#its the back to back listening to e/o concerns

[anderwater]

the bear tag is so full and busy. really feel like i did my job for season one and now i can just rest and reblog.

[deanscherrypie420]

𝑫𝒊𝒕𝒛𝒚 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏

A/N: Hi guys! This idea just like.. came to me. I hope you guys like it! Don't worry, I will make more Sammy fics.. Nobody has asked I just figured its been a minute lol. If you enjoy this story, feel free to follow, comment and reblog <3 All feedback is appreciated! Enjoyyy!

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Y/N, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Castiel

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Warnings: Bimbo!Demon reader (Hear me out-), Demon!Dean, holy water, supernatural stuff, devils trap, cursing, shopping spree, sexual dialogue, groping, thigh grinding, edging/orgasm denial, praise kink, smut.

Summary: After running into the Winchesters, you find yourself in a sticky situation. You didn't expect your soon-to-be shopping spree to get turned into an interrogation. Fortunately, after lots of discussion, you convince the group to let you go. Oh how Dean regrets it.

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She was looking into a diner window, using it as a mirror as she reapplied her lipgloss. She carefully patted her lips with the pad of her middle finger, her lips in a perfect "O" shape.

She heard a faint sound of men laughing and adjusted her eyes to see through the glass, now noticing the two men at the diner. She smiled and rested her finger on her bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. She blinked and her eyes went black, staring down at the two.

It was a fun trick she did when she noticed men staring, scaring them to death, only for nobody to believe them. She noticed them stare at each other, the typical startled expression overwhelming their faces.

She turned on her heel and strutted down the sidewalk, a triumphant smile forming on her face. Her eyes were back to their normal Y/E/C color. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, listening to the urgent footsteps that followed behind her.

Y/N turned and grinned, giving the men a flirty wave. "Hi, boys! Can I help you?" She questioned, finding their expressions amusing. "I don't know, Sweetheart. What the hell was that little show you put on for us?" The shorter one asked, moving cautiously towards her.

"Oh, you mean this?" She blinked again and her eyes turned dark, a cheeky smile returning to her face. She expected their shocked expressions, hell everyone got scared. What she didn't predict was the holy water that burned her face shortly after.

She hissed and stumbled back into an alley, "You're gonna ruin my makeup!" She screamed, her hands covering her face as she stepped back further.

"That's your concern? Your makeup?" The taller man questioned, raising his brows in disbelief. She nodded quickly, flicking the burning water off of her hands. "Get the hell away from me! Who even are you?" She spat at them.

"Oh, baby. We're the Winchesters. Some of the best damn hunters you'll ever meet." Her eyes widened when she felt a blade enter her shoulder, a loud whine echoing off the walls.

She gasped and looked down at her now stained tube top, the blood quickly oozing down into the white fabric. "My shirt-!" She was cut off by a hand covering her mouth, the damp fabric hurting her skin. The holy water dripped down and evaporated off of her chest. Her vision went blurry and before she knew it, she was out.

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When Y/N woke up, her head lulled forward. She went to stand up, but was restricted by ropes to a chair. She shouted out and four men entered the room.

"Who are you?" She mumbled, nodding towards the two new faces. "I'm Castiel, the Winchesters guardian angel. This is Bobby Singer. That is Dean and Sam Winchester." The man in a trench-coat explained.

She rolled her eyes, "Well duh, I know who those two are." She said as she eyed the boys. Dean quickly walked towards her, stopping at the edge of the devils trap she was enclosed in. "See this? You're stuck here until you talk." He explained.

"You're tellin' me this girl is a demon?" Bobby asked, a quick, breathy laugh leaving her before he splashed holy water on her. She hissed and cried out, her fists clenching around the wood seat.

"What the hell! What did I do!" She barked, her face scrunched up as the liquid slowly fell to the floor. Sam stood behind her, Dean now standing outside of the trap directly in front of her. She thought it was odd, but didn't have much time to think about it.

"How did you find us, and who are you?" Sam questioned, his fingers curling around the back of the chair. "Find you? I didn't find you, I ran into you by chance."

Sam opened a flask and poured water down the back of her shirt. She screamed, tears starting to pool in her eyes. "How did you find us?" Castiel repeated from the corner of the room. She glanced up at him, her pupils now shot. "I didn't find you..." She barely whispered.

"Name! What's you're name!" The older Winchester hollered, making her flinch back. She glared at him, the fear in her eyes dissolving. "My names Y/N." She answered gruffly, her brows knitted tight together.

Suddenly, Bobby splashed more water at her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep quiet, but was surprised when she heard a yell. She opened her eyes wearily, noticing the steam rising from Dean's arm.

"You're a demon?" She asked, a nervous edge in her voice. It made sense. He didn't step too close to the circle and he didn't carry holy water on him.

"Pretty much, Sweetheart." He rolled his sleeves up, showing her the mark on his arm. Her eyes widened and she felt a bit uneasy. "So why are you attacking me..? We're like the same thing, right?"

"Not even close. He doesn't murder people." Sam answered, moving from behind her and now next to his brother. "I don't kill people? I guess I mean I hurt peoples feelings but I don't kill them!" She protested in a hurry, noticing the older man grabbing a book and whispering Latin under his breath.

"Stop, please! Listen to me! I don't hurt people!" She started getting overwhelmed, her eyes flickering from black to Y/E/C. She was hyperventilating and she bit down on her lip, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Stop! I said stop!"

The room went white, the men grunted as they got back up to their feet. They didn't know what she did, but she broke the devils trap along with half of everything else Bobby owned. Once they were to their feet, they all stared at her.

Y/N was on the ground breathing heavily, curled into a ball on the floor. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, reaching her hands out in front of her to steady herself. She moved to sit down on the floor, an anxious expression evident in her features. "Don't hurt me." She pleaded quietly.

Castiel crouched down in front of her and rested a hand on her knee. "Are you okay?" She nodded and sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of her lip, her eyes a bit puffy from crying.

"You guys are mean." She hiccuped, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. Sam raised his brows just like before and he nodded, "Wow. Yeah, uh, I think maybe we can believe her."

Bobby nodded and said something under his breath before stepping out of the room. Castiel followed shortly after, but the brothers stayed to chat with her.

They talked for some time, and she explained why she did what she did. Dean slid his his hand down his face, an exasperated expression following in its wake. "Holy shit, you are one dumb demon. You're aware that that can get you killed?" Sam had to hold back a laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at the floor. "I think she gets that now."

"I wanted to go shopping... You guys ruined my day." She huffed and crossed her arms, turning her face away from the boys. "Alright, Sweetheart. How about I drive you to wherever you were staying, you get cleaned up and then we take you to the mall. How does that sound?" He offered, and her eyes lit up.

"Oh my gosh! You would do that!" She stood up quickly and hugged Dean, her arms squeezing tight around his neck. He was stiff at first but eventually hugged her back, his arms gently squeezing around her waist.

Sam cleared his throat and began slowly creeping out of the room. "I'm not going. You two have fun." He stated quickly before leaving completely. Dean patted her back and she pulled away from him, pecking his cheek before strutting happily out of the room.

Jesus Christ, he thought to himself.

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When they arrived at her hotel, Dean was impressed. It was a fancy joint, tall building and nice decor. He insisted he'd wait in the car as she got ready and she agreed. He watched her prance into the hotel, her heels echoing into the car through the half opened window.

After about forty-five minutes, he heard the now familiar clack of her shoes and he turned his head. His jaw dropped. She was wearing a light pink, cropped tank top along with the shortest shorts he's ever seen. The white straps of her thong hung on her hips above her shorts, making her curves more noticeable.

Her heels matched her jewelry, white rhinestones covering the baby pink material. Her ears were decorated with pink and white-gold dangling earrings, small heart shapes above the two hanging pieces.

She slid into the passenger side door, the scent of her perfume flooding his senses. "Hi! Sorry I took so long. I couldn't decide which top I wanted, but I ended up choosing this one. Do you like it?" She asked as she moved to face him completely. Her shorts rode up the tops of her thighs impossibly higher.

Dean groaned and threw his head back into the headrest, shutting his eyes tight. "What? Do you not like it?" She pouted, her bottom lip jutting out.

"You look fucking fantastic, Sweetheart. Now let's go." He said, not daring to look at her again. She grabbed her phone from her purse and began texting away, quiet giggles erupting from her randomly.

He glanced over, his eyes skimming over her. "What's so funny?" He asked and her smile only grew. "You're gonna pay for the shopping trip, right?"

He closed his eyes and exhaled, reaching his hand over to pat her leg. "Sure thing, Princess." He muttered and she squealed in excitement. She moved her hand to cover his on her thigh, squeezing it in appreciation. "Thank you, Dean!"

"Sure thing." He kept his hand there, his thumb rubbing back and forth on the side of the soft flesh. She toyed with his fingers, pushing back his cuticles and studying his nails. "You could use a manicure." She suggested and he gave her a firm slap on the thigh before pulling his hand away.

"Keep dreamin', Sweetheart." She pouted and dragged his hand back to hers, interlacing her fingers with him. "Be nice to me!" She ordered and he scoffed. "Talk to me like that again and you'll be bent over Baby."

"Baby?" She questioned, leaning towards him a bit more. He pulled the car into park a little too fast, making her slide forward a bit. "The car, Sweetie. Anyway, we're here."

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They had been in the mall for hours, bags weighing down Dean's arms. He had at least a dozen bags on each side. The only thing she was holding was a large slushey.

Once she had finally decided she had enough, she dragged him into the car and ranted about how excited she was to give him a fashion show.

"Are you serious? I just followed your ass around that whole damn building and you expect me to watch you try all that shit on?" He chuckled and shook his head. "Sweetheart, there are like twenty bags back there. I'm not doin' it."

She frowned and glanced up at him, her bottom lip slightly pulling downwards. "Please..." He looked over at her and cursed under his breath. "Fine. Stop looking at me like that."

She giggled and leaned closer, her hands resting on his thigh. "Like what, Dean?" She batted her eyelashes, her fingers gently digging into his leg. He bit his lip and grasped her hands. He shoved her back and she giggled.

When they arrived at her hotel she led him to her room and she took a handful of the bags from him, heading into the bathroom to change. He watched her twirl around in various different dresses, outfits and- Holy fuck.

Lingerie.

She did her little strut through the hotel room, showing him all the different angles of her outfits. He tried hiding the raging boner growing in his pants, but the denim betrayed him.

She smiled when she noticed it, raising a brow. "Oh, Dean." She giggled and slowly walked towards him, the black lace cupping her breasts and pushing them up.

She leaned down and rested her hands on the bed next to him, moving to crawl into his lap. He groaned and pulled her closer, his nails imprinting her hips.

He positioned her so she was straddling his thigh. "What are you doin', Sweetheart?" He asked as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I wanna play with you." She giggled, leaning forward to kiss him.

He completed the kiss, slowly beginning to move her body back and forth, grinding her core against his leg. She whimpered into the kiss, his mouth abruptly leaving hers, moving down to trail bite marks down her neck.

She whined and her head fell back, quiet moans leaving her throat. He pushed his thigh up further and pulled her down harder, making her cry out. Her knuckles turned white from how hard she was squeezing his shoulders, so close to release.

He groaned and one of his hands moved up her back, pulling her head backwards by yanking on her hair. She gasped, clenching around nothing as she moved in rhythm with him.

"Are you close, Princess?" He whispered in her ear, nibbling on the pulse point beneath it. She nodded eagerly and he smacked her ass hard. "Words, sweet girl."

"Y-yes, I'm really- really close." She whimpered out, her thighs squeezing tightly around his. "Good girl." He praised, and she gasped, the feeling in her stomach so close to breaking.

Suddenly, he pulled her off of him, setting her down onto the bed next to him. She protested, incoherent rambles spewing out of her mouth. He shoved his thumb into her mouth, shutting her up instantly.

"Awh, Sweetheart. You look so pathetic. Go back into the bathroom and keep the show going." He told her, and she tried to argue. He just clamped her jaw closed and hushed her. "You wanted to do a fashion show, baby. You better finish it, and then maybe I'll let you cum."

She nodded and stood up, his thumb sliding out of her mouth. She stumbled over to the door and closed it behind her. He sighed in satisfaction, leaning back onto the bed.

"Such a good girl."

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A/N: I Hope you guys enjoyed! It was - also - kind of rushed. Let me know if I made any mistakes <3 Please follow and comment if you liked it :) All feedback is so appreciated! Send requests if you have anything you want me to write about <3

[thebellearchives]

HEYYYY BELLE 💗💗💗 I am so excited to see your requests are open 😍💗 Can I please request Solomon + You’ll always be safe with me 😭💗 I am so in love with the way you write him and this prompt sounds so comforting! Thank you so much 💗💗

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄

~ solomon ; obey me [nightbringer]

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : even in the worst of situations you know there’s someone who will always be your safe place

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, set on nightbringer lesson 11, comfort and fluff, a little tiny bit of angst ~ established relationship

‧₊˚ a / n : aaaa winter ~ !! yesss of course anything for you love, i’m so glad you enjoy my sol shots (‘: thanks for requesting ily i hope you like this one too 😭🫶🏻

prompt list

You stared at the floor, where the faint blue luminescence illuminated its texture. Solomon and Thirteen were nearby, you could barely hear his voice explaining everything that had just happened and Thirteen arguing with him.

Their bickering turned into background noise until their words morphed into white noise. You brought your knees against your chest and rested your chin in your arms, ignoring the slight chill of the magic that kept books floating around this section of Thirteen’s cave. It had been so long since the last time you had lived such conflicts with the brothers, you had spent so many days and months living alongside them that you had forgotten how scary and anxiety inducing it was to be targeted by them. Or how heartbreaking it was now.

A hand was placed on your shoulder, Solomon’s familiar warm voice calling your name pulling you out of your messy mind.

“Did you listen to what I just told you?”

“Uhm, no, sorry” you shook your head slightly, trying to chase away your thoughts and focus on the present “what was it?”

Solomon’s silvery irises studied you, reflecting clear concern. The sorcerer sighed and sat down next to you.

“I’m really sorry you have to go through this… again.”

You bit your lower lip, trying to keep your composure. You were in a different place now, a place where mostly everything looked the same, all of your friends looked and sounded the same, and yet they weren’t. The brothers that loved you unconditionally now looked at you and saw nothing. Solomon’s hand suddenly grabbed yours, your body almost jolted in surprise to his touch.

When your widened eyes went to look for him you found him staring back with a melancholic expression painted on his features.

“You know I will always be here for you, right?” his soft voice warmed your heart “you can always count on me, I will always protect you.”

A knot formed in your throat, you stared at him, that sweet reassuring smile and the way his pearly white hair fell on top of his forehead, charming eyes fixed on yours. The man who had followed you through realms, through space and time, the one thing in your life that remained constant, imperishable.

Immediately you buried yourself in his chest. He sighed, his arms slid around your body and held you firmly, anchoring you safely amidst the chaos, the familiarity of his worn out cologne grounding you back into security.

“I know” you managed to answer, feeling the warmth of his body surround you and making all your fears and anxiety dissolve into thin air, his love was morphine to your pain.

“You will always be safe with me my love” Solomon buried his face in your hair, his nose grazing your temple.

The moment his lips left a small kiss on top of your eyebrow you knew. You knew there wasn’t a single place in any timeline safer than the arms of your lover.

[thelov3lybookworm]

So for that Kenji request 😁 I've had a plot in mind abt Kenji and reader being enemies to lovers (since childhood, they hate e/o after castle rajes them in) practically and then both of them are sent as undercover soldiers and then by the time of 'ignite me' or 'unravel me' what happens is that the reader is always closed off abt her trauma but then one day she just breaks down and opens up to him and Kenji comforts her (?) And either one of them realises that the energy they put into hating each other is actually liking and Juliette is stuck in the middle of their mutual pining. IM SORRY FOR THIS LONG REQUEST BUT I HAD THIS SCENARIO IN MIND FOR TOO LONG AND I COULDN'T PUT IT INTO WORDS. Also it's SLOW burn and we see their relationship progress over the years 🥰

Undercover

Summary: Y/n is being sent on a mission, and she's rather be dead.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: heh im back love! sorry this took so long to write, but here it is finally! I've decided to make this a series, as it would make more sense that way.

(also, its been so long since i read the series, so ill have to do some of my ✨research ✨ while writing)

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n hated mornings, as any normal person would.

Of course, not many people were normal in Omega point.

She hated waking up so early, hated hearing the happy mindless chatter that surrounded the breakfast table in omega point, as if it was not the worst time of the day ever.

And the thing she hated most about mornings?

Him.

Kenji Kishimoto.

Whenever she saw him, she had this irrational yet completely justified need to strangle the living daylights out of him.

He was one of the abnormal people around here.

Y/n simply could not understand how someone could be so cheerful all the time, and it got on her nerves whenever he sent her a mocking smirk towards where she would be sulking in the corner.

She wanted to punch and/or kick him in the fucking balls, only because she wasn't picky.

The line for breakfast was moving exceptionally slower today, and Y/n was just about to scream in frustration when someone placed a hand on her shoulder.

Y/n whipped her head around, ire blazing through her, ready to give a piece of her mind to whoever thought it a good idea to touch her, especially so early on, hoping it would lessen her irritation, then froze, cursing her own luck.

There stood the Kenji loving old bastard, Castle, a smile on his face. Kenji stood behind him, a confused look on his face.

"Castle." She intoned, trying to smile back at him.

Castle glanced back at Kenji before meeting Y/n's gaze again. "Y/n. Haven't had your breakfast yet?"

Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she lifted the tray she was holding, giving him her best attempt at a sheepish smile.

"Hmm. I was hoping you'd be free, but it's alright. Meet me in my office after you are done. I have an important mission for you."

Y/n nodded, turning away from the old man as the line proceeded further.

•○🌑○•

The dim lights of the corridor led her towards the small space Castle called his office, wondering what this mission could be.

What concerned her more was why Kenji was with Castle.

It could be nothing, she knew, but still she could not help but wonder if he would be a partner in this mission.

The moment Y/n reached the door to Castle's office, she paused with her hand on the door handle, listening closely to the raised voices from within.

"Why her?" That was, unfortunately, Kenji.

"Because she is our only last option! No one else is eligible for this task, an those who are do not want to go." Castle replied, and Y/n ignored the sadness in her chest at being the last resort.

Was she not good enough to be the first choice? Was she so bad that she was being chosen only because no one else wanted to do this task, whatever it was?

Y/n shook her head, twisting the door handle and walking in, a neutral expression on her face as if she had not heard anything that had been said.

Kenji stood there, fuming, while Castle looked exasperated.

As soon as she entered, Castle smiled at her, shooting a look at a glaring Kenji.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Yes, about that." Castle took a deep breath, glancing at Kishimoto once more before speaking.

"You have been chosen to go to sector 45 as undercover spies along with Kenji."

Oh hell no.

•○🌑○•

tagging no one because you might not have read the series and i dont want to tag you unnecessarily if you dont want to be tagged 😉

[sixofcrowdaydreams]

I cannot stop thinking about the implications of the Kerch alphabet on canon. I know I’m the only person who cares, but hear me out!

1. The show itself made a mistake with its own made-up language.

2. Wylan is a foreign name or he’s a Tragedeigh child.

Explanation below:

Daddy

Right before Jesper and Wylan meet Alby Rollins, Jesper finds a child's drawing labelled “Daddy.” In Kerch the word uses 3 distinct D letters, one of which is attached to the vowel. And bizarrely at the end of the word, the letter J/Y. The English translation is literally labelled beneath it so we know exactly what it says.

But according to the two alphabet charts here, there is no Y vowel in the Kerch language. The Y is given a J sound, (as in Jan Van Eck pronounced as Yan Van Eck) which makes sense given the Dutch influence on Ketterdam.

So Alby’s drawing says, “Daddya.” Daddy in Dutch is Papa, according to my nifty translation app. Where does Daddya come from? Either Daddya is a Kaelish pronunciation given the Rollins' Kaelish heritage despite it being spelled in Kerch, or the show made a mistake.

I think the J/Y letter may have been used to keep the same number of letters to make the connection between Kerch Daddy and English Daddy the same for the audience to quickly make the connection.

However, in Kerch the word Daddy should be spelled as “Daddee” with the hard E vowel attached to the last D consonant.

(When ranting about this to my husband, he listened to this entire spiel, then asked quite confused, “Who’s calling who Daddy in this show? That sounds more like a fanfic thing rather than something from canon...” 🤣 Saints, I love that man.)

2. Now let’s talk about Wylan’s name because it fascinates me.

There is no hard I vowel in the Kerch language. It just doesn’t exist. There is a hard A, E, and O, but no hard I. The name Wylan (pronounced Why-lan) cannot be written in Kerch.

Matthias’s name cannot be spelled in Kerch either. But that’s ok because he’s not from Kerch. He’s from Fjerda, where presumably, he can spell his name in his native language. Because it would be very silly to give someone a name that is unpronounceable in their native linguistic system. Right?!?

Except Wylan is as Kerch as Kerch gets. His family is old money with strong roots to the country and culture.

So what happened?

Maybe the name Wylan comes from one of the other cultures, Fjerdian or Kaelish. We don’t know much about Marya Hendricks/Van Eck and her family/cultural roots, but we do know that book Wylan inherited her red hair. So maybe somewhere in her family tree there’s Kaelish ancestry. Or she just really liked a Kaelish or Fjerdian name enough to give it to her son.

This explanation makes the most sense, but at the same time, I can’t imagine Jan Van Eck, a man so concerned with family legacy, not choosing a Kerch name for his oh-so-important heir.

So consider this alternative explanation: Jan Van Eck just sucks as a human being and gave his son a Tragedeigh name. AKA a name that is spelled and or pronounced nonsensically enough it makes you want to pat the kid on the back and legally help them change their name to something less awful.

For the record, I think Wylan is a lovely name. But it doesn't make sense as a Kerch name given how it uses sounds/letters not in the language.

Wylan’s name could still be pronounced as Why-lan and still written as Way-lan in Kerch. Or Will-lan, or even Wee-lan. We don’t know because we didn’t get to see it in show. There’s no hard I and some vowel needs to be used!

So Wylan was that kid who spent his entire life correcting everyone on how to say his name. Because his name was spelled one way but pronounced another. It’s simultaneously hilarious and tragic. The idea that his family was so wealthy that they gave him a special, nonsensical rich person name. And because Wylan can’t read he has no way of knowing why everyone says his name wrong if they see it written first. Ghezen, he'd be exhausted correcting everyone who met him.

Absolutely headcanoning that Jan Van Eck tried yet another way to screw Wylan by giving him a ridiculous name that can't even be written in Kerch.

[crappymixtape]

don't make me say it

REQUEST → @palmtreesx3, 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION ❝ you make me want things I can’t have prompt // what can't you have, my guy? please, tell me more, you self deprecating idiot (said with love) – hiding behind a bitchy vibe and some bravado, this boy’s gotta stop gaslighting himself and acting like you're out of reach when you're right 👏 fuckin 👏 there 👏 | ( 2k – mostly angst, dumb boi steve, and a little fluff right at the end to take you home, steve x reader )

D O N ' T M A K E M E S A Y I T 🎶 and you don’t even know you hurt me, nick murphy

Ring, ring, ring.

You didn’t know why you were calling, he probably wasn’t even home. Was probably out with someone else. Another girl sitting in the passenger seat of his BMW while he drove with the windows down. Letting her listen to Tears for Fears or Journey. Letting her hear his not-half-bad rendition of Faithfully or Head Over Heels. Smiling that smile at her, the one he said he saved for you, but you knew better.

While he hadn’t actually said it out loud, you know how he felt.

You were best friends. Had been since you were in diapers. Rolling around in his yard in the summer with chocolate ice cream messed across your cheeks. Starting the first day of middle school together with his dorky braces and your glasses – before you had contacts. Going into high school and watching each other change. Shift. Turn pretty.

The first time that feeling got you.

The one that made your stomach flip over when he looked at you all different. Looked at you like it was the first time. Like you were the only thing that existed in that moment and you knew he felt it too. He had to, but nothing ever happened.

Even when he tucked his hand into your back pocket while you walked out of the diner. Even when you leaned in real close to give him a hug when he dropped you off after a movie. Even when he pressed a kiss to your forehead because you were best friends.

Ring, ring, ring.

You felt tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, felt your throat tighten against the sob that had crawled its way up your throat, felt your heart stutter in your chest as you anticipated the let down. The same old shit.

He was the first one you’d call every single time. The only one to hear you crying. Telling him all about how you got your heart broken again and he’d reassure you. Murmur soft things into your ear about how you didn’t deserve it and what an asshole and it’d be okay. Offered to bring you ice cream and sat up with you til two in the morning watching shitty horror flicks, but never told you what you wanted to hear.

Baby, you deserve better. I’d treat you better. I’d love you how you want to be loved. Baby.

“Hello?” you jumped at the sudden sound of Steve’s voice, surprised he’d actually picked up after all that ringing, sucked in a gasp and swiped at the tears that had spilled over the line of your lashes.

“Hey,” your voice cracked in the middle, didn’t quite let you finish the one-word reply and you could hear the receiver shift on his shoulder, rub against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Hey. What’s wrong? What happened?” his voice had eased. Gentler, warmer, edged with concern and it made you pull in another breath.

“Nothing. Just Tyler–” you pushed a sigh from your lungs and tried to settle your heart as it hammered against your ribcage.

“Tyler? Shit, what’d he do now?” his tone shifted like it always did. Protective, lower and a little rough and it made your stomach twist. You tangled your finger in the phone cord and leaned against the wall, slid your back down the flat surface until you were sitting on the floor of the kitchen.

It wasn’t even worth saying. It was the same shit every time, just this time was with Tyler. You weren’t into him and he could tell. Could tell in the way your eyes drifted when you were talking across the table at dinner. Could tell in the way you hopped out of his car too quick when he dropped you off. Could tell anytime you said Steve. It was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Nothing,” you lied, letting your head lean back against the wall, “Will you just come over?”

“Yeah, course. Ice cream?”

“Please?”

“Be right there.”

Click.

It was both a blessing and a curse to live across the street from your best friend for that very reason. He could be up your steps in two minutes or less and god it killed you.

Steve had brought your favorite, chocolate chip cookie dough, and didn’t even bother with bowls after you let him in. He knew his way around the kitchen, sometimes even better than you did, and dug two spoons out from the silverware drawer before dropping down next to you on the couch.

“Here,” he jammed one of the spoons into the cold ice cream and dug out a bite for you, held it out expectantly and you took it from his hand. The cool sensation melted in your mouth as Steve’s thigh pressed against yours too close on the couch as he flipped through the TV channels before landing on The Thing.

He crammed his own spoon into the tub of ice cream and took a glance at you out of the corner of eye. You were pretty even when you cried, even when your eyes were a little puffy, even when your voice was scratchy. Especially when your voice was scratchy. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured and you shook your head, snuck another bite of ice cream.

“S’fine,” you insisted, tucked your legs to your chest, didn’t look back at him for fear of the feelings swelling in your chest.

He huffed a sigh, put his spoon and the ice cream on the coffee table in front of you and turned so he was facing you properly. Fixed you with a look. That look.

You’re not fine.

You gave him a side eye, all attitude and stubbornness and he frowned.

“It’s not fine,” he disagreed, reached over to tuck your messed hair out of your face and your cheek warmed where his hand brushed across your skin. “These guys are all assholes. They never tell you why and its–”

“Steve,” you interrupted him, pinched the bridge of your nose and held your breath. Maybe you should’ve told him to stay home.

“What?” he shot back, brows pulling together in frustration, leaning forward so you couldn’t avoid him and the irritation in his voice ignited yours.

“You know what,” you leveled, putting your spoon down next to his, lips twisting into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me,” he shook his head, “Cos shit’s not adding up.”

“Spell it out for you?” your eyes grew wide, incredulous, and you finally turned to face him.

Heat rose in your chest, up your neck and across your cheeks in the dark of the living room, lit up by the flicker of the TV and there was no doubt about how angry you were.

“It’s obvious, Steve! To everyone but you apparently,” came tumbling out and you bit your lip. An afterthought. Regret at letting it loose, but you couldn’t take it back and maybe it was better that way.

It rendered him silent for a minute, the irritation on his face softening the longer he looked at you, and you finally pulled your gaze away and folded in on yourself. Tucked into the couch and tried to watch the movie, but it was useless. Ruined.

“Obvious, huh?” he asked quietly and you silently nodded, a snotty move that made Steve huff a small mirthless laugh and he ran a hand through his hair. Shook his head and stared at his feet. Knew exactly what you were talking about, but didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not all my fault you know,” he said, words sharp and it made your eyes snap back to him.

“Not all your fault? You’re joking.”

“Serious. You’re just as guilty as I am,” and if you thought you were angry before you were furious now.

“How am I guilty, Steve? I’m here trying to–to live my life! Move on! Meet people that aren’t the dumb boy from across the street and you make it impossible!”

“Dumb boy–” Steve stood from the couch, looked down at you expression hurt and he was just as angry as you were now, “Princess, you make me want shit I can’t have! How’s that fair?”

“What?” you shot up after him and got right in his face.

Wanted to make damn sure he heard you. Understood you because you weren’t going to say it again and it scared the shit out of you. It scared you that you were willing to ruin your friendship forever with what you were about to say, but you couldn’t carry it any longer. No more.

“I’m right here, Steve,” and you didn’t yell. Didn’t scream. Didn’t make a big show out of it. Just stared up at him with your chin tilted resolutely, feet firm the ground, hands balled into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms. Trembling with the weight of it all and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Speechless. Caught.

“That’s not what I–I didn’t mean–you’re just–”

“Forget it, Steve,” your frame fell at his backpeddling and you felt the tears biting at the corners of your eyes again. Tried to will them away, but the second rejection of the evening hit hard and you’d had it, “Just go home.”

You turned away from him, not even bothering to turn the TV off and tried to go to the stairs, but his caught yours and spun you around so fast you bumped into his chest. Caught the warm, citrusy scent of his cologne. Fresh laundry and mint and boy and it was so hard to stay angry pressed into him like that.

“M’sorry,” he murmured and it stole your breath away. The sorry in his voice. The look in his eyes. The way his free hand lifted to hold you at your waist. Firm, steady, Steve.

“That doesn’t change anything,” you were grasping at the last bits of anger that still clung around the edges, but it was fading fast.

“No, I mean it. I’m sorry. You’re right,” and that admission made you weak in the knees. Sent your heart racing in your chest and you tried to swallow down the nerves that he’d conjured in your stomach.

“Right about what?” you asked, but before he could answer you pressed your fingers to his lips, a silent request to wait, “Be honest, Steve. Please. Because I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Your hand fell away and his brows pinched together as he looked down at you. Sad, sorry, regret. His hand on your waist held you tighter and he let go of your hand. Cupped the soft curve of your jaw and shook his head slowly.

“Right about you. Being right here and I’m an idiot. I just–”

He tripped over his words. Struggled with being exposed and vulnerable and real and you lifted your hand to cover his over your cheek. Reassuring him for once and god did it help.

“You just deserve the best and I’m…well. I’m me,” he tried a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes and you pressed your free hand into his chest. Bunched the fabric of his shirt in your fingers and pulled him close. Tutted at him softly and sighed.

“I don’t want the best,” you said, voice barely over a whisper, pulling him closer still, “I just want you. You idiot.”

And then he smiled. A slow creep of a grin. Small at first and growing as your noses brushed against each other. Heads tilting ever so slightly. Lips soft and parted so that you could fit them together like two sides of a locket and when they met everything melted away.

Finally. Finally.

Finally.

“You can have whatever you want, Steve Harrington,” you sighed into him, his fingers pressing into the soft plush of your waist, “Just don’t make me say it again.”

And when he kissed you quiet it was all you needed to know your best friend was finally that. Your best. Your friend. Yours.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[the-sonic-crew]

I'm back with another ☝️! So have the rough-and-tumble echidna meeting The L O N G H O R S E

Knuckles would sigh heavily as he lay against one of the stone pillars of the Altar of the Master Emerald and gazed up at the moon, he had a long day of events; Eggman and his usual attempts to take over the world, Rouge annoying the hell out of him along with Sonic, damn near losing his face to a piece of metal flung out when the explosion at Restoration HQ happened, and so on and so on. It was a quiet night out, the silence only broken by the sounds of cicadas and grasshoppers chirping and buzzing. The echidna was just about to rub his eyes from sleep again when he heard a sudden crack, followed by another and another. "The hell..?" Knuckles would mutter to himself as he would get up from the position he was in, listening to the subtly approaching cracking sounds, the scent of cinnamon reaching his nostrils as well. "Who's there?! State your business!" Knuckles would yell out, clenching his fists and growling lowly, positioning himself in front of the Master Emerald, ready to defend the powerful relic at all costs. "BE NOT AFRAID, ECHIDNA." A voice would ring out, sounding otherworldly in a way.. "Who are you?! Show yourself, coward!" Knuckles would exclaim, clenching his fists tightly and ready to swing. Then he saw it. An elongated neck that looked bony and had multiple patches and strands of hair on it, bending all in different directions and seeming endless. "What the hell..?" Knuckles mumbled to himself, unconsciously taking a step back. At the beginning of the freakishly long neck, a horse's skull would be at the end of it, eye sockets hollow yet its gaze would clearly be locked on him. "What are you?! What do you want?!" Knuckles demanded, still on guard and poised to strike if he had to. "DO NOT FEAR ME, ECHIDNA. I MEAN NO HARM TO YOU." The being would say, gaze unmoving. Knuckles would relax his stance a bit, arms at his sides but his fists would still be clenched. "And how do I know that I can trust you?" Knuckles would say as he narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the cryptid.

(got a lil lazy)

"I SAY AGAIN. I MEAN YOU NO HARM. YOU ARE IN DANGER, KNUCKLES. 1:34 AM. TWO MINUTES FROM NOW. YOU NEED TO BE AWAY FROM THIS ALTAR." It would say, one of its neck joints cracks again loudly as it says so. "Pah! Fat chance! You just want me to be away from the Master Emerald so you can steal it! For your information, I'm not stupid, whatever you are!" The echidna would respond bitterly, side-eying the cryptid while he moves closer to the emerald. The cryptid would look at him in what looked to be disappointment. "SUIT YOURSELF, DREDS. I CANNOT CHANGE YOUR MIND. JUST THINK ABOUT IT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED." It would say, eyes later turning a glowing bright white as it would disappear as soon as it appeared, leaving Knuckles alone. "Hey! I wasn't done with you yet! Bring your hide back here!" Knuckles would yell out, going down the stairs of the altar. As soon as he did that, it would strike 1:34, the sounds of something falling fast being heard. "What the-" Knuckles would mumble to himself as he would whip around, now at the bottom of the stairs as something would hit the altar and explode, exactly where he stood as the red echidna would jump back in alarm. "Oh Chaos!" He would exclaim, later composing himself and running to the spot, checking the fiery inferno. Upon closer inspection, it would be the Tornado, five miles away from it, a familiar furry orange fox laid unconscious, Tails, whose plane had stalled midair and crashed, the two tailed fox having knocked himself out from hitting a tree trunk headfirst. Knuckles would pick up the unconscious fox boy, part of him concerned for the little guy's safety while the other half would go back to the cryptid. That thing.. that thing saved him from being turned into a charred and squashed mess.. It could've been a coincidence, right? Right?

Hope y'all enjoyed! :]

Knuckles, now put on edge, would hold the fox in his arms as he continued to guard the emerald, waiting for Sonic to show up and take said fox to safety.

As if on cue, the blue hedgehog came speeding into view

"Hey Knux! Have you seen-- oh, so you have" He sighed in relief, taking Tails from his arms. "Thanks for holding onto him, and thanks for the help earlier too"

"Yeah, yeah, uhm, so something really weird happened this--"

"I'm so sorry, you can tell me tomorrow, but I gotta get the little guy home" He motions to the twin tailed fox in his arms, and sped away shouting a goodbye.

Knuckles' heart dropped in fear.

He really hated Sonic sometimes.

[piganatur]

THE EIGHTH SENSE EP 4

The repetitive and varying emotions prior to a relationship are always sour or sweet (不问三九)

oh boy, soooo ep 4 huh? We start to deep dive into the nitty-gritty of the leads’ minds and I’m all for it.

Jaewon tackling his feelings at his therapy session? Openly and candidly saying all his concerns while his therapist tells him you don’t have to be loved by everyone? The sheer force of this shot with the triangle of the fish tank behind him, the reflections of the metal balls before him and the sculpture of a head with its eyes and ears covered at his side? majestic Jaewon is teetering on the border of his fears and the truth all the while the outside world won’t notice or listen (no one knows this Jaewon, the one sitting on the couch in the office) but thanks to the reflection of the balls on the table he can see all three sides (also, out of the three balls one is glass, so it’s transparent, something that won't remind him, that lets him off the hook, something that he could fill with whatever he wants)

I’m ecstatic that most interactions that propel our leads to go forward, that affirm and reinforce the truths they have to hear and accept, are coming from women. Women have a crucial part in the eighth sense. They aren’t in the show just to be annoying or to be the punchline to some stereotype (I also love that none of them is related to the leads, yet they’re handled with care). All these female characters are fleshed-out individuals, integrated into the plot so deeply and seamlessly. I could sing odes about Yoonwon, or sajangnim or Aeri but let’s take Eunji for example, she’s not bitchy because she’s a woman but because she’s the ex (and also a brat). Jaewon was right, she really needs to learn some basic manners, I was waiting for the moment the two girls accompanying her to the bar would just stand up and leave that mess lmao. I also feel like Jaewon not only does what’s expected of him but what seems the most convenient bc at this point I honestly can’t get my head around why else he’d ever date Eunji. (Jaewon said they dated for about 2 years while the mandatory enlistment service is between 18-22 months. If they broke up around the middle of Jaewon’s service so at least 9 months(?) after he enlisted, and they had a period of some (썸 fling) before officially dating, then how long were they actually in a relationship?)

Now that I’m already rambling about Eunji, let’s take a look at the restaurant scene. I’ve seen people say that Jihyun should’ve stood up for himself there, but realistically speaking, there was nothing he could have done in that situation. Eunji’s not only a customer of the bar, but she’s also his sunbae in the surfing club. Did she act extremely rudely? Yes. Could’ve Jihyun done anything else but bear it? No. Even being as straightforward (or rude) as Yoonwon wouldn’t cut it, he’d have to be as rude as Shim Woojoo (shoutout to Call it love). His boss (sajangnim ily ♡) could defend Jihyun exactly because she’s the owner and she’s older, what she said can’t be considered rude. And look at that, Eunji didn’t back down even knowing these things (more proof that she’s a brat). Jihyun acting any other way than he did would’ve been out of line big time, only stoking the fire (I’m pretty sure Eunji, being as petty as she is, somewhat anticipated just that). His strength thus lies in his kindness and patience and the fact he didn’t let Eunnji’s bullshit about Jaewon affect their relationship (Jihyun-ah my beloved)

The blossoming relationship between Jihyun and Jaewon is a category of its own. I’ve already mentioned (in this post) the concept of being seen in the eighth sense and that goes hand in hand with showing. Jihyun doesn’t show a lot but it’s always sincere while Jaewon seemingly shows a ton but it’s a facade, something attractive but empty. This contrast, the way it gets a reaction out of them, the seeing and showing, the influence they have on e/o can be found in all of their interactions. One does or says a thing and it impacts the other to react to it, to correct their attitude or behaviour. Their run-in after Jihyun’s terrible shift is a great example. Jaewon first lies about the business he has near the dorms but nonetheless feels the need to be there for Jihyun so comforts him with his touch (his actions speak the truth) and Jihyun spills about his feelings (his words speak the truth). Jihyun’s sincerity once again demands for Jaewon to be, in turn, sincere (and he is, with his words this time). Every contact, the constant back and forth (verbal or nonverbal), the shared intimacy to be in their own world is masterful and so authentic. The two of them cloaked under the night, not as something others see during the day but as something they get to decide, the casual touches that are anything but casual bc they are a force in their own right, a wordless pull. It’s beautiful.

I won’t even try to tackle that moment in the library where for Jaewon, Jihyun is the sole source of light bc I’m unknowing and unworthy to put it into words but fortunately there are ppl out there who are knowing and worthy so read @mare-sanguis post and feel blessed (but I’m sure you already have)

One more thing and I’ll stop this long ass rambling pretending to be a review(?) analysis(?) who knows? It’s about the portrayal of romance because in so many stories of the romance genre one party does all the initiating, the chasing, and the other party is kind of passive idk? They feel good about the developments of course, but they don’t reciprocate that much, more like only accepting the advances? In the eighth sense, both parties put in the work to make this happen. However tentative, however unsure at times their participation is, they’re actively trying to romance each other. The way Jaewon is forward with his actions, Jihyun is forward with his words. It’s a give and take, testing of how well will this go? How far they can go? There’s an exchange in their shared scenes both emotionally and physically, and it makes both of their hearts flutter. Jaewon is bold yet Jihyun can make his breath stop and his head spin with one (1) art lesson by the Han River? Jaewon teases and flirts yet Jihyun asks the real questions, steering the topic to dating and defining relationships? It’s a dance where they take turns to lead depending on the situation because they both want this, because they feed into each other’s happiness.

[akgaereporter]

nct: sunflowers attacking dream over recent haechan live ☠

tldr: during haechan’s recent welive he said he permed his hair & dream "thought something was wrong" with it so he got it straightened again. some sfs/hc solos started losing their damn minds over that���� he also talked a lot abt music he wants to release and highkey called sm out, and all of this got the sunflower girlies real mad i guess..

so earlier haechan went live on weverse and was talking about dream's reaction to him perming his hair:

some sfs went kinda insane over this☠

like woah..? how did we go from 1 to 100☠ i cant even tell whos a solo, a unitzen, or a dream anti thats how bad it is..

and when dreamzens started ratioing these folk, this person said its hypocritical for them to say psychoanalyzing is weird when drmzens did the same to 127 with their constant coworker allegations

idk what they were tryna say here like okay..?? then yall both freaks☠

☆ my opinion

icl and say i’ve been keeping up w this 284828483 year old unitzen drama but i do remember the coworker allegations the last person was talking about, it got really bad at one point, however that doesnt excuse the INSANITY that is going on here. inserting urself into this big ole grown man’s relationships and acting like hes some kind of poor bullied people pleaser who can’t make any choices for himself is so crazy PLEASE wake up. if any of yall lewsers read past the first line of those translations youd see he agreed and said he also didn’t like the way the perm came out (bc the back was all curly and his bangs weren’t)☠️ imagine getting ur hair done and looking crazy, so u listen to ur homeboys and get it fixed but ur deranged 70 hour sceentime having ass fans start acting like they punched u unconscious, strapped u to a chair and straightened it themselves.. id smoke a pack the size of both koreas too if my stans were so insufferable like dont embarass me.. all y’all doing is exposing u have absolutely zero friends bc ive never seen a more normal interaction between groupmates☠️

but all this lowkey feels like a reaction to some of the things hc said concerning music/solo scheds during the live. its obvious that sm is in fact sabotaging him bc ur telling me 8 years in, as one of nct's strongest vocalists and a popular member, he hasn't released any proper solo music despite wanting to..??? and is still getting micromanaged this far into his career? if 2+2 is 4 um...

like i thought after a certain amount of time idols start having more of their own creative/appearance direction like with bts, seventeen etc. i guess it might be bc those groups make a lot self written music but still..? doesnt hyuck write music too? to have a star on ur hands like this and fumble is so crazy to me, theres no other explanation than they want him to stay local and not get too big for the brand since hes one of the centers in nct.

but girl bye.. if they let his fame grow, all they'd have to do is treat him properly and he wouldn't want to leave they wack ass company. they just dont want him to have a choice☠ now they got him on lock bc they dont know how to act right. im not condoning anything but i really do understand why so many haechan/nct solos in general exist.. it all starts & ends with sm's fuckassery cause if my biases got steady treated like garbage id get hostile towards ANYONE in and out of the group too like..

anyways had to wake this tea up🤕 haechan deserves better everything i fear. better company, better fans, but NOT a better group. he loves those boys down and all of them are highkey in the same boat but saying that on unitzentwt will get you SHOT. stay strapped in these streets..

[c l o s e t a b ?] ◀ ⇨ akgaepop.com

[alterchaos]

THE EVE OF DESPAIR

A journey until the end...

(cw: strong language)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: TIME BOMB

NEXT CHAPTER: THE KING OF BONES

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…”

“E-Eve?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…”

“A-A…A-Ab-bout what…huff…h-happened…”

Tap…

“…”

“…”

“…”

“huff…huff…L-Listen…Y-You…You don’t n-need to…hnngh…”

“…”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Ev-Everything’s g-going to be o-…huff…okay…a-alright…mnn…N-No wishes…re…quired…”

Tap. Tap.

Tap.

…

“Would you just give it a rest, Sonic?”

“E-Eve…”

The girl turned to face him, her tearful, hurting eyes flashing green.

“You know I HATE it when you lie to me like this! Can you just care about yourself for ONCE!?”

Sonic stared at her in silence as his outstretched hand fell. His feeble heart shattered at the sight of her face, which contorted with both the lingering influence of the rings in her pack as well as her own very real pain over his situation. His brow furrowed with warmth and concern as he reached out a shaky hand once more.

“H-Here…L-Let me have the…huff…the r-ring of hate…a-at least…haa…I-I can-”

Eve turned away from him, “No. You can’t. Sharah and I will handle the rings from now on.”

“A-All that…p-power though…i-it…huff…i-it isn’t good for-“

She whipped her head back around, her eyes now flashing red, “YOU ARE DYING, SONIC!!!” She froze as the weight of her words hit her, her heavy breath quivering with the terror of the reality she’d finally come to admit. She sucked in her breath, holding it so as to prevent the rising sobs from escaping her, “Y-You’re going to…t-to…” She steeled herself, stepping forward and grabbing his shoulders in a desperate plea as she steadied her voice, “You. Are going. To DIE…Do you understand that? This isn’t a game, Sonic! You don’t get any more lives than the one you’ve got!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?”

Sonic stared at her in heartbreak, his mouth agape yet at a loss for words. He reached for them, trying with everything he had to hold on tight, yet they slipped away. 

His thoughts…slipped away…

His…mind…

…

…

Eve watched in horror as his gaze fell blank, his arms falling limp at his sides as the flame on his chest flickered. Flecks of light danced up into the dark sky, disappearing….

Forever…

She caught him as he slumped forward, her tearful eyes flying wide with terror. She held him in her embrace for a moment as she processed what just happened. After realizing there was nothing she could do to help, she laid him gently on the ground before her so he could recover. She stared at him, her gaze falling for an instant on the diminished flame before pulling sharply away. She turned, stomping down her foot as her eyes flashed red.

“Shit! SHIT!!!”

Her heart began pounding as she gripped her head. She wanted to lash out, to destroy this world that would soon claim her best friend’s life. 

They were running out of time.

They were running out of time.

They were running out of time.

Time…

Time!

TIME!!!

TIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIMETIIIIME!!!!!!

WHY COULDN’T SHE JUST DESTROY DAMN TIME ITSELF!!?

She unsheathed her sword, slamming it down onto the ground in a fit of rage.

“Stupid-!!!”

She kicked the hilt, sending it spinning across the stone-cold ground before her.

“FUCKING-!!!!”

She gripped her head once more, screaming between gritted teeth as she bent over, all of her anguish and pain that she’d fought so hard to contain finally boiling over.

She wanted to run.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to destroy.

And yet…

sniff hic

Eve squatted down beside her catatonic friend, burying her face in her knees as a wave of intense sobs overtook her, rocking her body to its core. After maintaining possession of the ring of rage for some time, Sharah had shut herself away in her own ring, blocking the outside world in an endless cry of silence. Eve was alone.

All alone…

Just as she always had been…

sob 

sob hic

…and as she always would be.

clatter

clink clatter

“sniff…H-Huh?”

The girl with the golden hair watched with puffy eyes as her sword slowly made its way back to her, clattering ever so slightly against the stony floor.

Eve narrowed her eyes, which returned once more to their natural, aqua hue, “W-What?”

The sword stopped before her, Eve looking to it with wide, curious eyes. Then, as if on cue, a small, bony hand popped out from underneath, beckoning gently for her to take it.

She reached down, taking her scimitar in her dry, cracked hands before turning it over a couple times and then sheathing it at her side. She then looked back to the hand, recognition lining her features.

“A…skeleton?”

The hand jumped before pointing and waving behind itself.

Eve stood up, “You…want me to follow you?”

The boney hand clenched into a fist, making a nodding motion.

Her gaze fell, “I-I can’t…I have to help-”

The skeleton hand clacked against the rocky surface as it waved itself frantically. It crawled over to the hedgehog beside her, hopping onto his chest and patting the area near the flame.

The human’s wet eyes widened with hope, “Are you…saying you can help him?”

The hand nodded once more.

Eve wiped her tears, not having any better options at the moment, “A-Alright…” She took Sonic's limp body in her arms, hugging tightly and pressing her forehead to his affectionately as the lively bones leapt up to her shoulder blade. She looked to it, nodding with determination, “Lead the way.”

The girl with the golden hair made haste as she followed the skeleton hand’s command. All the while, Sonic remained catatonic, never breaking free from his half-dead state despite his steady breaths. It was concerning. His prior episode hadn’t lasted this long and Eve wondered whether his mind would ever wake again before the flame’s curse claimed his soul.

Still, she didn’t care.

She wasn’t leaving his side.

Until the end…

As the girl continued to follow the skeleton’s guidance, she began to notice her breath forming before her lips. She shivered as a rush of cool wind hit her skin, yet she didn’t stop. No matter the bite or the sting of the open sky, she pushed on, paying no mind to the weariness in her soul nor the aching in her bones. 

She didn’t care.

She would carry him as far as it took.

Until the end…

The skeleton and the human came across a mountain, little flecks of snow blowing against her red, frostbitten skin in the howling night. She gazed up the rocky surface, gulping slightly at the harrowing sight.

Still…

She wouldn’t give up on him.

Until the end…

She wrapped her catatonic friend’s arms around her neck, calling upon the skeleton hand to help hold his hands steady like a sort of clasp. She exhaled, gripping the rough, rocky surface with her rough, shaky hands. Even if her arms wanted to give out, even if her body was screaming from the distance she’d carried him, she refused to give up. 

She grabbed one ledge…

Then another…

Then another…

She slipped.

Until the end…

She regained her footing.

She climbed…

Higher…

Higher…

She could see it…

The top…

She reached out…

Until the end…

She grasped it, pulling herself up with a cry of determination.

Until the end…

Until the end…

She flopped over onto her back, gasping and blinking out the snow from her eyes as she lay next to her friend. Worn, hungry, and thirsty from her journey, her vision swam, her eyes growing heavy from the insane fatigue overtaking her.

Until…

…

No.

She couldn’t give up now.

The girl with the snowy hair rose onto shaky legs, taking her best friend in her arms once more with a grunt of effort.

Sonic needed her.

Until the end…

She took a step.

Until…the end…

Then another.

Until…the…

She swayed, losing her balance.

…the…

…the…

She fell forward, Sonic tumbling from her arms into the powdery snow.

…en-

Everything went dark.

—----------------------------------------------------------

“Awaken, child.”

Eve gasped, her eyes flying open.

She sat up, shaking the snow from her hair as she gathered her bearings. The small skeleton hand flew from her back to her front from the force, Eve cupping her hands to catch it before it could fall to the ground.

She smiled sheepishly, “Sorry about that. You okay?”

The hand nodded.

She looked out before her, noticing the cliff of the mountain where she’d climbed up. She hadn’t moved but a few feet, drag marks lining the snow from when she was passed out.

“You were…trying to save me…”

The hand nodded again.

Eve smiled, “Thank you.”

The hand waved before turning to the side in a bashful motion, eliciting a small chuckle from the girl. It hopped down, crawling over to the hedgehog laying on his side. He was still completely lifeless apart from the small, steady breaths escaping him every few seconds, appearing in the cold wind before his friend as a sign of reassurance.

Eve sighed in relief before making her way to her feet. She froze a moment in shock as she did, the skeleton hand tilting to the side in question.

Eve looked down at her hands, gripping and ungripping them as she took in the sensation.

She felt…strong…

Rejuvenated…

Warm…

The human gestured to her restored figure, “Did you do this?”

The hand pushed out three fingers before clasping them down.

Eve frowned, “Sorry but…I don’t know what that means…”

The hand lurched forward as if to sigh before clenching into a fist once more and shaking side to side.

“How then-” She looked over herself once more before shaking her head, “Nevermind.” She scooped Sonic into her arms, “Let’s keep going.”

With that, the skeleton hand hopped up onto her leg, crawling back up to its place on her shoulder once more. She marched on, unwilling to let whatever strange phenomenon had overcome her go to waste.

She looked on with determination, her eyes glowing a fierce blue.

Until the end.

CHAPTER END

[submarineseamonsters]

After a long week of exams and assignments, Rain feels exhausted. Once he exits the classroom, after taking the exam, he feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He can worry about the results another day, but right now, he was just glad to be done. 

Sky is sitting outside, waiting. He gets up when he sees Rain, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. 

“I don’t think I have any energy to exist today,” Rain complains. Sky nods, agreeing. 

“Let’s go to my dorm. I need a nap too.” 

Once they get inside Sky’s apartment, Rain seeks the sofa and falls on it, grateful to be laying down on something soft. He hears Sky in the kitchen and moving around, but he slowly falls asleep. 

When he wakes up, he’s groggy. He stays on the couch, not wanting to get up. 

Rain texts Payu he will come over. Payu is working from home, so Rain lets himself in and stays in the living room. He peeks into Payu’s room. Phayu turns at the sound, looking back at his laptop briefly to turn off the camera. He grins at Rain, motioning for Rain to come over. Rain walks over and sits on Payu’s lap. Payu pecks him on the lips and then scrunches his nose at Rain. 

“Cute boy, you’ve come to visit me but I’m busy with work. Give me an hour, I will be done by then.” He kisses Rain again, and presses a kiss to Rain’s cheek. 

Rain looks at the computer screen, noticing that Phayu was in a meeting. He looked at the faces of Payu’s coworkers. Rain wants to stay, but he gets up and leaves. He gets a bit bored of waiting so he wants to play a little prank of payu. He wouldn’t film it, but he just wanted to see Payu’s reaction.

He hears payu on a call and walks in the room wearing a short, silk bathrobe w/ nothing else on & rain has pulled it off of one shoulder, exposing his collarbone. However, Phayu just briefly glances at him, raising a finger to his lips. Phayu reaches over to unmute his microphone and speaks. Rain listens to Payu explain something and starts discussing with his colleagues. Realizing that he wouldn’t get Payu’s attention as he had wanted, Rain leaves, closing the door behind him. He goes back to the living room and changes into his regular clothes. Payu texts him asking why he came into the room. Rain responds with “no reason.” 

Rain, feeling bored, walks out the sliding doors so he can sit outside. 

Payu comes later. 

“There you are,” He says, sitting next to Rain. He turns to Rain and gets close, pecking him on the cheek. “Is everything ok?” He asks, looking at the small frown on rains face. 

“It’s fine,” Rain says, but its unconvincing. He turns to Phayu, and realizes it. “How was your meeting?” 

“Long,” Phayu says, tiredly. Rain looks at his boyfriend's slightly haggard face. Phayu had been stressed more than normal, and he’d been working more. Rain feels worried, wondering why he was so concerned about their relationship, instead of his boyfriend. 

“You look exhausted,” Rain says. (this is when they finally see e/o after a long time due to busy schedules). He cups Payu’s face, rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs. “Are you not sleeping well?” 

“It’s been ok. I keep waking up early, and I think it might be because I’ve been so busy with work. We had a big issue with one of our clients on a project I was leading, and it’s resolved now, but I keep feeling unease.” He looks at Rain, noticing the worry on his face. “Everything is fine now, baby.” he reassures. “Why don’t you spend the night today? I always sleep better when you’re here.” 

“You didn’t tell me it was that bad,” Rain says, feeling kind of hurt that he hadn’t known how bad payu had been feeling. 

“Come sit with me,” Phayu says, gently tugging Rain’s hand. Rain obliges, sitting on Phayu’s lap. Phayu kisses Rain’s hand. “Please don’t be upset. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. I’m okay. How are you? You looked upset earlier, why?” Rain pouts at Payu’s attempt to change the subject. But he can’t be mad about it. Instead he just leans in, resting his head on payus shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you. It feels like the last time I saw you was forever ago.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” Phayu runs his hand down Rains back, gently. “Did you eat already?” Phayu asks. 

“No, I wanted to eat together with you.” Rain says, and he pulls back. 

“Sweet boy.” Phayu says, smiling. He pulls rain in for a kiss. “Is it possible you’ve been sweeter in the time we’ve been apart?” Phayu wonders aloud after they pull apart, their foreheads still touching. He moves in to kiss rain again, his hands travel down the small of rains back before settling on rain’s ass. He squeezes gently. 

“Let’s go eat then.” Phayu says. Rain clings to him. “You want me to carry you?” 

“Yes P’Phayu.” Rain says, against Phayu’s neck. 

They eat and then they sit to watch tv, but phayu falls asleep. Rain works on something he has to submit that day. 

They go upstairs to get ready for bed. Phayu goes to shower and rain says he will come. He grabs the clothes he needs from Phayu’s drawers. 

“Didnt you shower already?” Phayu asks. “Earlier you came in wearing a bathrobe.” Rain flushes at the memory, remembering how embarrassed he had felt. 

“No, I didn't shower.” He admits. 

“Why are you turning red? Why did you wear the bathrobe?” Rain ignores the question, moving past him into the bathroom. Phayu follows after. “Rain?” 

“Please can we shower? I’m tired, I want to sleep.” Phayu looks at him in thought. 

“Fine. You win this time.”

They shower. Phayu steps out of the shower first, wiping himself dry. rain asks phayu to hang him a towel. 

“I will if you tell me why you were wearing a bathrobe earlier. What were you doing, while waiting for me?” Phayu voice gets deeper as he speaks. “Rain?” 

“I’m cold,” rain says, and so phayu hands him the towel. 

They get in bed. Phayu holds rain close. 

“You’re still thinking about the bathrobe aren’t you?” Rain asks, looking up at phayu. 

“Yes.” Phayu answers, chuckling. 

“I’ll tell you. If you laugh at me, I will go home.” Rain says, trying to sound stern. They both know it is an empty threat, but phayu still nods. 

“I just wanted to tease you. I wanted to take you by surprise while you were working. Like in those videos where someone films their partner working, and then, films their partners reaction when they get naked in front of them?” Phayu doesn’t laugh. 

“You wanted to prank me?” He asks. 

“Yes, but you didn’t even look at me.” Rain says, disappointment evident in his voice. His cheeks heat up at the confession. He pulls the blanket cover over his head. 

“I’m sorry, darling.” Phayu says, pulling the blanket down. He caresses the side of rains face and kisses rains cheek. “I’m sorry.” He says. “Can I make it up to you?” He asks as he Lowers his lips to rains neck. 

“Yes.” Rain says, his voice breathy. 

“Where did you put the bathrobe?” Phayu asks. Rains about to ask him to just forget about it but phayu gets off of him. “Now that’s all I can think of. You in the bathrobe. Can you please change into it, rain?” 

“Are you teasing me?” Rain asks, but phayu shakes his head. 

“I want to have sex with you while you wear the bathrobe, rain.” His voice is deep and his expression i full of lust. Rain takes out the bathrobe from the closet and hops into the bathroom. It’s almost silly to hide himself undressing when he would be naked again.

Phayu is sitting on the bed and he jumps up when rain enters, wearing the bathrobe. Rain is already showing through the thin material. Phayu eyes him up and down with desire. Rain walks to him and phayu slides the bathroom down on one shoulder like rain had done before. Phayu kisses rains shoulder ab moves up to rains mouth. He kisses rain, one hand on his exposed chest, the other on Rains bare ass. He gets rain on the bed, on his back, and gets on top of him.

He kisses and adores Rains body, and by the end, rain doesn’t know why he was worried about their relationship to begin with.

[occupyhades]

Backstabber Watch

The eyes of the LORD are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good. Proverbs 15:3 (ESV)

What are worthless and wicked people like? They are constant liars. Proverbs 6:12 (NLT) 

‘Cursed is he who strikes down his neighbor in secret.’ And let all the people say, ‘Amen!’ Deuteronomy 27:24 (BSB) 

A wicked person listens to deceitful lips; a liar pays attention to a destructive tongue. Proverbs 17:4 (NIV) 

The weapons of the scoundrel are destructive; he hatches plots to destroy the poor with lies, even when the plea of the needy is just. Isaiah 32:7 (BSB) 

It’s not what goes into your mouth that defiles you; you are defiled by the words that come out of your mouth. Matthew 15:11 (NLT)

This is what the LORD says: “Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who draws strength from mere flesh and whose heart turns away from the LORD." Jeremiah 17:5 (NIV)  

[figmentera]

I replied a couple of times but actually I need to go over this in detail because there's about eight separate issues here.

First: the practical, financial concerns. Sounds like time for a serious discussion with O about how long he expects the rest of you to subsidize E's residence here, given that he's not looking for a job. Acceptable answers here include: there's a deadline by which point E needs to be contributing fully again, O takes on covering E's expenses bc he's willing to support E, you just start refusing to pay more than you were before E lost his job, E pays the project fund to the house.

Practical issue: you do not have a safe and private place to be away from E, who you do not like. Maybe you should switch rooms with E, so you have a private space again, E can keep spending all his time in O's room without bothering you, and also if someone doesn't get a full room until money for repairs is raised it should be the person not fully contributing? Just a thought

Relational/spiritual issues: this is where O really starts getting the side-eye from me. E doesn't need to feel respect in his heart for your practice but he does need to not make condescending remarks. This should just be a boundary of living in any space. Really O should be handling this but you can and should just calmly say you will not listen to him disparage your faith and leave the room or something. "The way you're speaking to me is unacceptable" needs to be a constant refrain about this. He can hold whatever opinions he likes and the goal should not be changing those it should be telling him he can't act that way

Relational differences: I don't think the history or present of E and O's relationship should come into any of this. You and E don't like each other. Be more absent from their relationship rather than up in its details. Be elsewhere (bonus points if you can get a room back). Keep not having sex with them.

But maybe do have a conversation where you bring up the possible cheating? Some sort of quiet, "hey O are you aware that E and B appear to be hooking up while you're out of the house? Just thought you should know". That's not... ammunition you can use against E, that's facts O should know about this relationship.

Block A. Her terfy ass should be as out of your life as possible. Boom, done, no longer worried about her gossip about you.

But on a larger scale: are these really all the issues? It seems like most of these are about O not fairly enforcing house rules and inconveniencing everyone else because of his bias toward E. I don't personally think all the problems would be solved if E disappeared — you'd still be living in a falling-apart house with someone who enforces rules at his own whims. The reason people in the comments are calling this a cult is bc O has too much power and isn't using it fairly. Is this really where you want to be?

WIBTA if I asked my boyfriend to kick his boyfriend out of our communal living situation and out of our polycule due to “incompatibility”?

submitted 5/22/2024 ~💔🌈🏚️<- to find

I (26F) am considering asking my boyfriend O (32M) to kick out his other partner/boyfriend E (36M) from our communal living situation and our polycule, because E is not compatible with either our relationship or the group as a whole. Here’s the situation: The three of us currently live in O’s childhood home (his parents died and he inherited it), along with four other roommates who are not in the polycule. All of us split the bills evenly, except for E because he was recently fired from his job as a mechanic, so he pays a much smaller amount, which means all of us have to increase the amount we pay in order to keep up. This would be fine except E is not looking for a job and this is causing financial strain on all of us. It’s a large house and it’s very old so it tends to need a lot of maintenance, currently we have to get the roof repaired because a section of it caved in during a snowstorm (that part of the house is roped off because it’s still not fixed of course) and just my luck, my room happened to be on the floor below this, so O has me sleeping in his room because he’s worried floor above my room may have rotted from exposure due to the caved in roof. This will be relevant later. Now, here are the specific reasons why I want E out of here (aside from financial strain):

Everyone in the house is part of the same religious group. We are a neo pagan group (details not necessary for this but feel free to ask questions, but just know that we have some agreed upon beliefs and practices that we’ve developed over the past three years) and many in our group, including O, practice witchcraft. E, however, is a hardcore atheist, and is condescending towards us whenever we partake in our various practices. O thinks that E can be persuaded to respect us and that it’s just a matter of time, but I do not think that’s probable. O is the elected spiritual leader in the house (one: because he’s held these beliefs longer than most of us and brought us together, and two: it’s his house), so only O can kick someone out for religious reasons. We can vote to kick someone for abuse, but nothing E has done is technically bad enough.

He should be kicked from the polycule because I think he is using O either for sex or to make up for something he did back when they were in a situationship. The past between those two is very intense because it’s linked to E discovering his identity and it was O’s first relationship. It ended very badly on horrible terms, but they decided to give it another shot for whatever reason. E had an intense vendetta against me from the very beginning and he thinks that I’m delusional for believing O is in love with me because when O liked E it was “very different”. E has his own bedroom, but spends most of the time in O’s room, typically to have sex. Sometimes they want me to join in with them, but I usually decline because I’m suspicious of E’s intentions and I do not trust him. The one time I did agree to join in led to my unplanned pregnancy. I also think E is cheating on O because whenever O leaves the house, E brings over his ex B (33F), and those two hook up (or at least I assume they do because they lock themselves in the bedroom for hours).

On the cheating note, E has been getting checks in the mail from B, but he hasn’t been using this money to contribute to the bills, but rather stashing it away into a “project fund”.

B is dating my ex A (28F) and I know B has been gossiping to her because A has been posting to her private insta account long rants about “another perfectly good lesbian turned by dicks and witchcraft”, which could ONLY be referring to me because as far as I know, she hasn’t had any relationships in between ours and her’s and B’s. She is radfem and tradcatholic so the statement isn’t a surprise, but she only started posting that stuff After B started coming over, and she was kicked from the house for being intolerant, so it’s odd for her to start ranting about me now.

I think it’s unfair that my ex was kicked out for intolerance while I was still dating her, even though I objected (it was a toxic relationship and I was in deep), but O hasn’t kicked out E despite E also being intolerant and dating one of us.

[girlwiththegreenhat]

took me forever to switch from itunes to google play music because my music collection is huge and i am stubborn. now they’re getting rid of GPM and forcing us into using youtube music.

screw this i am getting a MP3 player ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

[sublimecatgalaxy]

hey babes! i hope you’re doing well🤍 im rewatching twd from season one and im on episode 6 where the group is at the cdc, and i was wonder if you could write something where dr jenner tells the group that the building is gonna explode and y/n wants to stay since all of her family is gone but daryl refuses to leave without her (kinda like dale and andrea)? sorry this was so long 🤧

I'm not sure if you wanted a platonic or romantic relationship between the reader and Daryl so I went with something in between 😂

It's as if I'm underwater, barely listening to the words of the doctor after hearing that we're being sent to our death, unwillingly and unknowingly. There's a sense of warmth that fills me, thinking about dying quickly enough to just go and be with the people I love, the people who have been gone and dearly missed.

The people around me frantically make their way to the shut doors, trying their best to pry it open and my legs can't seem to move me or lift my weak, tired body from the tile floor.

"C'mon, we gotta go." Daryl mutters, holding a hand out to me but I just shake my head, my eyes tearing as I look up at him through wet lashes. He looks floored, taking a step back from me with parted lips, shock and confusion passing across his expression. "C'mon-"

"No." I mutter, listening to the clock countdown as the rest of the group yells and threatens the doctor but Daryl's too busy, too concerned with my well-being and safety to focus on whatever they're doing.

He kneels down in front of me, resting a hand on my knee. "If you're killing yourself then you're killin' me too." My heart stops at the thought of him staying here with me, putting himself on the line to make a point. I knew he was stubborn but not this much. I'm not sure if he means it, if he would actually let me do this to myself but I could never live with myself if he died because of me.

"Daryl..."

"If you stay, I'm stayin'. End of discussion." His voice wavers a bit, thumbs reaching up to brush the tears away from my cheeks. "So either get your ass up and come with me. Or we're both going out together." I gulp, my eyes flickering back and forth between his as I ponder.

A few tense moments pass and I sigh, sniffling loudly as I allow him to help me to my feet. He blows out a breath of air and presses a kiss to the side of my head, wrapping an arm tightly around my shoulders to hold me against him, worried that I would allow myself to slip away if he were to let go.

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[cherryjuicegf]

a long way down to reach the sea

Drained, devoid of purpose and having escaped mages and soldiers alike, Yennefer and Jaskier hide in a cottage by the sea. It may or may not be as pleasant as it sounds.

13k, E, hurt/comfort, domestic yennskier, canon divergent [ao3]

It started with the sea.

As most new things seemed to start with somehow, when it came to her, only that now Yennefer could tell she was far away from the sea even without opening her eyes. Her mind was a fog. Still, she could tell. What she was laying on was not sand or pebbles, didn’t possess the hardness of the earth. She snorted, shifted only a little, to hear a familiar ruffling sound. Clean sheets. Smooth and cool while she felt like she was burning and in the air floated a smell of sweat and lilac and–

Sea salt.

A dull ache spread through her whole body as she moved and she registered a missing weight she couldn’t yet define. A deep breath. Sea salt. The distant rumbling of waves hitting the shore and a light breeze stroking her forehead and wiping the sweat away. Her body still ached.

A faint hint of cooked stew tingled her nose. 

Slowly, tortuously, she opened her eyes, and as though out of habit, she whispered, “What the fuck?” It was so that the past month she had woken up in the most undesirable of places under the most doubtful of circumstances. Yet, as she nuzzled deeper into the covers and the sound of the waves remained undisturbed, she started considering this particular situation rather pleasant. For once. She stared at the ceiling.

Rather, the ceiling of the bed she was lying on. Wooden, carved with all sorts of engravings depicting plants and flowers and ornate branches–

Foliage.

Her breath hitched.

Foliage, above her, and trees, unfocused and her knees giving in and this pain spreading over her like a wave, her hands cuffed in dimeritium and her vision swimming and running, so much running as though her life depends on it and a voice shouting, pleading, run, just a little more, you can do it, and falling and a hand on her face, fuck Yennefer, don’t leave me now, come on, and before she closes her eyes a name on her lips.

She jolted up on the bed and looked around her. Her lips moved as though carrying what they left unfinished, faintly quivering. “Jaskier?” 

Eyes scanning the room and it couldn’t be an illusion, it would have dissolved by now, she hoped and hope somehow seemed the only thing she could afford. A wardrobe. A desk by the wall, a table with chairs on the other side. A window, lace curtains. She blinked. Looked down at her bare wrists, cuffs long gone and leaving behind red marks and exhaustion weighting like a stone on her chest. 

She wouldn't be so tired if it wasn't real.

It was not an illusion. And Jaskier was nowhere to be found.

A voice inside her urged her to find him. Another voice told her to stay put and avoid risk. As one does, she listened to the first one.

The wooden floor was warm under her feet as she lowered them, ignoring how the movement itself made her head spin in a way that should be uncommon for a mage. She snorted, blinked again, this time hard. Hands gripped on the mattress. She stood up.

What followed was only fog. The room turning upside down and then a voice and some curses that probably came from her, and insistent arms pushing her to sit on the bed again.

Her body tensed, only for a moment, until her vision cleared again. Then she met a pair of familiar blue eyes looking at her with an emotion she would call concern if she didn’t know better, and the same arms from before. Her shoulders slumped. “Fuck, Jaskier…” She pressed the heel of her palm on her forehead and groaned. Her head felt like it would explode and she would too along with it. “Where the fuck are we?” she asked more out of habit and less because she cared.

A huff. Jaskier didn’t answer at once. Only, he pushed her carefully to lay back on the pillows, and there was a strange gentleness in his touch that made her melt even more under its warmth like a kind of ache. A hand on her nape, guiding her head on the propped pillows, making sure it’s steady. She thought maybe she should be more alarmed. She couldn’t bring herself to be.

"Don't be hasty," she heard him saying as though from a distance. "You're weak as water." 

Maybe he regretted his words, because his voice hushed in the end and a shadow flashed in his eyes as he looked at her.

Something tightened in her chest.

Then, a cup before her eyes. She flinched at once, as though hit by a thunder, and before Jaskier could take initiative to help her, she grabbed the cup from his hands, hers shaking ever so slightly, drops spilling on the sheets. Desperate, almost. But the water was quenching and that was only what she cared about. 

She handed the cup back to him, avoiding his look. Jaskier held it unsurprised, almost smiling.

Her head was resting comfortably on the pillows and she thought of asking him where he had found such soft pillows, but her eyelids were drooping. As though to prevent her from sleeping again, a hint of dread passing before his eyes, Jaskier sighed. “The house is safe.” His hands moved tentatively, fixing the already smooth sheets. Then, he looked up at her, voice a little uncertain. “You are my wife and you are sick and we have come to the coast for you to get better, which is partly true. You don’t have to thank me.”

Her thoughts abandoned sleep and the pillows immediately and Yennefer stared at him wide eyed. “By the gods, Jaskier,” she hissed and he looked far more helpless as though he was the one with a killing headache. “They are going to find us like that, are you mad?”

“They are not!” He didn’t sound certain about that either. Only helpless. He shook his head. “Not for a little while, they must not. You can’t even–” Her glare made him falter. Another sigh. “Listen,” he said and tried to keep his voice unwavering. “For now, we are safe. Besides,” an old smirk curved his lips and her heart settled in its presence, “you truly look terrible, black circles and all. They would never recognize you, how many days had it been since you slept? Don’t mages have a natural marble skin or something?”

A kick on his hip earned her a yelp and Yennefer huffed, smiling at his pout. “Maybe you are right. You too look less like a rat now that you’re cleaned up.”

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Pity. Let me rephrase."

A gasp. “You witch!”

This time she laughed. The mirth in his eyes eased her doubt somehow, a comfort of something that’s always been there.

Her eyes were closing again. She could hear more than see Jaskier’s smile. “Get some rest now. I will have stew and a bath ready for later.”

She didn’t question why he would have what he promised ready, nor why his voice was so soft, nor if he had even slept himself. She just let unconsciousness creep upon her.

Some time later there was the distant feeling of lips touching her forehead. Or maybe it was only a dream.

The bench creaks loudly. A bottle in his hand, gripped so tight it must hurt.

“What are we doing here, Jaskier?”

He frowns. “Hiding. Pretty sure that part was clear.”

“No. What are we doing here?”

His eyes glint for a moment but he doesn’t answer at once. He turns his gaze at the sea spreading down the hill they’re on, so close. So far. A sigh, then. “Healing, I guess. Trying to be safe. Waiting.” 

“For what?” 

Something, anything. He looks at her again, eyes oddly blue under the moonlight. “A new purpose.” He tilts his head. “Are you alright with that?” Almost pleading.

The night breeze makes her shiver. His gaze is prickling her skin, seething, and she thinks about running, about another choice, but there is not one. Somehow, she wouldn’t want it if there was. She’s only tired.

She shakes her head and, faintly, he smiles.

One would think that fingers, once burned, stop playing with fire.

Yet she couldn’t help but notice how Jaskier’s fingers, red with rashes, easily slipped between hers, like it was part of a dance, how they cradled her hand and rubbed the lather on her skin. How he took such care cleaning her elbow, then the side of her neck, fingers under her chin to tilt her head ever so slightly to the left. Then, her collarbones. When he reached her back, ever so gently, he rested his hands on her shoulders, as though to ease them from the burns.

And she couldn’t help but wonder why. Because she, oh, she was on fire. 

She felt her skin prickling and her stomach twisting as she lay pliant under the water with no purpose, and her lips almost quivered with the scream she struggled to hold back, and the scream as though stubborn spread and settled over every part of her body, rendering her rigid. I don’t need you. I don’t need you. An echo. A cackling fire, over and over again, every time she twitched at the touch.

She couldn’t tell if it was the need she lacked or how long it had been since the last time she was touched like that.

Because her body screamed and protested and refused and she didn’t lay eyes upon his face once, too focused on his hands that stubbornly rushed to ease her longing under the water. I don’t need you, and they gently massaged her shoulders, and slowly she slumped, let herself be guided, let the lather spread over her back. I don’t need you, and he cleaned the inside of her elbow that was smeared with dirt, then lower, between her knuckles, one fingertip after the other. She could see him burning. Noticed how his breath hitched every time he was met with resistance. But he did not stop. 

I don’t need you, and he slid his hand under her calf and raised her leg slightly. Rubbed the lather there, on her knees still dirty from the run and, how absurd, careful of the slightest detail, the slightest scratch.

As though he didn’t mind burning for her.

Jaskier dried the cloth and put it aside. He poured some drops of oil in his palm, a lavender scented one she didn’t ask where he had found. Only, when he reached for her hair, she gripped his wrist and he froze in place.

It could be that it was instinctive, the need for self-reliance. The reminder that she was done being vulnerable after everything as though he hadn’t seen her collapsing to the ground, as though he was not still here. Or it could be that persistent desire to deceive herself and retain control as she scrambled to stand on her feet again, the fear of being used. Her grip was tight, almost painful, and she did not raise her head but he didn’t speak. He just waited.

Tight, strong as though to escape this weakness.

Finally, she looked at him, eyes glinting, and he looked back. Calm and tired and silent and it was so unlike him, enraging her because how dare he, how dare he get so close. 

I don’t need you. A scream. And then, a hand, and fingers ghosting over hers, and his eyes staring, whispering. I know, and if she searched deeper, maybe I do, and It’s fine if you do. 

Carefully, his hand held hers and her grip eased. He swallowed, nodded. And if he noticed how her eyes glinted with tears and desperation, he said nothing. Only, he moved to wash her hair, like a soldier faithful to his purpose, like it simply pleased him.

Yennefer breathed shakily and closed her eyes.

It was moments before he opened the door that he heard a sob.

Silent, barely there, as though afraid of its own existence, and then a breath coming out choked and shaky. He pushed the door, hissing at its loud creak and his gaze immediately flew to the bed. Yennefer flinched and turned at him.

The way his heart clenched was similar to the day he watched her crumble to the ground in these damned cuffs, helpless and him, even more helpless, afraid, rushing to help her up in vain as she went limp in his arms. Dread. It had been days and he was still losing her over and over and now, oh. Now her eyes stare at him wide and terrified and haunted, not completely awake yet from a nightmare he could see reflected in their shadow, and her cheeks are glistening wet under the moonlight. She was shaking.

Run, help her up. Hold tight. He rushed to the bed, unthinking and, at once, she flinched away from him like a scared animal.

Helpless. He froze. “Hey. It’s just me.” Sitting on the bed, slow, careful in agony. He didn’t look away, eyes locked with hers, searching. Grasping. His hand crept on the bed towards hers. “It’s Jaskier.” A pause, a glint in her eyes. Then, she let out a deep sigh, a broken sob and her body sagged, still trembling under a non-existent threat. Her eyes were steady on him, recognition slipping in her gaze and Jaskier smiled. “Hello there,” he whispered and reached out as though on instinct to wipe the tears. “You’re safe.”

For a moment, only this one, Yennefer gave into the touch. Then, immediately, she went rigid like a stone and looked at him as though to throw blades with her eyes. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was low, almost like a hiss. Cautious. He faltered. “What are you trying to be now, the protector? The one who has it under control? I know you, bard.” She squinted at him, leaned forwards like a threat and his heart crumpled harder. “I know this, I have seen it before and do not for a second think–”

“No, Yennefer.” His voice broke in protest, throat choking under her stare. He shook his head, eyes burning. “No, I’m…” He should have known. And he didn’t blame her. Only, as he spoke, he felt as if his heart was bleeding down his lips. A laugh, wet.  “I’ve been telling myself it’s fine for so long I– It’s just– comforting, I guess.” He swallowed, eyes fixed on hers. “Finding someone to be broken with.”

And for a bit he stayed there, still, watching as she shook and waiting for her to explode. She knew he would welcome her. But she didn’t speak.

Then, numb, struck by mere restlessness, he lowered his look and moved away. “You should sleep.” And made to leave.

A hand caught his wrist. The same spot she had almost bruised two days ago, only now her hold was gentle, almost hesitant. Startled, he turned to her again. Her face had softened now, melted in an expression he couldn’t quite place but she looked like a mirror. Yes. Pleading.

Stay.

She didn’t speak. Slowly, she lowered herself on the pillow and pulled him down beside her. He went without protest. This too, he would welcome.

It was like she was searching for something in the way she stared and once she found it, she drowned in it, in the way her eyes welled up. He swallowed. Whatever she had found she would keep it to herself, but he was never one for silence. Not even now. “Can I hold you?” he whispered and it fluttered between them, the desperation, the uncertainty. As though they wouldn’t acknowledge the scattered pieces on their own.

Suddenly, Yennefer let out a sob. “Fuck you, bard.” She shook her head and shuffled closer, not looking at him, and hid her face in his chest.

Jaskier held back a chuckle and with only a smile, he wrapped his arm around her to realize that she was still shivering, shoulders flinching now and then in silent weeping. He sighed and pulled her closer, impossibly still, and hid his own tears in her hair. “Hush now,” he said. “We are safe.”

After a while, he felt her going limp in his hug and this time he was not afraid.

She stares at the bottle. His knuckles are white in his grip.

“You miss him too much.”

He hums, sarcastic. “Define too much.”

A bottle, almost empty. “Jaskier.”

He turns at her to find she’s already staring. His eyes are suddenly wet. “Yes, well,” he smiles, “half a life, you know. Half a life of walking beside someone, singing of him, laughing with him, knowing him like the back of my hand. Loving–” his voice cracks, fitting, and he huffs “–loving him. Always having what pleases me out of reach.” There is no pain, not as much as she knows there was. Only, his face has fallen, defeated. “I’m tired of singing of heartbreak, Yennefer. I miss all of it. Him, mostly. Too much. I don’t know anymore.”

Afraid of losing the muses. As though he hasn’t already. She swallows. 

Slowly, she reaches and retracts the bottle from his hold. “That’s what you are doing here, then.” His eyes are helpless, as though he doesn’t really know what himself, and he lets go of the wine. Idiot. Unwillingly, she smiles. “A new purpose. A break. Hoping that maybe he will grow inside you again.”

He squints at her, silent. A tear is trapped between his lashes and hides in the creaks of his eyes as he smiles faintly and nods. “I only ever hope, don’t I?” It echoes like a flower placed in front of a grave. Then, suddenly, his voice lightens. “I should write to him. Warn him.” 

Something settles inside her. “Yes. I think you should.”

The morning sun entered playfully through the window, painting the walls in the intricate pattern of the lace curtains. It was early, still, and the days had yet to become too hot. In the distance, the waves were crashing on the rocks, and if one heard closely, they would even hear the foam.

Yennefer groaned and stood up from the bed. Her vision swimmed for a moment before clearing back to normal. That enraged her even more.

It had been days. Six, probably seven. And she was still dragging herself, and her head was still dizzy, as though the damned chains had hit her source and it was struggling to spring chaos again. Maybe, just maybe, it would be better if it never returned at all. Maybe it would save her the pain it had already caused, and then she realized she hurt in its presence as much as in its absence and she wanted to scream.

She wanted. Something. A wave to fill this hollow space inside her that had never closed. Because when chaos abandoned her too, it gaped even wider, echoed in her ears like the air whistling through a broken window inside a broken house. Gods. At least before, she could sometimes pretend it didn’t exist.

With small steps she approached the window and gazed outside. It was just then when she noticed, or she had before, but didn’t pay any mind. Right under the window, there was a narrow patch of earth, bloomed with spring wildflowers and poppies. And further away, the void. A steep cliff and rocks for the sea to crash its rage on.

For a moment she felt envy.

There was a garden on the left side of the house, a small one. Overgrown and devoid of care, with flowers popping on their own regretfully at places, as though a late achievement of a long failed planting. Attached on the wall, right under the kitchen window, there was a bench Jaskier used to sit on sometimes at night, and sometimes she would go out to join him. He said he tried to grow the garden a few years ago, but he was always gone for too long.

Only, he had placed slabs on the stairs carved down the cliff on the same side, leading to an enclosed beach. For some reason, he never went further than where the garden ended. 

A knock on the door. She jumped. 

Jaskier was in the market, but Jaskier never knocked. She turned around and silently walked up the front side of the house, crossed the kitchen, and retrieved a knife from the counter. Then, she looked outside the window.

“Luisa, my dear!”

She flinched again and cursed under her breath as she heard Jaskier’s voice from not so far away. The figure outside the door turned around, and she discerned an old woman smiling at the bard as he approached the house carrying a full bag. 

“Forgive my wife for making you wait. I’m afraid she’s still mostly indisposed.” Oh, she would kill him. 

The woman chuckled pleasantly. “No worries, my boy.”

“I saw your son in the market today.”

“Ah, need to sell these jams while they’re fresh, you see. Makes for more customers.” Another hearty laugh. “But fresh or not, they’re the best trade even in the furthest hill of Kaedwen. In fact…” Yennefer watched as the woman raised her basket and at once her stomach delighted. “I have brought you a vase of plum jam, as a welcome.”

Jaskier smiled wide and, as the sun lighted his features, her stomach fluttered unwillingly again in a different desire. “Oh, dearest, I cannot thank you enough. My wife will be delighted.”

Yennefer had put the knife back on the counter when laughter hit her. Being the bard’s wife was ridiculous enough for a rescue but this established title of unknown duration in this town in the middle of nowhere had her palms sweating in a foreign way and her heart laughing as though at her.

 Moments before Jaskier opened the door, the woman’s voice was heard again. “Hey, son. If you don’t mind, tell your wife,” she averted her eyes and for the barest of terrifying seconds, Yennefer found their gazes meeting through the window, before she turned at Jaskier again, “that I’m grateful for whatever she did. You are welcomed here.”

Yennefer froze.

The fire. The bottle. The saviour of Sodden. Not her.

She heard Jaskier uttering a stunned thank you and Luisa nodded kindly before walking away. 

The door opened and closed with a bang.

Jaskier was staring at her wide-eyed, almost out of breath. Probably as panicked as she was, but that was not going to save him now. “Props to your safety,” she hissed and he took a step back. “Is that how nobody would recognize us?”

He shook his head frantically. “I don’t– She can’t have seen you, she can’t know you she–” he panted, covered his mouth with his hand. He had gone pale. “Fuck,” he whispered, quivering and took a deep breath. “Listen. She looks nice.”

“For fuck’s–”

“No, wait!” He walked up to her, a hint of sudden hope in his voice and Yennefer backed away. “I mean, she said we are welcomed here. And she didn’t mention anything about your name and– and,” he lowered his voice, “Sodden. She thanked you. She gave us jam, for gods’ sake.” A laughter, unstable. “She can’t have bad intentions.” 

She thanked you. 

Maybe it was that which made her face soften. Maybe it was a comfort, an old lady knowing about her, believing what she had done. She was not a saviour, not for anyone, not for her own self. Maybe, just this once…

She snorted, shook her head, and started searching through the drawers without really looking inside. The bard had too much faith in humanity for his own good and she was still doubtful of the outcome. The drawer banged. Even worse, she almost agreed with him at the moment. Perhaps she needed to have faith in someone for once.

“What are you looking for now?”

“I don’t fucking–” The next drawer opened loudly and this time she looked inside. Then, she picked up a spoon with a hum and turned around, taking a deep breath after what felt like ages. Jaskier was still holding the vase. She smiled faintly. “Let’s have a try at the jam, hm?”

Jaskier stared at her incredulously for a moment. Slowly, then, he huffed and let his lips curve a smile in return, and colour seemed to return to his cheeks. A blush, even. He shook his head. “We could. Or,” the smile turned into a smirk and he took off his bag and placed it on a chair to search inside. He hummed triumphantly and revealed a paper bag. “We could try the apple pies that I bought.”

At once, her heart fluttered and she couldn’t help but smile wider, looking at him. “Apple pies?”

He frowned, voice suddenly hesitant. “You like them?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and walked up to him, grabbing the bag from his hand. “They’re my favourites,” she muttered and probably he didn’t hear her because he said nothing. Or he did hear her, but decided to only grin as she oh so discreetly took in the scent of apple and cinnamon floating from the bag. 

“Well,” he said, “are you going to grab a plate?”

She squinted at him for a second and suddenly held her head high, a faint pout on her lips. Slowly, she sat on a chair and looked up at him. “I can’t.” A smug smile. “I’m afraid I’m indisposed.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he gasped, laughed, and walked past her to the counter. “Oh, you despicable woman, I hate you.”

“Mm, the feeling is mutual, scoundrel.”

He sat across from her and revealed the apple pies on the plate. Then, he met her eyes. “Are you able to feed yourself or are you indisposed for this too?”

Yennefer faked a laugh. “Go fuck youself, Jaskier.” And made to pick up one of the tarts.

Then, a hand on hers. Fingers gently pushing hers away and picking up the tart instead. She looked at him abruptly only to find him already staring. A question that he didn’t wait to be answered. He was being brave, then. And she was staring on, daring almost, because there was no possible way he would do what he was planning on, no way he dared. He looked terrified. He looked as though he was enjoying it.

Slowly, he brought the tart in front of her lips, and waited. Apple and cinnamon. She didn’t know if her parting her lips admitted defeat, but he certainly didn’t expect it to. Only, he smiled as she took a bite of the pie, cutting it in half and barely held her eyes from fluttering because gods, they were heavenly. His hand was shaking and warmth gathered inside her chest, made her heart jump. 

She squinted at him. He was still smiling.

“They…” she cleared her throat, nodded. Faint. “They’re good.” 

She watched as Jaskier raised his eyebrows content and let out a curious hum, proceeding to eat the remaining half of the pie she had bitten. Her hands curled into fists. He moaned. “Melitele, they truly are.”

It was a different kind, this warmth. It’s not burning. Only thinking how close his fingers were to her lips as she stared at him licking cinnamon from his thumb, and she couldn’t tell if the sweetness left on her tongue was the tart or her own longing.

She raised her look again and, as though to avoid her thoughts or to prevent his, she spoke. “Have you written to Geralt?”

Immediately, his eyes darkened with a flinch and she nearly regretted it. He nodded. “I have. But I haven’t posted it yet.” His voice sounded hollow, as though he had forgotten it for now. “I haven’t found a way in which they won’t discover us.”

If she could just open a damned portal. She sighed, suddenly more tired than before. “He’s probably still in Kaer Morhen this time of year. It’s too far away to risk it.”

Destiny has a strange way of playing, she knew. Just when they would never expect it. Because then her gaze landed on the jar of jam still waiting on the table and she remembered the lady’s trade. And at once she looked at Jaskier, who shared the same thought and their voices formed a comically tragic duet.

“The jams.”

The razor lay on the floor in shame.

Rather, in regret. As though the fingers it had slipped from had left their eternal painful print on its grip to echo between the walls for as long as the hurt lasted. But that’s too long.

Jaskier was standing only a few feet away, but she didn’t step closer, not yet. Only, she stared. At the razor, then back at him, hands gripping the dresser so tight his knuckles had turned white, looking somewhere away from the mirror. Shaking. His face was smeared in lather.

Yennefer swallowed. “Is everything alright?”

At this moment she could laugh at herself. Because it really wasn’t alright. It hadn’t been alright for weeks and it was not now and she was too used to the answer being yes to risk a different one now. She watched as Jaskier looked at her through the mirror but she wasn’t certain it was her he saw. No, whatever he saw there only made him paler for some seconds, made his breath hitch and the trembling remained. A ghost, perhaps, the same one that shadowed his eyes all this time they were hiding. 

Except for when he was laughing. Which should be more often.

He did, then. He laughed, suddenly and loudly, fake, painful as though his throat was ripped apart. He laughed and clenched his fists, took a deep breath. “Why, of course.” He turned at her, and she almost mistook his smile for a wince. “The sea breeze seems to have blown my mind away these days.”

“These days? That’s brave.” Yennefer huffed and before he had time to answer back, lips already parted, she bent over and retrieved the razor from the floor. 

Jaskier reached out to take it, and stayed there. His hand was still shaking. Yennefer looked at it, then back at him, razor tight in her grip. There was something pleading in his eyes. As though he was begging for her to go, pretend that yes, everything is alright, and then go to bed and forget that this had ever happened. At the same time, she could already see the wetness in their blue.

She was too used to the answer being yes, needed it, even. But gods, she hated lies.

Without breaking eye contact she pushed his hand away and stepped closer. Slowly, she steadied the bard’s head between her fingers, turning it to face the wall. Closer. Her thumb brushed over his pulse point, neck now exposed, and she heard his breath hitching. The razor slid down his face.

“Lovely how you expect me to trust you so easily, witch,” he muttered but made no move to walk away. “How do I know this is not a trap? The razor is a perfectly good weapon.”

Yennefer smiled, raised her eyebrows. “Don’t worry, bardling. I would hate to ruin my dress in your miserable blood.”

It seemed that he didn’t have a good answer, or he was too preoccupied swallowing down tears as she ran her fingers along his jaw, because he only squinted at her and looked away with a pout.

Slowly, carefully. The foam was cleaning away and it felt pleasing, at last, doing something with her hands. Doing something.

She doesn’t remember when was the last time she had seen his face shaved but it suited him. Reminded of another time. The razor brushed over like a curtain and there they were suddenly, standing over a neverending cliff and she was ready to catch him as much as to throw him off. Before the pain, the heartbreak, the suffering, the fear.

As though restoring an old painting. 

She heard him huffing a laugh. “It’s really fine, you don–”

“Does it make it any easier?” she asked suddenly, her lips moving on their own accord. Jaskier glanced at her with a frown and if she looked closer, she would see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. It almost enraged her, the curve on his lips. “Smiling through it all. Being the joker.”

He swallowed. He tried so hard not to let the mask fall, as though he owed it to someone, to himself. So stubborn he thought that if he pretended for long enough, it would be fine eventually. And now she came in and snatched the mask off his face and it was so cruel, so relieving all the same.

It was a wonder the way she saw through him and the most stunned of all was Yennefer herself. Knowing him better than herself. Or knowing herself better.

“It’s not,” he answered and avoided her stare, eyes fixed on a void he hoped would save him, but it never did. His smile was bitter now. More fitting. “But once it gets to you, you can’t let go. Like a bad habit.” Then, a whisper. “It's all I have.”

Yennefer hummed, concentrated on the razor. “You could always try crying.”

Jaskier laughed faintly. “Says you.”

Oh, he is cunning.

She washed the razor and wiped at his cheeks with a towel. His face was cold where she touched him, or it was just her fingers, feeling as though they were dipped in freezing water. And after all the fire and the burning it was a relief. Such that when she made to step away, her hand lingered on his face and shook ever so slightly before she let it fall.

Then, they remained staring at each other.

A deep sigh.

Jaskier nodded and somehow now he looked younger. As though he had taken back all those years he had spent giving and giving. “Thank you.”

His voice sounded so honest and thick it was worth wondering when was the last time anyone had touched his face. No. When was the last time anyone had taken even a little care for him.

Yennefer smiled at herself. Probably as long ago as it was for her.

Her look as though instinctively fled to his fingers and her hand moved before she could think, sliding his hand in hers gently. His fingers were still marked with red rashes, less angry than a week ago but there, letting anything he so desperately tried to hold on to slip through his grasp.

She shook her head. “I felt it,” she said and it almost sounded like an apology. She looked at him. “When I had the cuffs on. The chaos. It’s still there.” It’s not like her to be hopeful. But she has nothing left.

Nothing except for a pair of blue eyes and a wound waiting to heal and she needed to be the one who would heal it. Maybe this way she would heal herself too.

Maybe. And as Jaskier smiled at her and it was genuinely happy, certain as though he knew, he knew from the start. “Of course it is,” he said and nodded, and this bitter hint in his voice pierced through her. He nodded. “It never goes away. Maybe…” He took a deep breath, brows suddenly furrowing. “Maybe you just need a break before it grows inside you again.”

Yennefer swallowed and smacked his arm lightly. He was unbelievable sometimes. 

And if he saw her eyes suddenly welling, he spoke none of it. Only, as though unwilling to let go, he laced their fingers together.

“A cottage, then?” She looks around.

He hums. “It belongs to my family. Abandoned still.” He takes a deep breath and the breeze blows with him, as though to ease his mind. “I wanted to make something out of it some years ago. Said to myself I could perhaps settle here some day. With,” he swallows, shakes his head, “someone.”

The waves, the breeze. The moonlight lightens his face in a peculiar way as though he is lit on fire or it’s just her sitting too close. Burning, always burning.

Settle. Of course. They both stood unlucky and she can’t help but laugh.

He looks at her and smiles. “What?”

“I can’t imagine you ever settling down,” she says and it’s true, because ghosts only tell tales of old, and he never liked to be left behind.

He shrugs and looks at the sky again. “Well neither can I but… Who knows? Maybe I would for someone out there. I just haven’t found them yet.”

The waves wreck onto the rocks and hum and she is suddenly in need of talking, lest the silence reminds them of their thoughts. “When you are with someone every single day, you get tired of each other. Even worse, only they get tired of you. And they may leave.” 

“And if they don’t? If they love you?”

She huffs a laugh, wet. “This only means they have more ways to hurt you.”

He is gazing at her now, and there is a look of wonder in his eyes. Fondness, she realises her legs get numb. Close. “Yes, the ones who love you can hurt you the most,” he says and his voice sounds lower. Then, a smile. “The deal is they choose not to.”

Suddenly his eyes are so blue and clear she can see herself mirrored in them.

The paper was shaking in her hand.

Geralt. Seven days. On the way already. She read the lines over and over and the more she did, the more unreal they echoed in her head. Stay safe, he said. He was coming.

He was coming.

A relief in one hand. He was warned, he would be careful and he would be here, gods, so soon, and they might not escape the danger but together they stood more chances. Together, and able to defend themselves somehow.

She threw the letter on the table and cursed under her breath. He couldn’t come yet. He couldn’t.

Not when he had snatched everything out of her hands and it would be easier if she had her powers, if she still had something. But she didn’t. She had nothing, nothing to stand with, nothing to fill this gaping void in her palms and it wouldn’t heal, it wouldn’t stop hurting. And now she had to face it, the hope that had been taken from her, standing before her tall and real and yet it would never be real. Only the pain would be real.

And it just wouldn’t go away.

Sometimes she cursed this house, these walls. The chairs and the bed and the waves raging on the rocks and the breeze intruding from the windows and the mirror on the wall, and the mirror of Jaskier’s eyes, she would hate them, despise them. She would try. Because it’s been so long and nothing had changed, only the night turning into day and her, sitting there, waiting for something that would never come, for a comfort that she couldn’t help but doubt because it never was real.

It was their house on the rock and they were the actors, roaming on it like a stage. And the touches, the glances, the warmth, they were an act. They were not real

She couldn’t let them be real. At this point, she was used to deceit enough to prefer its hurt.

And yet oh, how relieving, this little house, these little roles. Maybe she could pretend, just for a little bit. That everything was fine. That the waves flooded the empty space inside her and rendered her whole. That she was loved.

Tired, exhausted. Desperate. She wanted to scream. She wanted to burn the whole world, and herself with it this time. 

She grabbed the letter again and tore it to pieces, and thought of keeping them to show Geralt, because she couldn’t lay her own pieces bare in any other way, not anymore.

The door closed in the kitchen.

She stilled. Listened.

His steps were heavy on the wooden floor and yet silent as though he was afraid to be heard. He walked to the bedroom, stood in the doorway and froze.

Oh. He was afraid.

She could see how his eyes were wide and scared and guilty and begging for forgiveness for something, everything and it was not like the day they found out about their neighbour, no. It was much, much worse.

The fire that was already lit roamed inside her. “Jaskier,” she uttered carefully and he almost flinched. “What happened?”

He swallowed, parted his lips. Then shut them again. He was pale as a sheet. “The market. A– A man.” His voice died in his throat as though in a fitting premonition and she nodded, urged him to go on. He snorted. “He recognised me,” he blurted out in a single breath and then as if to make up for something already lost he started rambling helplessly. “He had seen me before and he knew and I tried to lie to him and then people started asking when I got married and wanted me to sing which of course I didn’t but please, Yennefer, I couldn’t stop him I was only humming and he– I’m so sorry I’m–”

“Humming.” Her voice was closer to a growl of a forest fire and she so wished it actually turned into flames. He couldn’t ruin this, not now. Her eyes were nailing him. “I’ve been trapped inside four walls for weeks so as not to attract attention and you were humming.”

She saw his eyes then, wet and pleading and she relished at the sight. He shook his head desperately. “I didn’t mean to Yennefer I’m sorry it slipped–”

“Slipped. Gods. Of course.” A rough laughter escaped her throat, one she had never heard before coming from her. “That’s the bloody problem, isn’t it? You just can’t keep your mouth shut ever and it always gets you in trouble, Geralt, Rience, now, every fucking time!”

Suddenly his eyes flashed like a sharp blade. “What the hell are you talking about?” he hissed. “We wouldn’t be stuck in this mess if you hadn’t drained yourself and then started running around desperate because it’s always you and your damned powers–”

“At least I’m more useful than you even without them! What have you done? Roaming around refusing to accept how weak and desperate you are, always have been.” Her voice was loud and hoarse now and he flinched. Good. 

A chuckle, seething, dripping with the poison she craved. “You selfish ungrateful witch. Always like this, demanding and destroying–”

“At least I’m not a fucking pathetic coward–”

“–and burning to hide your hopelessness–”

“–drowned in stupid unexisting romance!”

“Stop yelling they will hear us–”

“YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

At once the world shook. And the bottle finally burst.

Nothing. She felt nothing and everything all at once and her whole body convulsed sending a wave of energy that made the earth rock and the wind whirl and the sea roar and a sharp pain shot through her body, and she screamed. As though in reply, somewhere, a loud thud and a cry. A second. A century.

Then it was over.

Her knees gave in and she fell on the floor, vision swimming and limbs aching with a million needles stinging with no end. Across her, a figure on the floor, grunting.

No, by her side, above her. The room was turning black. 

The voice. Fuck Yennefer look at me please please don’t leave me again–

His.

And then she was lifted and the room spinned and her head went numb before she met a pair of blue eyes and slowly, ever so slowly, they became clear. Wide. Terrified of her. No. For her.

Her body was shaking whole. She cursed under her breath, blinked.

Are you alright? Talk to me.

She snorted and sat upright on the floor, her hand touching her forehead and oh, the headache again. Squinting, she turned her head. Jaskier. Staring, worried, first at her and then when he made sure he had caught her gaze, at her hands. Her hands.

Her chaos.

Breathless, she lowered her look. Her fingers were tingling, a light buzz flowing between them, between every part of her and it was new, it was old, it was too much. It was there. 

Then, again. “Yennefer.” A whisper, hesitant. She looked at him and he shook his head, tears welling his eyes and now, it hurt. “I didn’t mean…” Pause. He wouldn’t lie and relief washed through her as she realised. At least. Instead, a sob. “Forgive me. I’m sorry I–”

He didn’t lie and neither did she. Only she let out a breath and threw her arms around his shoulders in silence and hid her face in his shirt, holding tight, tighter still until she felt arms crawling upon her back too, clinging to her, trembling.

There, only partly hidden if she ever could, she cried. And only partly unseen if he ever could, he cried too.

This time there was nothing to fake.

The steps down the hill blur under her stare and she sways.

Then a hand on her elbow. “Hey. Are you alright?”

Gods, she hates looking into his eyes. So concerned and honest and huge. His hand is steady, certain like an anchor. In the distance, the waves hit the shore gently.

She glances at the sea, just for a moment. Then, quiet, she takes a step back.

His smile is almost audible. “What do you say?” he prompts and his eyes glint cunningly, knowingly. Always. Damn him. “The coast looks beautiful under the full moon.”

She peers at him. Maybe he himself wants to go near the sea. Maybe he is tired of sitting on the bench, looking from afar. Maybe he saw how she shook and came for her. For her.

For now, she is too hesitant to relish. And too selfish to deny.

Except. “The stairs,” she says and raises an eyebrow, secretly daring. “My head is still heavy.”

Jaskier grins widely and shakes his head. “Well, I’ll carry you.”

She huffs. “You will carry m– Ah, you bastard!” Jaskier lifts her in his arms and a loud laughter escapes her lips which she wants to define as unwilling, but cannot.

“With pleasure,” he says and puts on his stupidest smile and she’s more grateful than she could ever imagine that she gets to see it again. That it’s directed at her. “You’re my wife, after all.”

They laugh.

He carries her, indeed, and descends the steps to the sea. Strangely, and by the warmth of his embrace, she realises it’s not the first time he does so. 

For once in her life, she feels light as a feather.

It starts with the sea.

He sits there, by the waves, so far and yet somehow even now, closer than ever. Sits and stares far away to the sea, enchanted, charmed, as though he hadn’t noticed it before, too busy gazing at it from afar in the hardness of his bench.

Yennefer takes a deep breath, sea salt and evening chill and foolish longing. She descends the stairs on her own. For once, she thinks. For once. She won’t admit it, but it feels nice being carried for a little bit. Just until the steep steps come to an end.

She descends and walks and her feet sink bare into the sand and the pebbles, and walks until she reaches him, and stands beside and from above, he looks small. Shoulders slumped and drawn downwards, hands clinging and clenching and craving for a hold less slippery than the fabric of his shirt and head tilted, as though he’s trying so hard to reach a dream he just cannot grasp.

Yet he’s clearer now, in a way. If she breathes the air flows between her lungs and she can hear his own breathing in sync, in and out, hold and let go. The sea breeze is cool and soothes the burning. 

She wishes she could stay here forever.   

By the sea. By his side.

She sits, and the air between them wails. Not too close and close enough at the same time. That’s what she tells herself.

Jaskier doesn’t turn to look at her, not yet. Still, as his eyes fall beyond the horizon darkened by the heavy grey clouds, it feels the same. She is not looking at him either, anyway. Wouldn’t deign.

A wave hits the shore, then another, sharp and steady and the waterdrops tingle their skin. 

He snorts then. Frustration. Tiredness. A want so deep he can’t unbury it from the depths of his chest no matter how hard he digs.

Despair is so tempting Yennefer wants to smile. Instead. “I wanted to hurt you,” she says and her voice is not too loud, floats with the breeze and yet it’s steady and certain like a dagger that she cannot hold back anymore.

Still, Jaskier’s breath doesn’t even hitch. He only huffs ever so faintly. “Me too.” A whisper. 

At that, she smiles. 

It would be a lie to say that she didn’t mean what she said and Jaskier knows it too. It would be a lie for either of them to claim that the other was wrong. Even if she tries now, she can’t bring herself to refute. A cursed thing. But it seems as though they didn't hurt each other more than they hurt themselves. 

“Will you leave?”

At that, she turns her head and finds him already staring and his eyes are somehow the colour of the sky, afraid and hesitant and ready to flood and she would swear they were just blue moments ago.

She swallows. She can’t leave. Not yet. 

But it’s always like that. Always leave first, makes for less pain she tells herself, always leave ashes behind lest she turns back and sees something she wants to go back for. His fingers fidget with his shirt feverishly, red on white, a healing wound to treat with care. She wants to leave. 

But now she can’t burn what she leaves behind, because the ache would feel just too familiar. Just too personal. And she’s tired of burning.

It’s almost funny how he waits stoically for an answer but she rarely succumbs to indulgences. “Will you?” she asks instead and they both pretend they don’t hear her voice quivering.

The way she looks at him is almost pleading and she never pleads. For herself to hope. For him to stay, just one last time, just to be sure. For a purpose. 

They’ve come such a long way to the sea. 

A lightning rips the sky and makes his eyes flash. Then, the rain. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, staring at her with an expression she can’t decode for once. The rain starts falling harder and his hair gets plastered on his face, and she can feel her dress sticking on her skin and for a single moment, she doubts the answer will come. 

But then Jaskier grins this idiot smile of his and it is happier than any other time and looks at her and looks and shakes his head and sitting beside her as she waits drained and drenched and desperate, he says with all the awe of the world, “Yennefer of Vengerberg, you are the most powerful, the most beautiful person I know.”

And she numbs.

Now there are two ways one can be powerful. The one she always had, chaos stroking every inch of her body, twisting and turning to her will. The other she learned to hold close, a plain need, to fall and heal and survive and do it all over, putting pieces back together. And in the past months she only was in the possession of the latter and she may have not healed chaos, but her chest is not as heavy when she breathes.

Then there are two ways one can be beautiful. The one she made herself, an illusion, elegant and imposing and bold like a wild horse but under the rain, exhausted and helpless, she feels that image slipping through her fingers. The other is when one is loved.

It is only then that she reaches out.

Tingling with a force more desperate than chaos, her fingertips trace his face and she is not as lucky this time, she doesn’t have an excuse. But she doesn’t need one. Jaskier looks at her as though she is the sea and he craves to drown in it, breathe her all in. There. His brow, his cheeks, the curve of his lips. 

He catches her hand in his own and slowly turns his head, kisses the inside of her wrist and it feels like sealing a truce, kissing an ages deep wound better.

Then, again, his eyes meet hers, raindrops hanging from his lashes. She can’t help it and she hates that she can’t. With a choked breath, she leans forward and his lips meet hers halfway through.

It’s not passionate, not even long. That comes later. It’s only so soft and shaking and deep and honest, like they finally learn how to breathe, like a shivering bird settling in its nest, like vindication. 

Like something they can only do now.

So they part just for a single moment, just to feel the rain cleansing their skin and look at how the other’s eyes glint in the storm, and then they kiss again.

This is neither about power nor beauty, Yennefer knows. But Jaskier kisses her as though he is determined to pour his heart inside her lest he forgets how to shape his love with words and she realises she knows exactly what he meant before. And she smiles into the kiss because this time, she might as well agree.

—

At night, it is different.

At night they are more desperate, more in a hurry even if they don’t know what is chasing them yet. Running to reach their own yearning that has long ago walked past them, running to grasp each other lest their bodies lose touch and they get so cold and hungry that they cannot move again.

At night, at this night, Yennefer finds she is more tender than she could ever imagine herself being. And she doesn’t know what makes her so. She only knows that Jaskier’s hands are all over her body, stroking and tracing and carving paths as though for her to find the way back to her heart herself, even if his fingers are eventually gone. She only knows that when he slips inside her the warmth makes her gasp and yet, somehow, it is as though he has never gone away, and he is so careful. She hates that he is so careful.

She cannot get enough of it.

It is dark and maybe they would like to conceal the want that is devouring their skin inch by inch with every drop of sweat, they would very much like to because it is dark and peaceful for once and they are too selfish. And still Jaskier will drop his forehead on her collarbone and she will feel every helpless crease of his eyebrows and his grip on her thigh will be so shaky and bruising that she will be grateful because the pain always makes it real. 

And she, she will card her fingers through his hair as he moves and they would like to hide, but he is so loudly breathless in his panting and she is so eager to spill his name from her lips as her back arches from the bed, as though it’s a curse she can’t get rid of no matter how hard she tries.

And then maybe they will both comply, drenched as they will be, and his free hand will blindly search for her limp one on the sheets, just to hold her, just to hold on, as though he is afraid of any part of them remaining apart, craving to lay himself on the dimple of her hip bone, on the creases of her palm, and rest. 

She will lace their fingers together and sigh and moan and hold on, and if she hears him whimpering, she speaks none of it. If she herself is choking on the lump in her throat, she still stays quiet.

And when she trembles and he cries out her name as though he needs to embroider each letter on his heart lest he forgets it, his grip on her hand comfortingly painful, only then will she let a single tear flow down her temple. And only then will his body slump on hers as he lets out a sob.

He doesn’t pull out, not immediately. Only he muffles his tears in the crook of her neck and she lets him cry, and doesn’t ask. Gods know he has plenty of reasons to cry.

She only keeps her hand steady on his hair, and her fingers tender.

When, after a while, she raises his hand to her lips and kisses the healing tips of his burnt fingers, slowly, softly, like a ritual over a wrecked shrine, only then he turns to look at her and their gazes meet.

His eyes are big and flooding blue and, on his tears, her own longing is mirrored painted on her face.

—

Later, when they are both half asleep and the pillow has dried from the tears and the want, Jaskier pulls a strand of hair behind her ear and his hand lingers.

Outside the first cicadas are forming a choir with the waves that hit the rocks. They sound more peaceful now. For once.

For once she is willingly pliant. Leans into his touch, even, because right now it feels safer than any darkness.

She fears she won't be able to get used to it again after him. 

For a mere second she flinches. Realizes she doesn't want to.

He catches the movement, of course he does, even in the dark. Frowns. "Can they trace you now?" he asks and they both know it's far from what any of them wants to say, but then again, how else could they?

Yennefer wishes she possessed a million caresses, for words are of no use now, not in this. Not in love. They sound too fake.

"Maybe. If they're still looking for me, they have to." She sighs. "And then it's–"

"The market."

She looks at him. For the first time in what feels like her whole life, she feels the need to apologize and she doesn't know if it's to him, or herself. For the first time, she craves for a fourth lifetime. For more time.

Jaskier is almost smiling at her, almost knowing and she wants to read his mind, find out what makes him so merry, but she knows. In his eyes, the smile dies.

She swallows. "You're not useless, Jaskier." At that he does laugh, silent and secretly grateful. Yennefer raises her brows, smirks. "An idiot, sure, a pain in the ass, absolutely, but–"

It does something in her heart, watching his eyes gleam with laughter, and it makes her laugh too. She means all of it, yes. But gods damn him, he's much more. Right now, she cannot name it.

Only, as he pulls her hair back again as though to gaze at her face more openly, and rests his hand on her cheek, she knows she wants to keep it. As long as it lasts. 

She's never wanted to stare at a mirror for so long.

But his eyes are too piercing and she can't help but speak. "I suppose what I want to say is…" She shakes her head, smiles. Lets her voice soften, though still certain, finally certain. "Thank you."

Jaskier stares at her then. Not so different from what he did before, but now it feels deeper, and if she looks closely she can see his lips quiver. As though to object and at the same time sob for something he had been waiting for so, so long it feels like a lifetime. 

He nods weakly. Raises an eyebrow. "Well your chaos is almost back but I really didn't do–"

"Jaskier." It's her turn to reach for his face, as though to carve the words on his skin with her fingertips. "Not just for that."

For the light, she would say, if words were of any use. For the healing.

But somehow he's come to know her too well for his own good so she says nothing. He understands anyway. 

Slowly, he leans to kiss her forehead, and rests his chin atop of her head, pulling her closer. Then a whisper, as though he doesn’t want to be heard, but knows she will hear anyway. "Thank you for coming back for me."

To this day, she doesn't know what pulled her to do it. She only knows she needed to. And, just this once, she is not afraid to admit it to herself and, as she reaches for his hand, to him.

But old habits die hard, and some of them are too precious to be lost. So she huffs. "I will let no firefucker kill you before I do so myself, bard." Despite her words, she nuzzles deeper in his hug.

He chuckles above her. "My darling, malicious witch, there is nothing I appreciate more."

—

Gently, the waves come like tender realizations. One, two. Jaskier is sitting beside her.

"Tell me," she says then, softer around the edges as though pleasantly frayed by the sea salt, "what are you willing to do? For that purpose of yours."

Jaskier turns to look at her, and seems surprised. Pensive. "I don't know," he mutters after a while and smiles, bitter, as if the few that he does know make for a tragic answer. He shrugs. "Probably anything."

With the corner of her eye, Yennefer catches him staring at his hands and realizes she too already knew the answer.

 —

They are outside and Jaskier is talking about planting new flowers in the garden when the soldiers come.

The rest is more like a fog.

The rest is unrelenting hands gripping her wrists and a clear voice shouting her name and the fire, rising inside her, rage and worry and an unreasonable sadness, because the sky is so blue and the flowers sounded like a good idea. It’s faces, cold and dark and cuffs held by merciless punishers, ready to fit around her wrists once more, just when her fingers have started to find their sparkle. 

In this momentary numbness she meets his eyes, blue and scared and searching for hers as he is pushed back, restrained by shadows. The partner of the traitor is also a traitor. Partner sounded sweeter than she expected as it flowed from the soldier’s lips, and Jaskier is looking at her pleading, do something, get us out, and if she looks deeper, I can’t lose you.

Oh, she can’t let them. It’s so early. 

Or perhaps she was too late. But it is only her nature, after all, to resist.

It is when she hears an order to burn that she cries out and flings her head back, crashing with the soldier holding her so hard that his nose starts bleeding. Good. Only, there are many. And Jaskier punches one, two, and then his brow is bleeding and someone tugs at her hands again, shaking and seething with newfound fear, newfound wrath. 

And then, the smoke. The fire. The garden is nowhere to be seen and the flames slip inside the house and lick the wooden table and the lace curtains and the white bedsheets turn to dust. And then, another punch, and a blade ripping the air beside her. And then a cry.

It is different this time. This time, it is more broken, desperate, painful. The pain, she feels herself, as though her own. But it is not.

Her eyes have only a moment to meet Jaskier’s, a sudden glaze over them now, before he doubles over, kneeling on the ground. That same blade is now dripping red. His hands are dripping red. His shirt is stained slowly, steadily, a huge pool, and his tears are dripping red too as he calls her name, not quite coherent in his suffering. Yen, he says, you have to run, please.

As if. As if she, standing now, terrified at the way he gasps and bleeds, shaking and burning along with their house and the garden and the curtains and the blue sky the smoke stains black, would ever let her life, walking on trembling legs, be snatched out of her hands, again, all over. She has been fooled once. There is no room for a second time.

Shaking. Burning. 

A grip on her wrist but this time there is no fog. Only smoke, and this familiar scream choking her throat, and she thinks, she has done it once. She can do it again.

So she screams.

Her arms are no longer bound but spreading at her sides and there is no fire this time, but a wave. One that she raises from the rocks and above them, above their little house, like an ages heavy dark cloud, crying out until her lungs burn, fingers tingling with power, and lets it crash on the soldiers before them like a million wails she forgot to utter the previous time, and a million thunders that echo like her pieces shattering on the ground. 

The wave splashes and drenches her whole. A cleansing anew, but she has no time to care.

When she turns around and runs at him, Jaskier is laughing. A bloody laugh, dripping and wet, wound gushing with every breath but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Told you,” he rasps and chokes, coughs.

She wants to strangle him. “Are you insane?” she asks because stupid, she knew he was, but her lot with sacrificing idiots didn’t include him until now. 

She kneels beside him, and stares. It seems like it’s the only thing she can do. Because it is no scratch, but a blade thrust deep with no mercy to stay put. It is deadly. 

A whimper. “Now, don’t be mad,” Jaskier’s voice is softer now. No, weaker. She looks at him. “I couldn't lose you again.” There are tears in his eyes and he looks at her as though he cannot stand losing even her sight. He shakes his head, helpless, half-conscious. “I couldn’t… Gods, it hurts.”

It’s too much. His eyes, teary and desperate so in contrast with the love in their gaze, the hollowness in his voice and the squelching of the wound, and then her body, tingling and burning and grasping at everything at once, chaos and fire and waves and his struggling heartbeat and his thoughts that whisper about how he can get drunk in her eyes, if it is the last thing he will do. Afraid, terrified. He never was the one to die. And then it hits her, final, like a rock that buries her heart down.

She can’t heal him like this. It will only kill him.

“Gods,” she whispers, shaking. “Gods, I hate you.” And helpless, even now, even in power, she gathers him in her arms like a dying bird.

He’s trembling now, scared and writhing, and the blood is pooling, pooling on his abdomen, on the ground. Maybe he utters one or two curses, and cries and grits his teeth, but Yennefer chooses not to hear him, lest it hurts even more. She can portal them away so that he heals and they are safe, she can, before the soldiers rise again. But go where?

A sob is choking her as she searches around, desperate. Oh, it’s too soon.

A hand, then, grasping her own with effort. She looks back at him as he grunts and shakes, as he chokingly searches for her to give him air. “Don’t fret, Yen,” and she wonders if love always sounds so bitter. “It’s only fitting.” He smiles, bloody and faint. Proud. “You were my new purpose.”

She shakes her head, breathless. “What…”

His grip on her hand becomes tighter before it loosens. Anything, anything, anything. 

Like a stab in her heart, she releases the sob and only has time to hold him closer before his eyes roll back and his head lolls limp on her arm. 

Her eyes widen with a cry. “Hey!” She shakes him as though to make him hurt on purpose. “Jaskier! You fucking bastard, open your eyes!” The smoke is swallowing them and she can hear soldiers grunting behind her. No time, no time. Her eyes are blurry. “Fuck you, bard,” but it’s only a soulless whimper and she craves to see a smirk in response, and it will be just another stupid trick, and he will look at her again. But he does not. Only, he lies unmoving, throat bared as though for her to have the final blow, so as not to break their deal. And his eyes still closed.

Something hot down her cheeks. She bears it no mind. Instead, she stays still, suddenly unaware of the danger, and lets her shoulders shake with the pain she swallows. 

In the distance, she hears her name.

It’s nothing. A whistle of the air beside her ear. A clash of swords. Blood splattered on her cheek. She flinches.

Her name, again and again, until she manages to tear her eyes away from the body in her arms and look up. There, to meet a pair of amber eyes staring at her wide, afraid, relieved, wanting. Her heart jumps in her chest for reasons she is far too paralyzed to consider now. She just lets out a breath, loud and broken and the tears flood her face but it doesn’t matter now as she takes the hand offered, almost unwillingly letting go of Jaskier, and stands up on steady legs. Steady, because there are shadows approaching with bare blades and he is here, at last, and she cannot help but stare.

“Geralt,” she only manages to say but there is no vitriol, no bitterness as she thought it would be, only a bit of regret and relief and pain and, inevitably, deep and instinctive, love. 

And Geralt squeezes her flaming hand, and for the barest of seconds, he smiles faintly.

Then the soldiers come again. But now her legs are steady and there is no fog. Only the rage, and the pain, and the chaos and the bleeding body on her feet, and the amber eyes reflected on the blade on her side and this, oh this is very much real.

As she rips them off the ground she finds the healing hasn’t gone to waste.

—

The healing spell is strong, Triss had said. The bandages are only a precaution.

Yennefer’s hands twitch as they rest on her lap, still getting used to their newfound power and the ache, and the bone deep regret that she wasn’t the one to gather the blood. She only ever spills it.

She doesn’t remember for how long she has been sitting on the chair.

She only knows that by now she can count every knot of the woollen blanket and every second between Jaskier’s breaths and every fluttering lash in his closed eyes. She only knows that her head is heavy with everything she wants to tell him when he wakes, because for some reason she is too used to talking to him. Even more to him replying.

There is a lump choking her throat. 

Damn him, she understands now. The fear, the dread she saw in his eyes every time she slipped, every time she fell, just like when they were running, just like that night he came for comfort. Don't leave me, don’t leave me, don't leave me. As though if she ever fell, if she ever run away again, he too would crumble to the ground.

Then, I can’t lose you.

She understands him now. As though inside his mind, reading him without even trying and this need to catch her, nightmare or not, is so palpable she can almost feel his fingers laced with hers and bloody.

And it's far from selfish anymore. 

Breaths coming slow, his chest rises and falls. Heavy. Yes, she will tell him everything.

Tell him about Geralt, maybe. His agony and relief and the way he looked at her like every hope he ever had buried presented itself before him, and it was easier than she had imagined. Because she could only rage and then look at him, and crumble. Because he still kissed her sweeter than she remembered as though to convince her that it was nothing less than love. That it always was. And she, so used to deceit, couldn’t find a single hint of lying in his eyes.

(Perhaps she wouldn’t tell Jaskier the latter. Not yet.)

Then, about Ciri. She thinks of the girl, and she smiles to herself. Of her huge, clever green eyes that stared at her still and warm, and inside them she could see how close she was, she could see a family. A purpose.

She has never been so close.

Her gaze lowers to his hand lying unmoving on the bed and she recalls when his fingers played with her hair, untangled them as though they were untangling the strings of her heart. He looks too pale. The blood is too much. She dares not close her eyes lest it flows before her again, red and dark and numbing to watch, to try and gather it as it slips through her fingers along with him. 

For her, all of it. As though she asked for it, as though it’s only through blood that love for her can be sealed and she knows, she should know it will always be so. Like a libation. 

But perhaps she did ask for it. The purpose, the love. She did ask for it, after all.

Silent, still. The keep is cold, and the blanket around her although warm is not enough. She remembers the tavern, then, and the fire. That morning she found him, trembling and burning, and she can only hope he is not cold as he lies. Maybe if she pretended it’s fine just like she did all this time, it would hurt less, but then again she never pretended. And, gods, it hurt. But as she tightens the blanket around her shoulders and remembers how it felt to be held, she knows that it was real, all of it. That for once she was openly and fearlessly loved.

She won’t tell him any of this. Neither this nor that she misses him, the smiles and the hope. She has hope too now, but it’s not the same. Because when she thinks of his eyes she cannot help but miss the sea, and that little part inside her that remains in grief. 

His chest rises, and falls. Silent, for once, but still there. Absently, her lips curve in a faint smile.

She won’t tell him any of it. Perhaps he already knows.

With a deep sigh, she reaches for his hand, and lets her eyes close.

—

When she wakes again, restless, the grip on her hand is tight and trembling.

It takes barely a second for her mind to clear and her eyes to fly up, only to meet a pair of blue ones smiling at her, wet and crinkling. And the voice, soft and thick, almost afraid. Jaskier shakes his head weakly. “Please tell me this is real.”

Before she can control herself, Yennefer lets out a gasp and throws her arms around him. And then it’s as if something melts inside her along with his laugh, like a wave that comes and swipes all of her dark thoughts away with its foam. And he, he lets his arms crawl up her back, tight and shaking as she chokes some stray sobs on his shoulder, tight and desperate, his laughter turning wet and heaving. A kiss. On her temple, her hair. Her neck, as he hides inside her. There.

“Fuck,” she whispers and at this point she can’t hear herself, can’t even hold back, but oh, she’s been holding back for too long to wait now. Breathless, angry, relieved. “Fuck, Jaskier.”

“We’re alright,” she hears him whispering in return. “We’re alright, we’re alright...” If she feels his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she holds him, and his breath hitching behind his smile, she speaks none of it. Because for once and despite all, they are alright.

A deep breath. Shaky. Yennefer swallows and raises her head to look at him as though it’s been years, like a ship that finally reaches its harbour. And Jaskier gazes back, lips quivering and the line between his eyebrows deep with longing. “Well,” he huffs and cups her face with his hand. “You look terrible.”

She squints at him, mostly to restrain the tears. “Have you looked at a mirror recently?”

Instead of a witty response, Jaskier’s face softens, such that the tears trapped in his eyes start flowing freely down his cheeks. “I have,” he says, looking inside her eyes, and smiles.

It continues to surprise her, as he pulls her close again to lie beside him, how she fits by his side. With no conditions, no promises, no protest. He only welcomes her, again and again, and she lies in peace and stays, their broken pieces so similar they fit with each other.

The room is dark and there are no lace curtains, no waves to hit the rocks. And maybe Jaskier has let Geralt grow inside him again, and maybe they both found the purpose, and maybe this time her eyes are enough for him to drink. 

Yennefer glances at him and finds him already staring. Loving. Yes, maybe her eyes are enough.

“I’m sorry,” she says then. “For the house.” 

Jaskier hums and shakes his head. Looks away for a moment, in the distance somewhere, at a constant ghost. “Some things are destined to burn.” The ghost looks back, and makes him shiver. But, again, he smiles, fingers softly buried in her hair as he turns back at her. His tears glint with hope. “But we still have the sea.”

For the first time since he saw her awake, Yennefer smiles. “Yes,” she whispers and reaches for his hand, holds it tight. “We still have the sea.” For the first time, she has no doubt at all.

Slowly, she leans and presses their lips together. Slow and calm and still shaking with their newfound fragility. Safe and pleasantly tired. Her lips curve on his, and he kisses her deeper.

Then she lies and rests her chin atop of his head and there, holding each other tight for their hearts not to scatter again, they sleep.

—

After everything is said and nothing is done, he gazes ahead, and sings.

It’s been too long since she heard him singing. It makes her smile, unwillingly, despite the grief of the song, and the pain. Despite. There is a hint of hope in his voice, raspy and trembling as it is with ache and disuse, still clear in its certainty. She has heard the song before.

His voice is beautiful in its weariness, like an old blanket, but she won’t tell him that.

With the corner of her eye she catches him staring at her. 

She doesn’t speak. Only, in silence, she hums along, until the moon hangs faint in the sky and their fingers touch side by side.

It starts, as it ends, with the sea.