him carefully. How he answers this question will tell her quite a bit about who he is as a person. Her listening look, already focused, becomes even more intent.  

Jaskier turns to face her, finished fiddling with his tea until the water has boiled. “I mostly have a feel for who is friends with who around here…” he explains. “At least among the people who come to my bar. The city isn’t that large. When someone doesn’t show up, or doesn’t seem to be doing well, I know who to send to check on them.” Blue eyes meet hers seriously, his gaze steady for what feels like the first time since she’s met him. “I don’t like watching people drop on my watch anymore. I’d rather die than let another queer rot or fall into homelessness because there wasn’t a family there to catch them.” 

Yennefer tips her head to the side. While she’s still angry about the potential heartbreak he might have caused Geralt by having shitty boundaries, she’s beginning to understand what drives him to do things like take strangers home. The kind of pain he had experienced did odd things to people, and they each coped in different ways. In his case, it seemed to have come out as a ferocious kindness. 

“Do you find them if they don’t have friends?” She queries, eyeing him speculatively. 

“That… “ he pauses, picking his words carefully, aware of the intensity of her scrutiny. “Depends. I don’t hunt down every stranger who passes through, but if it’s someone who’s been coming long enough to form a personal relationship with me? Maybe, sometimes. We had an older patron, Deirdre. Wonderful old queen from the days before being trans was really a thing. She came every Tuesday night for… oh, six years? Seven? She’d sit by the front door near me out on the sidewalk and smoke cigarette after cigarette, and we’d talk for hours. When she stopped coming, I went to check on her. Found her passed away in her armchair, poor dear, and the neighbors hadn’t bothered to call anyone. Mail was spilling out of her mailbox.” His lip curls with frustration and sorrow. 

“But, that kind of situation is thankfully rare. I can think of only a handful of times when I’ve felt the need to go to someone’s home. I mostly work through the grapevine,” he explains with a wistful smile. “I may be impulsive, but I do have boundaries, believe it or not. I am… very sorry I gave you such a bad impression.” Holding his hand up to forestall her speaking, he says, “Admittedly a well-deserved one. I’m not twenty anymore, I’m old enough to know better. My therapist is going to have a field day.” 

Yennefer smirks, and this time a twinkle reaches her eyes. He may be an idiot, but she is gratified to see that he has at least a glimmer of self-awareness. There’s a therapist, too. Good. He has someone to hold him accountable. It makes her feel better about the prospect of giving the hotel phone number to him. “And how old are you, that you ought to know better?”

“Thirty-four. Had a birthday about a month and a half ago, May 22nd.” He smiles and gives a little flourish. “I’m a Gemini.” 

Yennefer rolls her eyes. Of course he would be into astrology. She was going to have to have a talk with Geralt about his taste in men, again. She finishes her fruit and pushes her bowl aside, feeling satisfied. “Well. I can see that you’re not as thoughtless as I was worried you were, at least.” 

Jaskier puffs and shakes his head, not sure how to respond to that. He settles on a cautious, “Thank you?”

Yennefer snorts softly. “That being said, there’s some things I want you to understand about Geralt before we move forward. The most important is that he’s never let himself date or fall in love. He’s spent his whole adult life in the military, and he’s never given himself the chance. Were you aware?”

Jaskier looks at her, a sad look crossing his face. “He told me he’d spent his life in the service but I hadn’t quite put it together-” He breaks off and starts again. “I wasn’t aware. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“You’re right, you should have,” she reproofs sharply, but then her voice softens. “But in this case, I don’t think he would have told you even if you had asked. So I’ll give you a pass,” she quirks a little smile at him. “This time.” 

Jaskier smiles awkwardly, relieved, then turns around and turns off the kettle as it whistles. “Can I get you anything?”

“No thank you,” Yennefer says. Then she shifts and catches Jaskier’s eye. “When I say he’s never had a boyfriend, Jaskier, I mean it.  If you don’t step carefully with him, I will personally end you. He’s likely to get very attached to you if you let him.” She leans forward, her face very serious. “If you cheat on him, it will crush him. I want you to think very carefully about whether or not you can handle a commitment like that. You and I both know he is in a world of pain right now. Aside from my daughter there is no one more precious in the world to me, and I want him to be safe. Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.” 

Jaskier takes this in quietly, regarding Yennefer with a serious expression of his own. He chews his lip, then nods. Turning slowly aside, he fills the little teapot with hot water, pouring it through the strainer full of flowers. The weight of her words presses on him, making him feel small and inadequate in the face of them. 

“Do you want me to date him?” He asks finally, after a long moment of staring at the dried flowers floating to the top and unfolding in the strainer, not entirely sure he wants the answer. The last day had been a wild ride, and he was starting to get heartsore trying to deal with all of it.

Yennefer pauses, frowning a little and leaning her chin on her hand. “Do I personally want you to date him? Doesn’t matter, since you seem to be an idiot, not a predator. What matters is this: He really seems to like you, and I want him to be happy. He gets to choose you if he wants to. Do you still like him after all the shit he pulled?”

Jaskier flushes, turning away to look back at the teapot. He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot before he answers. “I’m… angry that he wasn’t more forthcoming, but it’s not like I asked, either. I definitely brought it on myself.” Licking his lips, he fiddles with the strainer. “But despite that… can I be honest with you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want an honest answer,” she gives him an amused look. He chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling a little out of my depth right now. I usually don’t have a long conversation with the wife, you know? I’m still trying to wrap my head around… uh, what’s happening here.” 

Yennefer chuckles, her eyes twinkling. “This is only the tip of it. But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

His throat bobs visibly as he swallows, his flush deepening. “Right. Well.” He pulls the strainer out too early, leaving himself with weak tea. Stopping as he realizes this, he sinks it back into the pot with a shake of his head and turns around, forcing himself to leave it be. This puts him facing Yennefer, which isn’t much better, but at least it gives him fewer things to make messes with as he loses his composure. “I ah, very much do like him still. Yes.” 

Yennefer smirks, pleased that she can fluster him. As long as he knew who was boss, then as far as she was concerned, he’d probably do fine. 

“Good. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know that.” She folds her fingers under her chin, contemplating the uneasy looking man before her. “The other thing I want you to know is that I won’t be going anywhere if you decide to date him. You will always have me to deal with; I married him, he is my husband, he is the father of my child. I expect you to respect that.  Are we clear?”

Jaskier feels as if someone has poured ice water down the back of his shirt. He’s been in polyamorous arrangements before, but never with someone so fucking intimidating. “As crystal,” he replies weakly. “I wouldn’t imagine getting between you and him, not for a minute.” After all, he didn’t have a death wish. 

“Well then,” she says, pulling a hotel business card out of her purse and writing a number in a neat hand on the back. “As long as that’s understood, here’s the hotel phone number. Take a few days to think about it. If you really want to see him… That’s up to you. But if you do? Take him out on a date. Treat him the way he should be treated. He deserves that. If you don’t, please remember that I am more than happy to bury your dead body.” She smiles sweetly and extends the card to him. He takes it delicately from her, looks the number over, and then tucks the card into the breast pocket over his heart. 

“He does deserve a real date,” Jaskier agrees nervously, feeling caught between the hope and guilt and confusion all swarming around inside of him. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.” He feels like his face is burning, and he knows from her smile that she can see how uncomfortable he is. 

“Now. The last thing I need for now is his backpack. It has things he needs in it, and I’d like to make sure they’re there for him when he wakes up.” She says with an air of finality, standing. “Can you please get it for me?” 

“Of course,” he says, pushing off of the counter, glad to have something to do to break the tension of the moment. “Just a minute.” He retreats to the bedroom and there is the sound of dragging and rummaging. A moment later he emerges with a set of keys. 

“Come with me?” he offers, gesturing with his head towards the door. She rises and nods, following him out the front door and up the staircase to the loft. He unlocks the door for her and steps aside, allowing her past him into the quiet room. It’s starting to get hot as the mid-morning sunshine radiates through the round window in the eaves, but unlike the outside, the inside hasn’t yet turned unpleasant. 

Yennefer steps carefully into the loft, looking around. It’s a peaceful, neat little space, mostly unruffled except for Geralt’s boxes piled neatly against the back walls. His backpack still sits at the foot of the bed. She retrieves it, brushes her fingers fondly over the box labeled ‘Correspondence’ on her way back, and meets Jaskier at the door. 

“Thank you,” she states, sounding firm but sincere. She, at least, feels more settled now about getting out of Geralt’s way. Some things about the situation still don’t feel right to her, but she’s no longer on red alert. It was enough to be moving on with, at least.

Jaskier nods. “Of course. I’ll see you soon, Yennefer.” He fidgets awkwardly, then says, “Thank you, too. For leveling with me.”

 She smirks. “Get used to it.” She says dryly, then turns and heads down the stairs to her car without further comment. He stands at the top and watches her go, fiddling with the keys between his fingers, at a loss for words. 

The quiet little library near the MWR was almost deserted at this time of day. It never saw heavy traffic at any time, but right after evening mess most men had more interesting things to do than hit the books. Coën pushed his way into the library curiously, looking around from side to side. At first, aside from the librarian, there was no one to be seen. Then, as he rounded one of the stacks, the tan metal shelving opened out into a little seating area with some battered gold and cream yellow velvet plush chairs and a little work table in the middle of the space. Seated in one of the chairs was Geralt, holding a book in one hand, his expression serious as he read it. 

Coën smiled with pleasure. He’d been noticing the big man vanish after evening mess for weeks now, but this was the first time he’d had a good opportunity to follow him and find out what he got up to after hours. Most of the men on base scattered for the MWR or the smoke pit, but he’d never seen him in either of those spots. The only place he’d ever seen Geralt spend much free time was the track; he had a tendency to run when he wasn’t otherwise occupied. He didn’t run after dinner though; cracking where he went was something Coën had been meaning to do. Pleased, he walked out from behind the shelf. 

Geralt oriented to the movement immediately, half-closing his book and switching the intensity of his gaze onto Coën. The force of it hit Coën like a blow to the chest and he stopped, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Aside from being their liaison on base and in the field, Geralt also commanded his own men. Coën had heard he had a fearsome reputation. While he hadn’t yet been able to see why, the look the man was giving him right now gave an inkling of what they might have been talking about. Around Yennefer, the young lieutenant was often awkward and caught on his left foot (although to be fair, most people were; she preferred it that way,) but here alone, he had a quiet, powerful presence that gave Coën pause.

“Hey, man,” he said with a friendly smile, pitching his voice low in the silent library. “Finally found you. How’s it going?”

Geralt gave him a wooden look, then closed his eyes as if summoning strength to deal with this intrusion into his personal space. Coën, usually confident and easygoing, shifted awkwardly. When Geralt opened his eyes again, he marked the book carefully and set it aside. 

“What do you want.” He asked flatly. The full bore of his attention on Coën was vaguely uncomfortable, but Coën wasn’t about to be deterred. He was used to Yennefer, after all.  

“I wanted to talk, man. Get to know you a little. We work together all the time, why not?” He fixed Geralt with a charming, lopsided grin, leaning his shoulder lightly on the shelf next to him. 

Geralt took this in, unimpressed. “Where’s Yennefer?” Of all the things that he wanted to deal with right now, being harassed by both of them on his off hours was not it. He eyed Coën skeptically. 

“Off base doing errands, last I checked.” Coën replied easily. “Want to come out for a run with me?”

“No.”

“A drink then? C’mon. On me.”

Geralt hesitated, then grumbled reluctantly. He didn’t want to socialize, but free booze was hard to turn down. “Fine.” 

He picked the book up and stood, unfolding to his full height with an easy grace. From where he was standing he could see the librarian, whose eye he caught. Geralt gave the librarian a short nod before starting out the door. Coën could have sworn he caught a slight smile between the two of them, so quick he wasn’t entirely sure he saw it, but then Geralt was pushing past him and he was turning to follow. The little moment popped like a soap bubble and faded from Coën’s notice, forgotten, as he followed the big man out the door. 

When they arrived at the bar Geralt walked in without comment, leaving Coën to follow him. At this time of day the space was warm and full of the smell of good food, dotted with patrons chatting over drinks and baskets of falafels. Geralt leaned his elbows on the bar and greeted the owner in Hebrew as Coën came into hearing range. The man shook his head, corrected him, and Geralt tried again, this time holding up two fingers. The dark-haired man smiled and nodded this time, then looked up and waved to Coën as he approached. 

Geralt turned as Coën neared and slapped Coën’s shoulder, just a little too hard to be entirely companionable. “He’s paying.” 

Coën grinned, unperturbed, and slid into the bar seat next to where Geralt was standing. “Give me a basket of those falafels, too. They smell fantastic,” he said. 

“You got it,” the bartender replied, placing a beer and a shot of arak in front of each of them. Coën nodded his thanks and grabbed the arak first, downing it, welcoming the burn. Geralt did the same, tossing it back in one go. The liquor was strong, having the tendency to punch the drinker in the sinuses with a sharp hit of vaporized alcohol and aniseed. They both shook their heads to clear the burn, then took large swallows of beer to wash it back. Blinking their watering eyes, they turned to look at one another, considering one another in the quiet near the front of the bar. 

“Why are you bothering me?” Geralt asked him bluntly. “Don’t you have something better to do on your off hours?”

“I’m buying you food and booze, I’d hardly call that bothering you,” Coën replied dryly. Geralt quirked the tiniest of smiles and turned away, shrugging. His eyes tracked as the bartender brought the falafels back to them. Coën grabbed them and jerked his head. “Let’s grab a table.” 

“Fine.” Geralt said, eyeing his back with a little frown as he followed him across the bar. Coën was a little shorter than Geralt, although he was by no means a small man, with a leanly muscled frame and a confident posture. He wore a brown shirt and fatigues, though his press pass was now stuffed safely away, no longer needed off base. When he turned and sat, Geralt sank into the seat across from him. His face was plain but friendly, with terrible pockmark scarring from some sort of accident or illness. He grew a short beard over it, neatly trimmed, which slightly eased the effect of the scarring. His eyes were a little unsettling, a pale yellow green like a cat’s eyes, the whites riddled with red streaks from some sort of old injury.

“What happened to your face?” Geralt asked, setting his beer on the table.

“Boy, you just jump right to it, don’t you, big guy?” Coën replied affably. “That’s none of your goddamn business. But since you’re asking, it happened while I was over in ‘Nam. Got me a medical discharge out of it, and fuck all else.” He shrugged and waved his hand, indicating Geralt’s body and face. “What’s with the whole… pale, spooky thing?” A grin played over his face as he saw Geralt sit back. The young soldier’s expression changed quickly from offense to understanding as he caught on that he was being mildly rebuffed for his rudeness. 

“It’s genetic,” he explained with a little grimace. “And if you’re about to call me Casper, save your breath. I’ve heard all of it before.”

Coën’s grin widened. He took a big swallow of his beer and then leaned towards Geralt. “I was about to ask if your mother fucked a snowman, but I guess we’ve got that all covered,” he teased. Geralt pulled a face at him, wavering between offense and laughter. Coën popped a falafel into his mouth, still smiling, then pushed the basket towards the middle of the table towards Geralt. 

“So tell me about yourself. What’s with the library thing?”

“What’s with the disturbing my reading thing?” Geralt grumbled back at him, but he took a falafel and bit into it. Coën waited, still unperturbed, and after a moment Geralt said, “I like it because it’s quiet. I get a chance to catch up on my reading after dinner when no one’s there.” 

“What were you reading about?” Coën asked, then drained his beer. “Want another round?” Geralt nodded cautiously, draining his own beer and setting the empty glass aside. Coën nabbed it and brought it back to the bar, returning a moment later with full glasses and another round of arak. 

They pounded the shots back as Coën sat, then Geralt replied. “Hebrew. I’m trying to get fluent.” He gave Coën an uneasy look. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Coën shrugged comfortably. “I prefer fantasy. Love me some Lord of the Rings.” 

“Oh,” Geralt said, sounding a little surprised. He wasn’t used to people actually engaging in conversation with him about books. “Why?”

“I don’t know man,” Coën said, waving his hand. “Swords? Dwarves? Elves? It’s a fun escape, I guess.”

Geralt smiled slightly, nodded, nabbed another falafel. “What do you usually do on your off time?”

“What, when I’m not with Yennefer?” Geralt nodded, and Coën stretched in his chair, pondering. “Physical training. Fuck. Read,” he tipped his beer at Geralt in a friendly gesture, “Play cards, if there’s a game on. Harass people who don’t want to be bothered,” he said with another grin. 

This time Geralt snorted into his beer, nodding. “Ok. Fine. Where are you from?” 

Coën leaned comfortably in his chair and swiped another falafel. “Michigan. You?”

“Poland,” he replied, tossing his beer back. “My parents were stationed out there when I was born.” 

“Poland, huh? How’d you end up back in the States?”

“Military school. It’s a long story.” Geralt shrugged, his face closing off, and he changed the subject. “How’d you meet Yennefer?”

“Mm.” Coën eyed Geralt curiously, but let the subject drop. “I met her when I was over in ‘Nam. Saw her burn through a bunch of my COs like they were cheap paper and I thought, I have to know this woman.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “She wasn’t easy to get to know, but,” he shrugged. “I’m charming.”

Geralt shook his head, smiling slightly as he bit into a falafel. 

“Then… after a series of long stories I’m not gonna get into, she ended up out in the field with my unit, which was fucking insane given what was going on out there. Long story short, she saved my ass. I’m pretty much ride or die now.” 

Geralt nodded thoughtfully, then stood. “I’ll buy this round.”

“Sounds good, man.” 

When he returned, he passed Coën his drinks and sat down. This time, with the drinks, Geralt offered him a smile.

Hours later, when they staggered out of the bar together, their arms were wrapped around one another’s shoulders.

In the parking lot of the mall, Yennefer pulls into the parking space and pulls the emergency break. Now that she is done talking with Jaskier, she wants to check in with Coën, finally update him, make sure that everything is okay with him and Ciri. She pulls out a big, blocky cell phone and dials a number. It only rings twice before someone on the other end picks up. She turns the blowers down as a man’s voice answers the phone. 

“Hello?”

“It’s Yenna, Coën. I found Geralt, he’s safe. How are you and Ciri doing?” Her voice is quiet but carries clearly across the phone line. 

“Yenna,” the man, Coën, replies with relief. “It’s good to hear from you. I actually just got her down for a rest.” Yennefer can hear a small shuffling sound as he shifts the phone to his other ear, then settling sounds. “She had a helluva meltdown a little while ago.”

“Is she sleeping?”

“As far as I know, yes. Last time I looked in on her she was out.” He sounds tired, but his voice is steady, calm. “It was a bad one. She’s not hurt, but I just finished sweeping up the last of her lunch plate off the floor.” 

Yennefer sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose lightly. “Do you know what caused it?”

“I don’t think there was any one thing this time. She misses you, she’s scared about her dad being gone, her routine’s thrown off. This time the thing that kindled it off was the water from her steamed broccoli touching her ketchup, but…” He sighs, and she can hear fabric shifting, probably a shrug. “As you know, that usually doesn’t set her off like this.” She can hear another shuffle as he shifts. 

“She’d been asking about you a lot since you didn't call yesterday morning, even though we both told her you’d be missing a day… which got me thinking it’s more about missing you than the fucking ketchup. She’ll be ok, but I’m glad you called. You said you’ve finally found Geralt?” A note of worry enters his easygoing voice, and she can almost see the look of concern on his pockmarked face. 

“I found him, Coën.” She confirms. “He’s safe in my hotel room right now. I found him with a man.” A frustrated sigh bursts out from her. “I can’t believe him. This is how he got tossed out of the Army, and the second he hits civilian soil he’s in someone else’s pants. This isn’t like him.”

“He what?” On the other end of the line, Coën bursts into laughter. “Oh man, good for him! He deserves a little happy. What the fuck happened to him, anyway? Last I heard you hadn’t been able to get any details about the damn discharge, I’ve been worried sick.”

“We all have. I still am. He’s in a bad way.” And with that, she relates the events of the past day to her friend, filling him in on the details of Geralt’s discharge, how dangerous his depression has become, and the circumstances under which she found him. Coën listens patiently, stopping her only rarely to ask a clarifying question. She winds up by detailing everything she’s learned about Jaskier, ending on an amused note. “So, that situation is totally barmy. Trust Geralt to find the most impulsive man in Rhode Island… I really hope he’s going to be ok. I know I don’t get much say in this, but it worries me.” 

On the other end of the line, she can hear another soft rustle as Coën shifts and re-settles himself while he mulls this over. “I don’t know, Yenna… it sounds like it’s not the worst situation I’ve ever heard of.” 

“Coën-”

“Stop. Listen. I get why you’re upset. The guy sounds like he’s a little fuckin’ foolish, but when has Geralt gone in for anything else?” 

“Coën!” she exclaims, insulted. “Excuse me?”

“Except for you, sweetie. You know I never mean you. But Eskel? He’s never had all his screws tightened down and you know it. At least this guy seems genuinely interested in him.” 

Yennefer sighs and nods. “You’re right. Whatever else is happening, his idiot really does seem to like him,” she admits. 

“That’s good,” Coën chuckles. Then he asks, “Hey, what the fuck is he wearing? All of his stuff is here! Oh… Yenna, don’t tell me he’s in his old clothes from storage…” 

Yennefer slowly grins. “He is. Spares from his twenties, too.” 

On the other end of the line, Coën bursts out in quiet laughter. “Do they even fit?”

“Depends on how you define ‘fit’,” she replies dryly. “They’re a bit tight across the shoulders now.” 

“Oh man, and he’s just walking around wearing that? You’ve got to be kidding me. I ain’t gonna be able to mail his clothes overseas fast enough to rescue that disaster, you have got to get him new clothes.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re not wrong… I’m already on it. I’m actually about to go pick him up a few things, I just thought I'd call you first.” she says, then trails off. The smile falls from her face. 

“Coën, this feels crazy. I know I already agreed that we’d stay and work it out but… Between you and me, I just want him home safe. I don’t know if I’m making the right choice staying here.”

She can hear another rustle, and when he speaks, Coën’s voice is serious and quiet, muffled to avoid waking Ciri. “I get that. I really do. But… What do you honestly think is going to happen if we put him on a plane and force him back to London? He’ll hate you, for a start. We can’t strongarm another bar owner into giving him a job with his special interest, either, and I don’t think he’ll make it if he doesn’t have something to do. Not the way you’re talking about him right now. That scares the shit out of me.” He sighs, and then speaks again, barely audible now. “Besides, Ciri needs her dad to be happy. You know what will happen if we put them together right now before he’s stable.”

Yennefer feels her stomach plunge as Coën points that out, pressing her lips together. Reluctantly, she nods. “You’re not wrong about that. I bloody fucking wish you were, but…” 

Coën hums softly in agreement on the other end of the line. “Listen.” He says, after a long moment of worried silence. “I know you’re nervous, but take the crappy impulse sex out of the picture for a minute and look again. He’s met a man who likes him a lot. He’s so into him that he finally admitted to you that he’s gay. That’s like, moving fucking mountains material. And you know how much he loves mixing drinks, it’s like an illness. I fucking hate when he starts talking about it because he won’t fucking shut up. Don’t get me wrong, it’s sweet, but-”

“It’s fucking exhausting,” she agrees with a laugh. “You’re right, this job offer is right up his alley. If he’d come to it a little more honestly, I’d probably be thrilled for him…” She hesitates, then adds, “About all of it. He really likes Julian. He blushes when he talks about him.”

“Oh ho ho ho!” Coën crows quietly. “You’re kidding me! Mr. My Face is Carved Out of Granite Rivii, blushing? That I have to see for myself.” Yennefer laughs again, feeling deeply held tension in her chest and stomach begin to ease. 

“It’s quite the sight,” she admits with a smile. “It’s nice to see.”

“I bet. So it sounds like you’re not going to be home anytime soon.”

“Probably not.”

“What do you want me to tell Ciri?”

Yennefer sits back in her seat heavily and sighs, then flips down the sun visor so that she can open the mirror on the back of it and inspect her makeup as she thinks. The process grounds her, bringing her back to her center. She carefully sweeps a finger under one eye, corralling a minute smudge of eyeliner before she responds. 

“Tell her that I love her very much, and that I will call her before bed tonight. I will keep up with her morning calls until I figure out what to do… Beyond that, it’s hard to say what next steps should be until I see how this rumpus between Geralt and his idiot takes shape.” She pauses, chewing the inside of her lip.

“What are you thinking about?” Coën asks quietly, voice gentle. 

“I’m thinking about what to do with Ciri. If everything goes well here, I don’t want to just leave Geralt alone and go back to London.” “So move her. We’ve been all over the world, Yenna. Rhode Island isn’t dangerous, what’s the problem?”

She looks up at the ceiling of the car, huffing and studying the velvety fabric above her. “It feels crazy, is the problem.”

“This whole thing is crazy. Our life is crazy. It’s ok, we know how to land on our feet. Maybe start looking into a month-to-month for you two, you don’t know how long Geralt’s going to need you over there. Maybe start scouting for bigger places in case you decide to move us, too? I’ll get a few things wound up over here, just in case, and… we’ll feel it out, ok? No need to make any big decisions yet. Let’s just make sure Geralt is safe first. Ciri’s safe with me, you can handle yourself, everything else is gonna be fine. Ok?”

Her hand comes up to her chest and presses it as she listens to Coën, trying to ease some of the sudden ache in her heart. As she gets wrapped up in the calm safety of his voice, it finally occurs to her just how emotionally exhausted she is. She takes a moment to sit with it, breathing slowly until the worst of the ache has passed and she is thinking clearly again. Coën waits patiently on the other end of the line, his own breath quiet and steady in her ear.

“I still don’t like it.” 

Coën laughs, muffling his chuckle so as not to wake Ciri. “I know, sweetie. You wouldn’t be you if you did. You were never gonna like any boyfriend of Geralt’s, it’s not in your nature... That’s ok. Give it time. Go get ‘im, sweetie, that little twink isn’t gonna know what hit him.”

She breaks out in a sudden laugh at that, pleased. “He already doesn’t. I’ve got that boy properly terrified.”

“Good. Keep the little fucker in line until I can meet him,” Coën says warmly. “I’ll beat him up for both of you if he doesn’t do right by our boy.” 

“Thank you,” she replies with a smile. “I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I know. Give Ciri a hug for me?”

“You got it. Anything else before I go?”

She hesitates, then grins mischievously. “The bar has leather nights.” 

“Oh, Geralt is going to die,” Coën giggles quietly, still trying to muffle himself. “Oh lord, thank you for telling me that. That’ll do.”

“You’re welcome. Talk to you soon.”

“Yup. Give Geralt a hug for me when you get back to him.”

“I will,” she promises. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” 

She ends the call and drops the phone back into her purse, sighing heavily. She feels more grounded now, but the weight of the situation sits heavily on her heart. Like no matter where she turns, something unpredictable looms, out of her control. Closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat, she gives herself a long, slow moment to gather her thoughts. The conversation with Coën was calming, and she feels much clearer now. Once she is gathered, she gets out of the car and shuts the door firmly. Now that was all settled, it was time to get Geralt some clothes. 

~*~

When she arrives back at the hotel room some time later, Geralt is just starting to stir. He is lying there blinking in the dimness of the hotel room, feeling like he is being crushed under a ton of bricks, when he hears the click of the magnetic key card sliding in the lock. Sitting up on his elbow, he watches as Yennefer pushes through the door with a bag on her elbow and his backpack slung over her shoulder. Oh, crap. That’s right, she’d gone shopping for him. Despite the fact that he’s grateful he didn’t have to go to the store himself, he still feels apprehension about the prospect of a whole new set of clothing. Groaning, he flops back against his pillow and scrubs his hand over his stubbly face. 

Yennefer smiles as she watches him do this, setting the bag down on the little round table. “I have more in the car, kochany.” She gestures to the little counter with the mini fridge and coffee maker, where a bag of ground coffee sits waiting for him. “I bought some decent coffee in case I found you. Why don’t you get that started?” Geralt grumps out a muffled noise from behind his hand, not moving.

Then she walks over and deposits the backpack next to his side of the bed. “Got your razor.” Leaning over, she plucks his hand off of his face and kisses his forehead, then his lips, light and sweet, and is rewarded with a little flicker of a smile. 

“Thank you, neshama shelì.” Geralt rumbles softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “How did everything go?”

“Well… I still don’t entirely get what you see in him,” she teases gently, sitting next to him on the bed, forcing him to scoot slightly to the side to make room for her. “But. We had a long talk, and I have a better feel for who he is as a person.” She trails her fingers lightly along his arm, affectionate. 

“And?” Geralt asks, tilting his head and eyeing her with guarded curiosity in the dimness. 

“And,” she sighs and smiles, patting his chest. “I suppose I can see something of what you see in him. He’s a pillock, and he’s too impulsive for my liking, but he’s also… kind. Soft. Generous. More thoughtful than I gave him credit for. So,” she says, turning to smile down at him, “I left him with the hotel room’s number. The ball’s in his court now, kochany. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Geralt looks back up at her, his face unreadable in the dim half-light of the hotel room. He nods, his eyes sliding closed, still groggy and emotionally hungover after the day previous. Yennefer pats his chest gently one last time and then says, “I also talked to Coën. He and Ciri are doing well, and he’s glad that you are okay. He told me to hug you for him.” And with that she leans over, giving him a gentle squeeze. He huffs out a noise of mild protest, but deep down he enjoys the hug. She smirks as she rises. “I’ll be back with the rest of the bags in just a minute. I’ll fill you in about the rest over breakfast.” 

He grunts a sleepy noise of acknowledgement, waiting until she leaves to slowly rise. Every movement causes his body to burn with exhausted pain. All of the raw sadness and grief that he’d been staving off for weeks has collapsed in on him, and he can barely breathe under it. Grumbling softly, he sets up the coffee maker, pulls his shaving things and his dog tags out of his bag, and limps into the bathroom for a shower. 

By the time he is out, he can hear Yennefer moving around in the room outside the door. He uses a towel to swipe the mirror clear. This time he doesn’t even try to meet his own eyes. Instead, he sets about the routine that he’s done nearly every day of his adult life, the same way every time. It is unspeakably grounding to feel the cold pattern of strokes across his skin as the razor cuts away the night’s stubble.

When his skin is finally smooth for the first time in weeks, it feels like a weight has fallen off of him. He sighs deeply in contentment as he washes the remaining soap off of his face and rubs his hand gently over his cheeks. Then, he turns to his dog tags. There on the chain is his wedding band, a plain gold ring. 

Yennefer had put it on him a long time ago, and it is one of his most treasured possessions. It had never felt right to hide it, but he’d been so certain that he didn’t deserve them anymore. That they would reject him. Now that he knew differently, it was a relief to see it again. It had always been an honor to wear.  

Gently, he removes it and puts it back on his ring finger. When he emerges from the bathroom, Yennefer can see the difference in him. Her eyes flicker to the ring and back, and she gives him a little smile. That was a good sign, she knew. It meant he felt connected enough to his family to wear it. 

“Better?” She asks, watching him walk out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Better,” he agrees, fingering his chin. 

“Good.” She smiles. “There’s fresh clothes on the bed for you.” With a tip of her head, she indicates the jeans, dark blue button down, undershirt, underwear, belt, and socks that she’s laid out on Geralt’s side of the bed. 

“Thanks,” he squints, eyeing them distrustfully. 

“Just try them, Geralt, they won’t bite,” Yennefer suggests wryly, taking another pair of jeans out of a bag and clipping the tags off of them. “You’ll have to get used to wearing them someday, might as well start now.” 

“Hmm.” He grunts, casting her a look of very mild irritation. She smiles back at him, he rolls his eyes, then capitulates and heads over to inspect the new clothing for himself. It’s simple, sturdy, well-made. When he picks up the shirt, it’s surprisingly soft. He shoots a glance at Yennefer, who gives him a ‘See? Told you to trust me,’ look in return. 

Grumbling softly, caught somewhere between feeling annoyed and loved, he puts the shirt on. He discovers that the underwear is comfortable, too. To his surprise, even the socks are pleasant, dress socks with fine seams that don’t bother his feet when he puts them on. The jeans are a little stiff, but they’re new and that can’t be helped. The clean clothing feels nice, as does the fact that it fits a great deal better than his old clothing did. He walks over to the mirrors paneling the little closet door in the corner of the room and eyes himself uncomfortably. 

“What do you think?” Yennefer asks from across the room, an amused note lilting her voice. 

“I hate it,” Geralt gripes, only half serious. He tugs at the shirt and grimaces at his reflection. The outfit feels surprisingly nice on his skin, and deep down, he knows he’ll get accustomed to it quickly. 

“Liar,” Yen chuckles warmly, setting aside a wine-red shirt in a small pile of other clothing. 

“Hmm.” Geralt hums, walking over to the little counter to get himself a cup of coffee. Then he turns around and leans against it, eyeing Yen and her bags skeptically. 

“I know I need clothes, Yen, but really?” He complains, as he watches her pull out a deep purple shirt and clip its tags, adding to the pile. 

“Really,” she says firmly. “You’ll feel better if you look presentable, Geralt. Especially at that new job of yours, if you decide to take it.” She glances up at him, a twinkle in her eye. Then she gestures at a shirt on top of the pile of work clothing she’s set aside for him.

He gives her a wide-eyed look, then walks over and tentatively picks up the shirt that she’d indicated. It is just a black button down shirt, nothing fancy. But it is more than that, too. It is a silent statement of support from her, and as such, it means the world to him. 

She smiles to herself, setting aside the empty bag in her lap. “Want to go get breakfast somewhere, moj drogì?” She asks. “I saw a few places nearby that looked good.” He glances up from his coffee warily. To be perfectly honest, all he wanted to do was sleep, but he was all slept out, so after a moment of hesitation he nods. 

“Good. Once I’m done here we’ll leave.” 

He nods again, downing his coffee and pouring himself another cup. Then he walks over quietly behind her back and leans down, kissing the top of her head. 

“Thank you for the clothes, Yen.”

“You’re welcome.” She replies warmly, leaning back into his stomach. Her violet eyes peer up from underneath her lashes, a slow smile lighting her face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He takes a sip of coffee, holding her head and gently savoring her curls with his fingertips. They both close their eyes, soaking up the warmth of being together. It might not be a usual sort of love, but it was theirs, and neither would have traded it for the world.

[corancoranthemagicalman]

Hannibal - Ep1 - Reaction

Okay, so this is starting because of @quartermastercandlestickmaker​ and @todorokisrose​ [yes, y’all both gettin’ tagged in the annoouncement and this one. I need to be clear on who is causing my suffering.]

I’m here in this hole now. This dark pit.

This is not a live-blogging of my watch, but I am writing this live. So, writing live posting later. If that makes sense. I’ll have one post per episode and after I’ll compile them all into a master list.

Spoilers ahead.

What a grand opening my dudes. Thrilling music. He’s got that “he fucked up” face going on. WAIT NO HE’S SHERLOCKING THE SHIT. OH COOL. NO WONDER I SAW SOOME FANART OF THEM BEING BFFS. Oh, I like this. Weird effects flex but I dig it.Ooooooooooo I was not expecting that voice. IS THIS WHERE THE “THIS IS MY DESIGN” SHIT CAME FROM WHAT THE FUCK Have I known this more than I thought.

Also low-key bitch *looks* like a psychopath no wonder what is gonna happen happens. Oh rip Mrs. Marlow ;;~;; that was a hard change bro.

I don’t wanna think about ---

BITCH THIS *IS* WHERE THE THIS IS MY DESIGN SHIT CAME FROM OH M Y G O D

Also Laurence Fishbourne god bless I love him.

It’s difficult for me to be social too, fam. LAURANCE WHY DID YOU FIX HIS GLASSES THAT WAS SO WE IR D???? Also bro same I love you, Will Graham, you funky little sociopath.

“Every girl is a candy bar” mhm okay thanks for that. Will and this sociable thing is really fucking me bro minus the serial killer obsession/profession/vibe.

Laurence Fishbourne is an amazing actor but I’m also digging the dude playing Will (srry names are my weakness so his name is Will.)

Oooooo booi. I recognize Katz from fanart she’s a popular one right. But we’re going upstairs.

I’m so worried about opening the door

Oh

Oh

Oh no

He knew

This bitch been knew

Holy shit

I like the whole thing with eye contact. I’ve seen the gif where it’s mentioned but I like how it’s subtle and not overly emphasized so far. Oh we’re flashing back again. Poor Elise. It’s a super interesting story technique using him as the killer. Also damn bitch “you unstable” you’re such a nosy bitch how were you interrupted when you were asked not to enter

Now everyone is here

Antlers promote healing mhm okay

I wanna hug him but I also don’t want to make him uncomfortable with contact. IS HE STOPPING FOR A DOG OH ,Y HO GOD. I’D DIE FOR THIS MAN. I’D DIE FOR THIS MAN. HE STOPPED FOR A DOG. HEWENT BACK FOR THE DOG OMGH THIS MAN THIS MAN IS,,,,, he adopted a fucking stray dog. This man is lovely. I love this man. This -- HE DOES IT TO MULTIPLE DOOGS OH MY GOD I WANNA MARRY HIM ANDHAVE WINSTON AND EVERYBODY AND OMOG HE’S SUCH A LOVELY STRANGE CREATURE.

Where are we now. In a dream state? OH SHIT WE ARE THAT’S A BODY AND A HEARTBEAT IN MY EAR WHAT THE FUCK ahhhh fun nightmares I love it. Oh shit the towels. Bro. There are quite a few visuals happening.

“USE THE LADIES ROOM” dafsjhg

Stop yelling at him ;;~;;

Woah  this is a lot to unpack in this scene you can see Will like slipping omg. It’ss almost unsettling him not having eye contact but like I know the reason for it and therefore it’s just impressive acting and not like unsettling of the actor to do that if that makes sense? I really am impressed by that level of commitment to not have a “look at the camera” to keep showing how he won’t look at other people.

Ooo this is one of the lady psych talkers which is like on the Graham side while the blonde one is for Hannibal, right even tho Hannibal is a brain doc. ALANA that’s her name and that might be how you spell it. She doesn’t want him out there but Laurence needs  her to be his back  up. (Oh, his name is Jack.) JACK DONT MAKE PROMISES WILL CAN AND WILL GET CLOSE.

WHAT THE FUCK  IS THIS SHOW WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE SHADWS AND THE ANTLERS PIERCING HER OH MY GOD WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS SHOW I THOUGHT THE VISUALS I HAD SEEN IN FAN ART WAS JUST LIKE FANON  IMPOSED OMOG “SOMETHING WRONG WITH  THE MEAT” O G M OOG HE’S EATING THEM FUCK

Is this

Is this my bitch

MY BITCH MADS OH MY GOD.

I love him. He’s so unconventionally handsome. He looks like he’d kill and eat me but I’d thank him for it, yanno? Oops.

No nonsense MM handing this crying man some tissues I love it. “I hate being this neurotic” omg the mood also Hannibal’s glance to the tissue is fucking amazing??? V Subtle Acting /cries in beauty

Franklyn, the lion isn’t in the room boy (just discovered I might wanna put subtitles on but they’re not working so rip)

Frankie boy got so scared by that comment thanks, Dr. Lector.

Mhm no secretary that’s,,, suspicious,,,, “sad to see her go” mhm okay sure Jan

Oh this bitch does draw oh my god john hopkins internship and all. Laurence is impressed and Mads is “mhm are you gonna try something” sdajkfgh A LAYMAN DAMN aww he’s like “oomg you’re so amazing dr. mr. sir”

OH THEY’RE IN THE SAME ROOM HERE WE GO BBY

FUCKKK IT BEGINS

SORRY HE’S GIVING THE WHOLE DOWNLOW

“Associations come quickly-” “so do forts”

QEFJWahgrsdfdkq WHAT THE FUCK

THIS IS LITERAL THE FIRST DAMN CONVERSATION HE HAS WITH HIM. I KNEW THE CONVERSATION ABOUT EYE CONTACT WAS ONE OF THEIR FIRST, BUT THIS IS THE LITERAL FIRST WITH THE ADDED BONUS OF HE ACTUALLY MAKES E Y E C O N T A C T OOMGGG??!?!?!?!

Oh ;;~;; “YOU WONT LIKE ME WHEN I’M PSYCHOANAYLYZED” im this is very flirtatious als jack you’re like br  o

So he’s the King of Empathy. He’s,,, helping Will see his own face,,, mhm,,,,, what does that say about you, Dr. Lector?

He’s mocking where he was apologetic is this maybe noT

FJAGUDIS

SHIT THOSE ARE LUNGS

OH

“HE HAS A DAUGHTER SAME AGE” O H B O  Y THAT’S UH DADDY HAS SOME ISSUES WITH BABY LEAVING HOME

Also this is a copy cat dklafjsghjfd OH DAMN THAT SNAP BACK ABOUT DR. LECTOR FFUCKK MAN.

Also,, I  can see why this show,, caused issues,,, a man should not look handsome while eating fucking lungs.

More visions I cannot even

What does this

What the hell is this

Dr. Lector showing up at his house o h .

IS HE FEEDING HIM FUCKING LUNGS BITCH OH MY GD ON A FIRST DATE???

“God forbid we become friendly”

“I don’t find you that interesting”

This smells,,, like a ship,,, mhm,,,,

Breath will damn breath slow and use the words omg

Mhm ookay “we’re just alike” in the first bit…

Uncle Jack sees him as a fine china tea cup. That’s hilarious.

“How do you see me?” says Will.

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by,” replies Hannibal WHILE WILL IS KEEPING EYE CONTACT.

OH MY GOD. MHM. KAY. IM OKAY. THIS IS OKAY.

So is there a reason -- “plain but pretty” hannibal gives a look -- is there a reason no official officer is accompanying them like????? They’re both not??? FBI????

Damn hannibal spilling shit everywhere.

HE’S USING A TISSUE TO PICK UP THE PHONE

TO CALL HIS DAUGHTER

MHMMMM?????????

Wait no he’s calling someone else

Who is this

OH HE’S CALLING GARRETT. OH. wait is he helping other cannibals get away. What the fuck. You can’t do that, Hannibal. Is there a fuckking cannibal union yall get together and trrade recipes.

OH NO GARRETT MURDERED HIS WIFE AND KID DIDNT HE OH NO

OH PLEASE NO

Wait we’re back to reality

This back and forth is trippy

Oh

H  N

OH  NO

FUCK YU HANNIBAL AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING CANNIBAL CLAN THIS PR WOMAN :(((((((((

I do love how this built up to Hannibal being the cannibal but it was Hobbs. NFIEGSIBFD

HOBBS NO

FUCK HIM UP WILL

(also I guess Will technically is FBI that probably helps lmao)

Oh no

O h n o

Dont whisper at him to see bitch

Oh no

Will

Will it’s

Oh no

>:((((((((((((((((((( hannibal Imma fuck you up

Will honey let someone clean your glasses. Does she survive? I hope the girl survives. The Traitor Cannibal Bitch is going with them. Mhm.

Alana tryin’ to protect him. (Does she like him? I got bad news, babe, he’s gonna fall in love with a man-eater.)

shE SURVIVED??? AND HANNIBAL IS THERE WITH HER???? OMOG??? DOES HE FEEL BAD YET YOU FUCKING BITCH YOU READ THE CANNIBAL WRONG AND HE NEARLY MURDERED HIS FAMILY wait is this chick who everyone calls their daughter oomg??? Is this her????

WHAT WAS THIS SHOW OMG WHAT WAS THIS SHOW