#live free adventure pants review

[pascusflorida]

Outdoors Lifestyle Fashion – Adventure Meets Style 🌲👟🌄

Embrace the great outdoors with outfits that combine functionality and fashion! Whether you're hiking, camping, or exploring, stay stylish with these versatile, comfortable pieces that suit every adventure.

What's your go-to outdoor look? Drop a comment below, and don't forget to tag us in your adventure shots!

👉 Like, share, and gear up for your next outdoor journey! #OutdoorFashion #AdventureStyle #ExploreInStyle"

[therealcocoshady]

Ahhhh!! I love your stuff, you're so talented !!!

Could you write a Marshall x bookworm!female!reader oneshot abt reader always just having her head in books and Marshall wanting some attention please??

Thank youuu xx

More than me ?

Eminem X Bookworm!Female!Reader

Author’s Note : Hey ❤️. Thank you so much for your request ! I had some fun writing it ☺️. I hope you enjoy it !

No one expected a bookworm like you to end up with a rapper. On paper, it didn’t make much sense and yet, everyone around you agreed that Marshall was the perfect match for you. The two of you were somewhat nerdy, introverts who’d rather spend time in your house than go to a party with tons of people. And even if he didn’t read a ton of books, he made up for it by fully supporting your passion for literature. When you moved into his house, he let you transform one of the guest rooms into a library and he often surprised you with books on your wishlist. On special occasions, he would go the extra mile and gift you beautiful editions, sometimes first ones, much to your delight. And even though he politely refused your many offers to let him borrow some books, he was always happy to let you talk his ear off about books you liked.

- You should really read it, you said excitedly.

- Yeah but if I read it, there would be no point in you telling me about it, he said with a grin. I’d miss the best part.

- Sorry, you giggled. Is that too much ?

- Never, he said before pressing a kiss to your temple. I love that you’re passionate. I like listening to you. It’s like a podcast.

- You know, Shelly at the library keeps telling me to start one, you chuckled.

- Maybe you should give it a try, he replied. No one talks about books like you.

- Maybe I’ll ask Hailie for pointers, you shrugged.

This was the start of a crazy adventure for you. A year later, you were able to quit your job, relying on your podcast and advertisement to make a comfortable living. Advertisers were constantly soliciting you, willing to take advantage of your massive following. You had managed to gather a big community of bookworms such as yourself, who enjoyed hearing about your latest reads. It was your safe space and you simply loved it. Another perk was that publishing houses sent you tons of books for free, hoping you’d talk about them in an episode. Marshall’s house was big but you now had books in every room and always more books you needed to read. Your boyfriend was already used to always seeing you with a book but now, you had more time to read and were doing this full time. It wasn’t always sunshine and candy, though and, sometimes, you were on a schedule to finish reviewing a book before recording your next episode. At some point, you had decided to review a whole series that had been sent to you a week ago, and reading those eight books definitely took most of your time.

- Are you coming to bed ? Marshall asked.

- I have to read a couple more chapters, you said apologetically. Sorry, my love.

- You’ve spent the whole day reading, babe, he pointed out. How about you rest your eyes a little ? I could make them roll back into your skull…

- Are you propositioning me ? You asked with a grin.

- Absolutely, he replied with a smile. What do you think ?

- That’s tempting, you admitted.

Before you had even finished your sentence, he was grabbing your book, placing your bookmark, closing it and taking you to the bedroom. As soon as you reached the bed, he pinned you to the mattress and whispered in your ear.

- Been waiting for this all day, he said.

- All day ? You giggled. You were at work…

- And yet, you were the only thing on my mind, he grinned. Couldn’t think of anything else.

He made sure to show you exactly what had been on his mind, ravishing you in all sorts of positions, making you cry from pleasure, until you were both panting and exhausted.

- I love you, he said as he caught his breath. God, I missed you this week.

- I missed you too, you cooed. You’ve been working so hard, lately.

- So have you, he pointed out.

- I have to keep busy while you’re finishing your album, don’t I ? You giggled.

- Well, you have me to yourself for the next two days, he said. Told the team not to bother me unless someone dies. I’m all yours. And we’re not leaving this room.

- Interesting, you giggled. I have some work, though.

- You can read chapters in between rounds, he shrugged before burying his head in your neck.

You smiled and enjoyed his touch, the warmth of his breath on your skin. You ran your hands in his back and stroked his head. Moments later, he was asleep. His soft snores brought a smile to your face and you figured he needed the rest. Lately, he had been waking up extra early and coming home later than usual, occasionally going to California to work with Dre. You gently made him roll to his side of the bed and wrapped yourself in your silk robe before going back to your reading room and resuming your reading. Hours later, a grumpy boyfriend came to get you.

- You left, he groaned sleepily.

- You were sleeping, you said with a smile.

- Well, not anymore, he said. Come back ?

- I just have to finish this-

- Later, woman, he groaned.

- Ten minutes, you pleaded.

- Babe, he sighed. It’s 11PM.

- Yeah but-

- I need you, he said with puppy eyes. You don’t want me to get all lonely in bed, now, do you ?

You smiled at him, yet made a point of shaking your head in disapproval. He knew full well his lost puppy act would get him anywhere with you. You closed your book and went back to the bedroom. As soon as you got back in bed, he wrapped you in his arms, in a possessive stance. You chuckled and whispered sweet nothings before drifting off to sleep.

You woke up the next day to the sound of Marshall entering the room with a breakfast tray in his hands.

- Breakfast in bed ? You yawned with a smile. What’s the occasion.

- I thought we might enjoy a lazy day in bed, he said with a smile. You, me, food and movies ?

- Sounds good, you nodded.

He settled in bed next to you and you ate the copious amount of food he had prepared. You spent a few hours in each other’s arms, watching movies and cuddling. Marshall seemed exceptionally clingy, which made you smile. Physical touch had always been one of his love languages, but it was rare for him to spend hours on end cuddling. After a while, though, you decided to get back to reading. However, you didn’t find your book where you had left it.

- Babe, have you seen the book I had yesterday ? You asked. It’s blue, with flowers on the cover.

- I haven’t, he shrugged. Come here, you’ll find it later.

- I really have to finish, you said. I’ll go and search…

- Babe, he groaned, can’t we just have a few hours together ? I’ll help you search for it. Later.

- Ok, you shrugged. But it’s important.

He sighed and gestured for you to come back in his arms. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to the movie, though, and just enjoyed your presence until he fell asleep. Or so you thought. Because as soon as you moved, he let out a grunt.

- What ? He asked.

- Just going to search for my-, you began.

- Screw it, he groaned. Here’s your damn book.

He reached for his nightstand and handed it to you. You looked at him in disbelief.

- You realized I’ve searched for it for half an hour ? You asked.

- Yeah well here it it, he groaned.

- Why did you take it ?

- Because I want you to be with me, he sighed. It’s all about your books, these days.

- I’m working, you said defensively. It’s my passion !

- Yeah well why don’t you move into your reading room then ? He suggested. You like these books more than me anyway.

You sighed and then put the book down before taking his hand.

- What’s with you today ? You asked.

- Nothing, he shrugged with a frown.

- Marsh, you said tentatively. You’re short-tempered and clingy. Clearly, something’s wrong.

- I miss you, he sighed. That’s all.

- I’m right here, you pointed out. I even work from home. I’m literally always here.

- I like that you’re having fun but… you work too much, he said.

- I do work a lot, but it’s because I want to be successful, you said. And you’re one to talk. You’re a literal workaholic.

- Yeah well I’m tired of all this work and I want to hug my girl, he said. I’m stressed out and I need you.

You smiled and kissed his cheek before putting your book away.

- You know you could just have told me you needed me, right ?

- I guess, he said grumpily. I guess I didn’t want to sound like a total simp.

- I like it, you said. It’s cute.

- So you’re staying, this time ? He asked.

- Of course, babe, you replied. If you need me, that’s my priority. But… is there something wrong ?

- Nothing, he said. I guess I’m just under pressure. I just need you. You’re my safe space. I miss you, lately. And now that you have this shit ton of followers, you don’t even tell me about your books. I miss that too.

You nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

- I’m sorry, my love, you said. I just got really into all of it. But you’re my priority, you know ?

- Am I ? He asked.

- Of course, you replied.

- I love you, he said. Sorry I stole your book.

- Next time you try that, I’m messing up with your cassette wall, you threatened.

- You wouldn’t ! He gasped.

- Try me, you said with a raised eyebrow. Who knows ? Maybe all of them are in the wrong case. Maybe I’ve already done it.

He looked at you nervously and you gave him a threatening smirk. Knowing how much he cherished that cassette collection it was enough of a threat and a sure fire way to mess with his head. He groaned and got up.

- Where are you going ? You asked.

- To check my cassettes, he said.

- What ? You asked in a falsely offended voice. If you go, it means you love them more than me !

- Babe… of course I love them more, he said with a grin. Know your place, woman !

Note : I hope you enjoyed this one shot ❤️. If you did, you can support my writing via Ko-Fi ! I will also be giving previews of upcoming parts of Recovery and Love Game over there 😏.

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 18

Part 17

He’d heard stories from Dustin and the others about the tales Eddie made up for them. But hearsay was different from actually experiencing it. There was a quick review, a recap that Steve could tell was purely for him, someone who hadn’t been present for the previous tellings. And then they were off.

Eddie started off sitting but didn’t stay still for long. He moved like a man possessed as he weaved the next part of the story. His voice and his mannerisms changed depending on who he was speaking for. An old innkeeper had a withery tone and moved like a frail elder. But then he was a seamstress, with a soothing voice and an elegant way about her movements and gestures. The only time he stopped was when he paused to ask the others what their characters would do in the situation they found themselves in. 

“Stop trying to tell Will what to do, he knows what he should do”, Lucas said.

“Obviously he doesn’t if he hasn’t made a move yet”, Mike said, not backing down.

“You guys aren’t considering every angle”, Will said. “If I go on the offensive, we can cut through, but at the risk of all our stamina. If I go on the defensive, we risk running out of time.”

“And we NEED to save Max and El”, Dustin reminded them.

Max scoffed. “Who said we need saving? El’s working on the lock right now and I can zoom us out.”

“Your confidence is admirable, but misguided”, Mike deadpanned, flinching when Max lunged forward for a fake out punch.

She snorted and gave him a five finger love tap anyway. Eddie watched them all with a devilish grin, probably the most mischievous Steve had ever seen him before they finally came to a decision. The story moved on and ended with a cliffhanger of the boys making it to the wizard’s tower just as the girls broke free of their cage.

“And that is where we shall leave things tonight”, Eddie said, his smile only widening at the groans and boos thrown his way.

“We’re literally crashing through his doors! You can’t end it there!”, Dustin exclaimed.

“You always do this”, Lucas agreed. “You get some sort of fun out of leaving us hanging off the edge.”

Eddie stood up and brushed some imaginary dust off his pants. “That’s my creed, always leave them wanting more. Now off to bed with you.”

With more groaning and moaning, the kids trudged off. Rubbing their eyes and biting back yawns despite denials of being sleepy. Steve stood as well, hanging back just a bit until they were alone.

“So this is a bedtime ritual?”, he asked. ��Seems counterintuitive to get them so riled up before bed.”

“Started out that way”, Eddie said. “Grew into this. And what’s wrong with filling their heads with visions of adventure and feats of bravery before they go off to dream land?”

“Well, I must say you’re a master storyteller.”

Eddie moved from his chair and around the table. “We could make a character for you as well, little prince.”

Steve thought about how involved the children got with the story and how there seemed to be rules on who they could interact with and how. It all appeared very technical. He was rather certain they were performing equations in their head while doing it too. 

“I think I’ll pass. I wouldn’t want to ruin the flow of your story.”

When Eddie came to stand near him, Steve started towards the door and they easily fell into step next to each other. Standing this close no longer struck fear in his heart. Steve was beginning to understand that regardless of all else, King Edward, Eddie… was just a man. A man who cared about his subjects, about those in his care. Who did things to make them happy. Things like ordering tailored outfits for them.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to learn more about you-your kingdom. And how it all works.”

“How what all works?”, Eddie asked.

“The beasts at your disposal. The conflict between our two lands is mostly because of them. But your people don’t seem to be afraid despite living closer to them.”

“I know just the perfect teacher for you”, Eddie said as they got to Steve’s door.

Steve imagined Eddie taking him out into the woods again, allowing him to see the beasts face to face and learn first hand what made them so unique. He imagined also getting to know Eddie better. Many parts of him were still a mystery.

So he was a little disappointed the next day when a knock came on his door and it was not Eddie.

“You’re not Eddie.”

“No, I’m Scott Clarke. His Majesty has tasked me with your education. You can call me Mr. Clarke, the rest of the kids do.”

Steve had heard that name here and there from the kids, one of the castle tutors, the one they liked the most. Even so, it felt a little juvenile to be sat down in the library and looked over books and diagrams of something he had already seen with his own eyes.

“You might notice, Your Highness, that tensions rise between our lands mostly in the fall and winter. That is no coincidence. Demobeasts go into hibernation once spring begins and the weather starts to warm up. That doesn’t mean you won’t see the odd one out, perhaps to get a little snack in between its long sleep, but for the most part…”

Steve tried his best to pay attention, he really did. But he wasn’t much for book learning. He got by long enough to learn the basics, but he learned better by doing. Hands on sort of experiences. He tried sitting in Clarke’s lessons for a few days before getting sick of it and finally seeking Eddie out himself.

“You know, when I asked to learn more about your kingdom, I expected to learn from the king”, Steve said when he caught Eddie in the hallway.

“Ah, a king’s work is never done. I thought to give you a man whose knowledge rivals my own. If you wanted some special attention from me, all you had to do is say so.”

They were at least three feet apart and yet Steve felt pinned down by that gaze. It had been a while since he and Eddie had been alone. What would a private tutoring session even look like? Would Steve be able to focus on the actual lesson or…

“I wanted to learn about you too”, he admitted quietly before clearing his throat and speaking more confidently. “So you won’t teach me yourself?”

“I think if you really want to learn, you need to open your ears”, Eddie said. 

----------------------------

Steve took to asking others about Eddie instead. About his abilities, about his past, about everything. He spoke to Robin first, hoping to get the most straightforward answer.

“What’s there to say? He’s super old, he’s been ruling since forever, he can shapeshift and control beasts. You know the rest, total joker underneath it all.”

“How long have you known him?”, Steve asked.

“A few years. My mom was less than thrilled that I share affections with other women and I had to find a place to stay. Eddie let me in and the rest is history.”

When he asked Dustin it would’ve been easier to list the things Eddie wasn’t capable of. Changing into any creature imaginable, the power of flight, of sight beyond sight, whatever that meant. It got to the point where Steve was sure he was making things up.

“Next you’re going to tell me he’s an incredible dancer and can cook too.”

“Actually, he can’t do any of those things”, Dustin said. “He does this weird jig that makes his legs look broken and everything he makes comes out either under or overcooked.”

Well, that was a couple supposed flaws. But it didn’t really give him a better image of Eddie. He thought to question the other kids and got very similar answers. The boys practically worshiped the ground he walked on. El spoke reverently as well but didn’t really talk about how she and Eddie had met. Max was less impressed by the feats Eddie had accomplished but despite everything, she respected him.

It wasn’t lost on Steve that most of these children rarely mentioned their parents. Dustin’s mother worked in the kitchen and only after asking directly did Lucas reveal he had a family that lived in the town. But the others were still an enigma. Just as he thought to press deeper, Nancy shoved him against the wall.

“Hey what-”

“Why are you interrogating everyone?”

“Interrogating? Does it look like that?”

“You’re asking personal questions. A lot of them people might not want to answer”, Nancy said, glaring at him.

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Everything? Everyone? People have always said I’m an idiot and for once I’m trying to fix that.” 

Nancy glared and crossed her arms. “Sometimes people aren’t so open to sharing. I hope you understand that.”

“I do.”

Her expression softened just a little. “A lot of us have things we want to hide. That’s why we’re here-Eddie-he-he lets us live the way we want. Without fear. That’s the most important thing. At least in my opinion.”

Steve nodded. “I understand.” 

And he did. He just wished to know, to really know, to be…well a part of it all. Sometimes it still felt like he was on the outside looking in. He was sitting by his window, gazing up at the stars, wondering what else was missing. Just about all his needs were being met. He was getting closer with everyone. And yet there was still this itch under his skin. He felt silly the next morning, but it took a hazy dream of hands and lips and then waking up to his own erection to realize what he had been hungry for.

Part 19

Tag Team

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@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

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@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane

[konosuba5]

Konosuba - A Review

Konosuba is a hilarious parody of isekai anime with a lot of humor and gag. It also features deep characters with complex relationships that are built throughout several arcs.

It started out as a light novel and has since been adapted into an anime, manga, and movie. The series is licensed by Yen Press.

Kazuma Sato

After dying in a car accident, Kazuma Sato is sent to another world alongside Aqua, the goddess of water. They are transported to a fantasy world that is ruled by a demon king who seeks to oppress the free people of this world.

He is a young man of average height, 5'4" (165 cm), weighing 120lb with slightly spiky chestnut-brown hair and green eyes. He wears an adventurer outfit consisting of a gold-trimmed green mantle, white shirt, pants, and leather boots. He carries his short katana, Chunchunmaru.

Before he was sent to this world, Kazuma was a hikikomori (game-obsessed shut-in) who spent his spare time playing video games and watching anime. He also had a neet personality, which meant that he was extremely lonely and absorbed in his own world of otaku entertainment.

Aqua

Aqua, as Kazuma often calls her, is the Goddess of Water. She is one of the three main deuteragonists in Konosuba and guides Kazuma's party as they set out to defeat the Demon King.

She is a very powerful Goddess, but she also has her weaknesses. This is shown in her struggles dealing with giant toads and alligators, which are among the monsters of this world.

Even so, Aqua still loves this world and wants to stay here with Kazuma. This makes her one of the most likable characters in the series, despite her flaws.

Like other Gods, she has her weaknesses, but they are just part of her nature. She hates the undead and is a fierce monster when she encounters them, but she can also be compassionate when it comes to her human friends.

Megumin

Megumin is the arch-wizard of the Crimson Magic Clan, and she's a master of the most powerful magic in the world: Explosion! That's a lot of power, and one spell can wipe out an entire army.

She's obsessed with Explosion so much that she can't live without performing it at least once a day. And even when she's not using it, Megumin is usually working on improving her signature magic.

Her obsession with Explosion has made it so that she's not able to learn other magic skills, which means she can only depend on her party's wizards for help when casting. And when her mana reserves run out, she's unable to cast any other spells at all.

She's been a member of Satou Kazuma's party since they first arrived in Axel Town, and she's become the main support for him on his quest to stop the Demon King. Despite her lack of use, Megumin is a fun and interesting character to have around.

Darkness

A devout follower of the Eris Cult, Darkness was born into the Dustiness house of nobles and is nicknamed "the Shield of the Kingdom". However, while her looks may suggest a powerful person, she is actually a complete masochistic pervert.

Her masochism extends into her relationships with those close to her, especially Kazuma. She has even tried to seduce him, and forced herself on him in order to win over his affections.

Despite her masochistic urges, she does not willingly submit to her enemies. Instead, she fantasizes being overpowered. Check their site to know more details re zero

In addition, she is genuinely uncomfortable with humiliation; she feels a great deal of shame when her swordsmanship is consistently incompetent and she misses target directly in front of her.

She also tends to be timid with those closest to her, especially Kazuma. This is particularly obvious in her interactions with Verdia, when she tries to put a death curse on her. On the other hand, she does not feel the same level of intimidation or fear when it comes to having intimate moments with her friends and lovers.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 4- Four Marks

Summary: Your travels have taken you to a tavern where you meet the most unlikely of individuals. Then as per usual, trouble ensues.

Warnings: getting manhandled by some elves

Masterlist

Laughing into your mug, you catch the annoyed gaze of your silver haired lover who sits quietly to the right of you on this wooden bench, your backs resting against the stone wall. Its been a couple long weeks since either of you have had moment like this to just sit around and drink with each others company. Geralt may not particularly enjoy the surrounding company of the other tavern goers who fill the hall with their loud speaking voices and obnoxious laughter. But he knows just how much you love the easy entertainment of the civilians living their lives as they have a merry go of it.

"Did I not tell you my seductive powers would work wonders with that idiot from Bruna?"

"You did." Mutters Geralt humorously as he side eyes you.

"Ha, exactly. He had not a chance, try and steal Roach again and you will sorely regret it." You boast happily before taking a swig of your drink, "Hmm, this tastes not half bad either. I've had better of course, but this, not a terribly shit drink in all honesty."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it then."

You smile brightly at your stoic Witcher, he appears rather unenthusiastic but you know what emotions lay behind those two golden eyes of his. He's greatly content having you sit next to him and ramble on about your cleverness in the face of mortal men. He'd have no one else in the entire Continent do such a thing but you, and that's why you love him.

"Right? Great mead, anyways I am a force to be reckoned with, and you know he might have even pissed himself once I gave him a fright. It's what I like to do, lure them in with coy beauty and.." You scrunch your nose while making a fist, "...I got them in my clutches. They never even saw it coming."

"Not once." Agrees Geralt as you lean an elbow against the table to lazily look up at his handsome face.

"You know what?" You ask slyly, scarlet irises trailing all around his face.

"Hmm?"

"You actually look very nice in this lighting, the way you just look around at everyone like you hate the world. It's very sexy." He raises a brow as you smile, "Aside from the stench of horse, sweat, and blood that seems to ever linger on your skin..there's just something about your particular scent that I cannot quite put my finger on."

"You tell me this monthly."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Maybe it has to do with my blood?"

"No. Witcher blood tastes like old mule piss." You add before caching yourself, "Which I wouldn't have the slightest idea personally why. However I know a vampire or two who have divulged in that luxury and have lived to tell me....Not that it's a luxury as in a positive sort of mind, more so, an experience of indulgent sumptuousness for my kin." You're really trying to make this sound less horrendous.

"Drinking Witcher blood?"

You shrug half defensively through a sheepish grin, "What? I never said they killed these Witchers. Okay, okay, that also sounds bad. I promise you though, if they would have killed one of your brethren they would have boasted about the bloodshed. It's what vampires do. So no worries, your friends at Kaer Morhen are most certainly still breathing." Geralt simply holds back a grin as he shakes his head at you and your rambling.

He doesn't care if you know what Witcher blood tastes like, he wouldn't even care if you personally have tasted Witcher blood against your own tongue. He just doesn't want you to stop speaking, it distracts him from the sounds of the tavern goers and that bard. Geralt hums, "Y/N that could have happened three hundred years ago for all I know."

You pause a moment to think, eyes glancing from the window to him as you give a casual shrug, "It might have."

Soon the not terribly horrendous sounds of a bards singing fills your ears with the sweet tunes of an old lute giving what it can to the world as other tavern goers throw bread at the singing man. Oh right there's a bard here. You keep your witty comments to yourself as Geralt keeps his tense stare down with the wooden table while he tries not to grab anyone's unwanted attention, when you glance over to the bard again he's notably walking your way, drink in hand. What now?

Bringing your drink to your lips, you eye up the brightly colored bard as he saunters over, a peculiar smile playing at his features while he leans against a wooden pillar, "I love the way you two just...sit in the corner and brood, minus you my dear lady, what an odd place for such an exquisite creature to..."

"We're here to drink alone." Interrupts Geralt gruffly, you set your drink on the table, a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

The bard nods, looking down for a second before his blue eyes scan over you and Geralt once again, "Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except.." The curious bard walks around the oaken pillar before sitting down across from you and Geralt, "for you two. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with...bread..in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less." Inquires the cheerful bard, a smile upon his bright visage as he waits patiently for an answer. You pull your legs up onto the bench, leaning your right side into Geralt's strong body as you relax a bit more, amused by this bards bold questioning.

"They don't exist." You finally answer, tucking your hands under your arms as you attempt to get a little bit more comfortable. The bards give you a quizzical look, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What...doesn't exist?" Ponders the bard as he raises a dark eyebrow at you.

"The creatures in your song." Retorts Geralt bluntly.

"And how would you two know?" Vouches the bard with a smile, excitement upon his face at this little guessing game he's just thrust upon himself, "Oh, fun. White hair...two very scary looking swords.." He quietly proclaims turning his attention now to you, "Hmm marvelous, irises the color of roses...dagger at your hip..." Geralt suddenly begins to get up, done with the bards never ending questions. You stand up yourself, the bard just continues to look at you two like you're the most interesting beings in the whole world, "I know who you two are." He confidently rules out while happily watching you both from his chair.

Geralt walks past him as you follow at his side, the two of you heading for the door as the bard jumps up to trail along, "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia....and you're the dhampir princess, Y/N of Alkatraz. Called it!" Concludes the bard enthusiastically, much too loudly for your liking. You ignore the turning faces of the other tavern goers before a curly haired young man rises to his feet before you can reach the door to freedom.

"A job I've got for ya's. I beg you." He pleads almost nervously, you halt your movement as Geralt does the same, the two of you abruptly turning to face the man, "A devil...he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat." His eyes nervously shifting from you to Geralt.

"One fifty." Chides Geralt, the man immediately pulls out a small sack of coin previously hidden within his coat, a hopeful smile upon his pimply face.

He flashes you a warm grin as his gaze shifts from you to Geralt once again, "I've no doubt either of you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." He gives Geralt the sack of coins, the bard watching intently in the foreground, time to kill a devil then.

——

You were able to walk bard free all the way to the gates of the small mountainous tavern and twelve feet into the gravely dirt road before the bard had tracked you two down. Now here you are, a good distance onto the road as you head for the hills where this devil hides, Geralt leading Roach as you walk in front of them, the bard trying to converse with Geralt to his immediate left.

"Ah. You guys need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the, uh, devil's horns." Confirms the bard breathlessly, trying to keep up with yours and Geralt's quick pace up the hill.

"Go away." Grumbles your annoyed Witcher.

You snicker, just imagining what Geralt's face looks like right now as the bard continues to pester him, "I won't be but silent back-up." The bard cheerfully exclaims, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis, you turn to look at him with an amused grin upon your face.

"Yeah I bet you really know how to muzzle that continuous yapper of yours." He smiles back at you, turning his attention back to Geralt.

"I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories..."

"That's if you survive them." You interrupt with a smirk, glancing back around, catching the animated face of the bard.

He smiles to himself as he holds onto the strap of his old lute, "Yes well, you two, smell chock full of them...amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion?" You turn your head to give him a questioning look, he gives you a quick nervous smile before continuing, "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak, not for you two of course it's just a meaning..."

"It's onion." Mutters Geralt.

"Blood." You add.

"Right, Yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia and his dangerous lady Y/N of Alkatraz...the-the Butchers of Blaviken!" Bellows the dreaming bard, throwing his hands into the air, Geralt suddenly stops moving, turning to face the smiling idiot.

In one quick motion he punches the bard in his stomach, sending him staggering back onto the dusty road in a coughing and sputtering mess. Geralt turns back to you with a nod before he and Roach continue on past you, you give the bard a diverted look as he slowly picks himself up.

"You've been punched by a Witcher, how's that for your first taste of adventure?" You muse, raising an eyebrow at him.

Clearing his throat of dust he grins at you, "Better then I had hoped." He replies while letting out a small chuckle as he follows you up the road.

——

"Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or-or something. Mind if I hop up? I'm not really wearing the right footwear." Suggests the bard as he attempts to reach out for Roach's rider-less backside. You sit upon the mare in front of your man, Geralt kindly letting you lean into his leather armor clad torso as he holds her reigns.

"Don't touch Roach." Warns Geralt, the bard immediately pulling away.

"Yeah, right, yeah." He disappointingly replies as you lightly chuckle at the two of them. Soon you and Geralt reach a small tree, where Geralt jumps down to tie off Roach, you sliding off to take a sharp look at your rocky surroundings. The bard watches intently at what your plans are next, deciding to deliver some historical information about the landscape as he tells you how elves called this place Dol Blathanna before they gave it up to the humans. You let him ramble on, unaware you already are educated on the history of this part of the continent, you are almost five hundred years old after all.

You raise your head to find an opening in the large rock formation where the trail appears to lead. Geralt walks past you, sharing an annoyed look as you both listen to the bard rambling on about something you're not listening to. Geralt lets out a huff before turning around and walking down the dusty trail, you trailing after him as the bard lingers in the background.

Your crimson eyes trail over the nearby clusters of tall grasses as the bards loud voice fills your ears, "Geralt? Y/N? Wh-where are you two going? Guys, don't leave me. Helloooo? What are we lookin for again?" Inquires the bard noisily from behind the two of you while you walk past straggly protruding rocks and tall green grasses on either side.

"Blessed silence." Mutters Geralt.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you two ever hunted a devil before?" He wonders as both you and Geralt stalk silently towards wherever this devil lays hiding in the brush.

"They don't exist." You add, pulling out your large silver dagger as you listen intently for any unusual sounds.

The bard continues to ramble on while you catch the sight of something tall hidden in the grass, you can hear the rapid heartbeat of this nervous creature. A second later a tiny stone shoots from out of nowhere, slicing Geralt on the forehead as the bard cheers excitedly about how "act two" of his adventure has begun. You watch as his eyes go wide once they spot the devil rising from out of the greenery, you turn to squint at the creature, unsure of what it truly is from here.

"Oh fuck." You whisper before it launches another stone right at you, with supernatural speed you shift to the side where the stone flies past your head, this time knocking out the chatty bard in the process. You and Geralt share a confused glance as you turn to search for this horned fucker before he ends up bloodying you next time. With the beast lost from your vision, you zero in on his thudding heartbeat, not even fifteen seconds later does the devil burst forth from the tall grass. Launching Geralt a good couple yards back as you watch in bewilderment, to taken aback to help him with his unexpected assault.

Within seconds your Witcher is on the hooved half-man, pinning him to the ground as they exchange clever insults with one another. You catching the creatures name to be Torque the Sylvan as it yells at Geralt before he punches the Sylvan in the face to daze him.

Suddenly you can hear the irritated thumping heartbeat of an unfamiliar being when something cracks you across the side of your head from seemingly out of nowhere, sending you staggering to your knees as a small trail of blood trickles down the side of your temple. Your hands catch yourself on the rough gravely dirt as your knees jab into some rocks while you land. When you look up again a large shadowed person is standing above you before they violently bash you in the face with their boot, then darkness.

——

When you wake up again your hands are chained to the wall and a steel collar has been tightly locked around your neck. Your eyes slowly look up to find an unconscious Geralt tied to an equally unconscious bard. The small stony cave prison smells of recent activity in the tell tale scent only an elf could have, shaking your head in agitation you listen to the quiet clinking of your chains. This is not how you intended for today to go.

When you try to pull at your restraints for the first time, you're welcomed with an intense burning sensation flaming the flesh of your left wrist. It appears whoever has taken you prisoner has coated this specific constraint with silver, so whenever you move it just right the metal makes contact with your exposed wrist, fantastic.

After waiting another ten minutes and listening to the bard complain once he finally awoken, Geralt at long last stirs, his eyes going wide as he desperately tries to look around the small stone room. Clearly in a panic and unsure how he got here in the first place.

Letting out an irked sigh you kick his foot to gather his distracted attention, "Oh good you're finally conscious, I thought I was gonna have to kick you awake." You quip at Geralt as the bard chuckles from behind him.

"Now, this is the part where we escape."

"This is the part where they kill us." Grumbles Geralt.

"Who's they?" Asks the bard before an elven woman races into the room, she smells almost sickly and looks even more furious as she kicks them in the head, quickly shutting them up as they grunt in pain.

"Beast." She fumes in Eldar, kicking Geralt once again as you hiss at her, gaining a satisfied smirk upon her elven features, you'd rather enjoy smacking that off her face. A dark curly haired one walks into the room, immediately his eyes catch the bards old lute laying on the floor next to your dagger and Geralt's sword.

You can't see as the bards eyes go wide in fear, "Oi, that's my lute, give it back!" Whines the bard as Geralt gives the she-elf a furious glare, "Quick Y/N, do your scary vampirey thing!" He quickly urges, you'd love nothing more then to shift into a half bat creature and scare the flesh right off this she-elf's bones, but a little problem called silver is preventing you from doing so.

"Shut up." Grumbles Geralt as the she-elf first kicks you in the legs and then Geralt, you're more pissed off then in actual pain from her brief assault.

"You shut up!" She barks in Eldar.

"My Eldar speech is rough. I only got part of that." Replies the bard as you roll your eyes.

"She said shut up." You implore before getting kicked again, the burn of the single silver handcuff sending fire into your wrist as you bite back the pain. The bard then replying to you in broken Eldar as you tell him to "fuck off" back in the same language, Geralt flashing you a confused grimace, unaware that you're fluent in Eldar.

"Do you wanna die right now?" She sasses, staring them down.

"As opposed to later?" Growls back Geralt as she kicks him harshly in the stomach, doing the same to the bard as he cries out for his now broken lute.

"Leave off!" Barks Geralt as she walks around to fiercely punch him in the face.

Your eyes shimmering blood red as anger flashes through them, "I'll slit your fucking throat you elven cunt!" You hiss as she whips around to thrust a boot into your side, the silver chain sizzling your broken flesh at the jarring impact sending you into a flurry of muffled curses, Geralt's eyes softening as he watches you grimace in pain, wishing he could do something about it.

Weakened with this one silver coated cuff, you're not even strong enough to break out of here. Damn silver.

The she-elf scoffs as she glares at the three of you tied up, "You don't deserve the air you breath!" Smack, directly into your Witcher's cheek, "Everything you touch, you destroy!" Another blow straight onto his face in the same moment that the curly haired elf breaks the bards lute in two. Well there goes that.

"You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!" Screams the bard angrily as you lift your head up higher so your steel collar can't completely suffocate your windpipe, the sting in your wrist keeping you alert and ready to fight.

She sneers at him, "Do you like my palace? Hmm?" She grins maliciously, crouching down to take Geralt's fuming bloody face in her hand, "Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?" She challenges quietly before you pull on your chains, striking her roughly in the nose with your boot, the burning of the silver worth her pained gasps as she stumbles backwards. Falling onto the sandy floor of the stone cave as she sputters and coughs, spiting out a glob of blood while the bard laughs.

"Yeah, take that, pointy!" He cheers as she coughs and wheezes some more from her pathetic spot on the ground, the bard suddenly looking concerned, "Wait, what's-what's wrong with her?" He wonders, trying to twist his head around to find you and Geralt. Suddenly a blonde haired elf and the Sylvan enter into your small stony prison.

"She's sick." He simply states, reaching down to kindly tend to his fallen companion from the ground.

Giving him a bewildered look you lean against the stony wall, "And who the fuck is this?" You snap, lightly pulling on your chains in frustration.

"He's Filavandrel, King of the Elves." Quickly answers the Sylvan as he rushes to the fallen elleths other side.

"Not a king by choice." Affirms the elven king Filavandrel as he glances over the three of you.

Geralt's brows furrow in thought, "You were stealing for them." He concludes with a sneer, blood still present on his lips, the Sylvan turning to answer him.

"I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna."

"Forced out? No, they chose..." Starts Geralt.

The elven king snaps his attention over to Geralt, "Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?" Angrily interrupts Filavandrel before turning his attention back to the she-elf, "Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt."

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?" She sneers, a messy trail of blood dripping down from her nostrils.

"One human. And you can let him go." Protests Geralt with a nod in the bards direction.

"Then Posada will learn that we've been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die...on both sides." Insists Filavandrel as he stands, walking over to look down at Geralt and you.

"The lesser evil." Replies Geralt as he raises his head to look at the elf king in the eyes, "No matter what you choose, you'll come out bloody and hating yourself. Trust me." The elven king crouches down, almost at eye level with your fuming Witcher, he's in a perfect position to crack across the back of his scull, but smartly you think otherwise.

"That's the problem. I can't. This is necessary." Implores the elven king.

"I understand. As long as you understand...that it won't be long before you follow me in death." Replies Geralt dramatically.

The elven king scoffs, "Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic."

"Chaos is the same as it's always been." You finally add, he turns to look down at you, "Humans just adapted better."

"You say adapt, I say destroy." Corrects Filavandrel, anger lacing his every word.

"You are choosing to starve. You're cutting off your ear to spite your face." You vouch back, his face morphing into one of great resentment and irritation.

"You think this is about pride?" He yells, "My elders worked with humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. "The Great Cleansing," humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow...our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don't wish to bury anyone else....I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavendrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing down to human sovereignty....They'll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children." Explains the elven king, sadness and hatred coating his very words, you truly do feel for him and all his kind have endured at the greedy hands of humans.

"Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more then what they fear you to be." Argues Geralt, trying to help these elves see the light.

"Like you, Witcher?" Whispers Filavandrel.

"I have learned to live with them." His golden eyes suddenly finding yours before he looks back up at the elven king, "We both have, so that we may live." The she-elf, Toruviel jumps to her feet.

"Please my king. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight! Let's take back what's ours. Starting now." She insists confidently, Filavandrel pulls his dagger from its sheath and your breath catches in your throat at what he may do next.

"Don't fucking touch him!" You growl, pulling at your tightly restrictive chains, the clink and slink of the metal sounding throughout the stony room, right as the Sylvan races to the kings side. "Wait!"

"Torque, stand aside!" Shouts Filavandrel sharply.

"The Witcher could've killed me. But he didn't. He's different. Like us." Swears Torque the Sylvan, Filavandrel simply pushes him aside as you pull on your steel chains, it almost feels like you can't breath with how tight the collar is around your throat, the fiery burning of your wrist oozing red hot blood from beneath the silver cuff and onto the dusty floor.

Your Witcher simply watches Filavendrel's every move, a defiant look his his golden eyes, "If you must kill me...I am ready." Pledges Geralt softly, staring down the elven king the whole time, no this cannot be the end, not now.

Pulling even harder on your iron chains, you growl at the king, "If you end his life I will coat the walls of your golden palace in the blood of every living creature that crosses my path!" You scream furiously, tears welling up in the corners of your scarlet eyes as you violently yank on your chains, more blood seeping out from your silver cuffed wrist.

Geralt sadly glances to you before looking back up at the elven king holding his dagger, "But the Sylvan's right. Don't call me human." Continues Geralt as Filavandrel moves to his side for a better angle to slit his throat. To your absolute horror Geralt locks eyes with you before tilting his head up, opening up his neck for a clean shot of his jugular.

Your face falls before turning into a wolf-like snarl, "I cannot promise you a clean death. But by god, I will let you watch your people suffer!" You cry desperately as the elven king raises his silver dagger, wet salty tears unknowingly begin streaming down the sides of your cheeks as your eyes go wide in hopeless dread. Filavandrel gives you one last look before thrusting his dagger upon your lover.

——

You sit silently upon the back of Roach as she's guided by Geralt who keeps one hand on the leather reins and the other hand across your waist. Your fingers hold onto his muscular arm tightly as a white bloodied cloth covers your left wrist where the silver cuff burned and tore at your flesh. It still stings and most definitely wont heal for awhile, but your pain doesn't matter, all that's of your concern is the fact that Geralt's alive and so are you.

"Credit where credit is due." Starts the bard as he walks beside Roach and the two of you, "That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." Says the bard before comically imitating Geralt's gruff voice, "Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt glares down at him before the bard continues, "Oh and you Y/N, with those incredibly convincing bloody threats, genius, they looked terrified.." He boasts for you, "That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavendrel's lute not a charming enough gift for you?" You wonder, the bard swaggers with each step, a bright smile upon his dirty face.

"Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again? Be reborn." Suddenly the bard begins to sing, "Will the elf king heed, What the Witcher entreaty? Is history a wheel. Doomed to repeat? No that's...that's shit." Surmises the bard, squinting his eyes as the sun beams down brightly upon the three of you on the dusty dirt path.

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good." Remarks Geralt as you lean into his body, turning your head towards the bard.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you two. At least allow me to try." He politely insists as he whips his lute around to gently strum her cords, "When a humble bard. Graced a ride along. With Geralt of Rivia..." Sings the bard, happily strumming away at his new lute as he makes it up on the go, "And so cried the Witcher. He can't be bleat..."

"That's now how it happened." Grumbles Geralt as he quickly halts Roach, "Where's your newfound respect?" Wonders Geralt as the bard turns to look at him, an unbothered smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head he looks up at Geralt, "Respect doesn't make history." He corrects before turning around once again, "Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plenty. O Valley of Plenty, oh-oh-oh. Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plentyyyyy." He sings loudly, continuing to delightfully strum at his prized lute while taking the lead down the dirt path, out of earshot from your whispering.

Hugging Geralt's strong arm that's lazily casted over your abdomen, do you lightly laugh at the bards antics and Geralt's moodiness, "It's a bit catchy isn't it?" You muse while craning your neck to catch his annoyed golden irises, "Why not keep him around...until he gets sick of us or...maybe eaten by a werewolf, who knows."

Geralt raises a single eyebrow to you, "Our nights under the stars are about to get uncomfortable." He simply replies, hugging you pleasantly closer as he clicks his tongue for Roach to walk again. You chuckle at his adorably concerned remark, glad that today didn't end in sorrow and death for once.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[skullsandwineglasses]

Love and Redemption Review

Overall, I have to say that the story was really good, maybe even better than the popular xianxia romances that came before it like Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms, Love and Destiny, and Ashes of Love. The romance may be comparable to AOL, but as a whole, the plot in L&R was more interesting and cohesive.

****SPOILERS AHEAD FOR LOVE AND REDEMPTION AND OTHER XIANXIA DRAMAS****

Plot

What sets Love and Redemption apart from the other 3 xianxia romances is that Love and Redemption also feels like a quest/adventure story, while also delivering a gut-wrenching, star-crossed romance plot. What’s interesting about L&R is that the main focus is on the mortal realm and the FL and ML’s current mortal incarnation, as opposed to the heavenly realm and their immortal identities.

The actions of the mortals have consequences across the 3 realms, as opposed to other xianxia romances that only use the mortal realm as a temporary stage for the leads to fall in love. The other 3 xianxias that I mentioned all opened up in the heavenly/celestial realm first, while the mortal realm was just a brief trial that the leads have to endure before returning to the immortal realm. The moral realm in L&R therefore feels livelier and more eventful, and the mortals have more agency and are not easily influenced by celestial beings. Whenever a celestial being does come down to the mortal realm, their powers are limited and are they are bound by the rules and restrictions of the mortal realm (which means that celestial beings can’t use their powers to mess with the emotions and decisions of mortals). 

The drama opens up with a tournament being held at the FL’s sect and members from all the other sects are arriving for the tournament. When the FL and ML meet, they are on equal footing (well, equal in terms of status as disciples, but not so much in terms of magical prowess). It’s like when you were in high school and you meet the visiting basketball team from a rival school, and then end up becoming friends with them.

Love and Redemption also takes the audience through a mystery. What is the true immortal identity of the FL? What’s her relationship to the Star of Mosha? Is she the saviour or the doomsday harbinger? Does the ML have an immortal identity too? Why do they have the same birthday? The drama keeps us on our toes because we learn about the truth and the history of the characters as they’re discovering it, as opposed to the other xianxia dramas where there is very little mystery and few plot twists.

Because of this mystery, the drama is tight and well-paced, since a new piece of the puzzle is always being revealed. Just when you thought that the mystery is solved, there’s a twist, and you realized that the twist was set up from the very beginning of the story, but you just missed it. 

The story also doesn’t stray from the main leads. Yes, there are subplots (as all dramas do), but the subplots here are brief, and they usually relate back to the main leads. Unlike in AOL where the later half of the drama derails and focuses on the two other supporting couples, while the main leads only get about 10 minutes of screen time. 

The Male Lead - Yu Si Feng

Before starting the drama, I read a lot of comments about how much whump and emotional torture the ML goes through and how much he sacrifices for the FL. I thought this was an exaggeration. I mean, Xufeng in AOL went through a lot of Jin Mi too, (and you could make the same argument for Ye Hua in TMOPB, or Bai Zi Hua in Journey of Flower), so I was a little hesitant about the premise since it’s such an old trope, and I was doubtful that it could top the sacrifice that other MLs have done in other dramas. 

But reader, boy was I wrong. Yu Si feng is the definition of limitless, unconditional love. I lost count of how many times he almost died for the FL (not including the 9 times she killed him in their previous 9 lives). He’s spitting up blood and stabbed in nearly every episode. Episodes 37-47 were the hardest to watch because of the escalating chronic angst and misunderstandings between him and Xuan ji that caused irreversible damage to their relationship. Even when she tries to kill him and tells him she regrets having ever known him, he still drags himself back to rescue her. To quote Si feng himself, it’s not a question of whether or not it’s worth it, but it’s a question of whether you are willing to do it. And Si feng is as eager and willing as ever to sacrifice everything for Xuan ji. 

I mean, even Xufeng in AOL and Ye Hua in TMOPB snapped at the FL’s cruelty and aloofness at one point, but Si feng seems incapable of ever being angry with Xuan ji. Even when Si feng purposely tries to avoid her, it’s out of protection for her, not out of anger for everything she’s done. Like??? Si feng is impossibly perfect, even by the impossible standards of xianxia. 

Cheng Yi plays Si feng to a T. He conveys a different type of pain in every crying scene, and so Si feng basically experiences like 59 different types of crushing pain, and you feel it in your bones every time you watch it. The man’s eyes speak volumes.

While it would be easy to say that Cheng Yi carries the drama with his portrayal of Si Feng, the actions of the ML would be meaningless if there were no romantic interest that he was doing this all for.  

The Female Lead - Chu Xuan Ji

Some people may feel that Xuan ji isn’t worth Si feng’s devotion. But, I would argue that the first 37 episodes shows us that she is definitely worth it. 

Xuan Ji is similar to Jin Mi from AOL in that she is incapable of feeling or understanding love. Because Xuan Ji was born without her 6 senses (and also without a real heart, unbeknownst to the other characters), she’s naive and juvenile. But despite not having feelings, she’s still able to care completely about others. She cares about her sister, her father, her sect brothers, and Si Feng. She’s fiercely protective of them as they are of her. To the best of her limited abilities, she is devoted to people as much as she can be. 

Because of her sensory deprivation, Xuan Ji is really curious about the world. She wants to be like everyone else, to feel like everyone else, in hopes of being able to properly reciprocate people’s love for her. She envies people who are able to cry because she thinks that’s an unhindered way of showing love. She regrets not being able to cry when her mother died. Xuan Ji is therefore a self-aware character, unlike Jin Mi, because she knows her shortcomings. She wants to be able to feel, understand, and share pain. 

As such, she’s quite an active character because she has this goal of reviving her senses, which has ripple effects for the other characters in the story since they become a part of her journey, whether by choice or by force. 

Why Si Feng fell for Xuan Ji

Xuan Ji and Si Feng are very opposite characters, and not just because of the obvious difference in their personalities. Si Feng is a boy who feels too much (we later see that he gets his persistent sentimentality from his father), but was taught his whole life to suppress his emotions (I mean, the mask both literally and figuratively prevents him from emoting). Si Feng wants to express his feelings, but cannot. 

On the other hand, Xuan Ji is allowed to be as expressive as she wants, but she is empty on the inside. Xuan Ji represents everything Si Feng wants to be and is expected to be: free and emotionless. 

In this mortal incarnation, SF has responsibilities to everyone, from his spirit beast to his sect. Xuan Ji is the only one who doesn't ask or expect anything of him and yet, for someone who can't feel, she's always thinking of him. she stands up for him, she brings him snacks to comfort him when he’s being punished, she helps steal back his mother's hairpin. These are very simple gestures, but they mean the world to him (no one else has done these things for him before, and he doesn’t understand why she would unconditionally do these things for him), and that's why he's so quick to risk everything for her. Thus ironically, Si Feng actually learned about unconditional love from Xuan Ji. 

He’s never known love, warmth, or friendship in his lonely years growing up in the Lize Palace. And so, when you’re just a 16 year old awkward, hormonal, and introverted teenage boy, it’s easy to fall for a selfless girl who invades your personal space and has no sense of propriety. 

Why Xuan Ji fell for Si Feng

We see that her love is gradual. She falls in love with him without even realizing she’s fallen in love. She cares for him as a friend at first. After all, like she said, Si Feng is the first friend she’s made from outside her sect. But soon, her caring for him surpasses that of what she feels for her sect brothers. Si Feng teaches her about the world, from what different food tastes like, to naming colours. Si Feng doesn’t infantilize her like her sect brothers do. Her sect brothers are either dismissive or protective, like Ming yan, but she is able to find a proper confidant in Si Feng who is willing to be patient with her and listen to her. 

Their 4-year separation when they each undergo training and achieve a boost in their abilities, only made Xuan Ji’s heart grow fonder. She misses Si Feng, and is frustrated to see that things are different between them when they meet again. She doesn’t understand why he’s so cold and distant, and all she wants to do is close the distance between them. 

It’s a meme that Xuan Ji is the one who wears the pants in the relationship. She’s assertive and bold, and I think part of the reason why she fell for Si Feng is because he gives her that space to be best and biggest version of herself, whether in the heavenly realm or in the mortal realm. She’s also fascinated by him. A person outside of her sect who has an endearing personality unlike anyone else she’s seen. He piques her curiosity, and so she’s drawn to him. He’s as much as her romantic and sexual awakening as she is his. 

It’s apt that their ship name is the combination of their last names “Chu Yu”, which sounds similar to the words 初遇, which means “first encounter”. Not only is this drama about capturing the feelings of first love, but Si Feng and Xuan Ji have also had 10 different first encounters because of their 10 reincarnation tribulations. 

The Romance

It’s actually quite fun and endearing to watch because both Xuan Ji and Si Feng are playing hard to get, which frustrates the hell out of both of them. Xuan Ji is trying to win back Si Feng and convince him to stay, while Si Feng himself is trying to win Xuan Ji’s heart, and she doesn’t even realize it. They’re both trying to woo each other, but they’re both being resistant, intentionally and unintentionally. 

I have to admit, though, that the first few episodes were slow. 

There aren’t major sparks during the first meeting between the leads. She just falls out of the sky into his arms, and he’s flustered by her sudden appearance and clinginess. The love story didn’t feel “epic” during the the first 4 episodes because it didn’t feel like there were any stakes. These were just 2 young disciples from different sects who had a stereotypical meet-cute. It was like watching a high school coming-of-age romcom. 

Things start to get serious when Si feng is forced to wear the lover’s curse mask, meaning that he cannot love, or else every time he’s hurt by the one he loves, that mask will release a feather to his heart and he’ll feel unbearable pain. When all the feathers are released, he’ll die. This means that he has to stay away from Xuan Ji, but obviously, the drama can’t let that happen, so he’s constantly thrown into situations with her, he can’t stay away from her, and he ends up falling for her harder and harder against his will. 

Xuan Ji trusts Si Feng completely and unconditionally (until episodes 37-47 that is). She is willing to go against her father and sect in order to protect him. She’s willing to sacrifice herself to save him. She’s willing to go rogue with her powers for him. When no one else trusts him, she does. 

This makes Xuan Ji a very cathartic character to watch because she isn’t frustrating at all. She isn’t easily influenced and has her own views. She doesn’t share the same prejudiced views as the elder sect leaders. She is willing to disobey if it’s the right thing to do. She immediately clears up misunderstandings, like the one between her and Ming yan. We see her gradually become more mature through her increasing protectiveness over Si Feng. 

I think because we see this rational and loyal side of Xuan Ji, we’re able to have a higher tolerance for her ignorance and mistakes later in the drama (but only barely). 

The Reincarnations - What Does it Mean to Love a Soul?

Si Feng fell for Xuan Ji 10 times in the mortal world, not including the very first time he falls for her when they were immortals in the heavenly realm. 

I explained why I think Si Feng fell for Xuan Ji is this 10th reincarnation, but why did he fall for her in the past 9 lives? In the flashbacks, we see that in each life, Xuan Ji is cruel and heartless, and she still had the same unforgiving and ruthless demeanor as when she was the god of war. Is it because Si Feng’s soul is always going to be automatically attracted to Xuan Ji’s soul?

Because we only see brief glimpses of the past 9 lives (more specifically, we only see the ending of these lives), we don’t really know how they met or how Si Feng came to love her in each life. But, I would assume that there was something about Xuan Ji in each of her reincarnations that attracted her to Si Feng and completed him. Also, we know that Xuan Ji is capable of tenderness. As the god of war, she disliked fighting. As Mosha, she cared about Bailing. So, while Xuan Ji’s nature might be violent and cruel, I think that with each life, she learns about love and sincerity. If we assume that the flashbacks of the 9 lives are in order, then it would seem like Xuan Ji becomes more and more affected by Si Feng’s death with each successive lifetime. In the first life, she is completely indifferent to his beheading. but we see that she begins to become affected in the later lives, but tries to shove those emotions aside because they’re foreign and unfamiliar to her. 

We get even less context for how Si Feng might have fallen for the god of war in the heavenly realm. We only know that Si Feng was the Jade Emperor’s son, and only gained a celestial anamorphic form after 10, 000 years. His true form is the Golden-feathered bird. He’s always appearing by the god of war’s side to listen to her vent, but the god of war only sees him as a stray bird who comes by to visit occasionally. Why did he fall for her? Did he empathize with her loneliness? Maybe she was his only friend, like he was her only friend, but she didn’t even realize it. 

We also see that Si feng loves Xuan ji no matter who she is or what form she takes. Her gender doesn’t matter to him, and gender was never even an issue in the drama. The drama doesn’t give an explanation for why Bailing created a female body for the god of war (besides that he wanted to disguise Mosha’s appearance), but it also doesn’t matter. It’s a non-issue, and I love it. We just need to accept it, because the “why” isn’t important.

Xuan Ji has 3 different identities: The Star of Mosha (Luo Hou Ji Do), the god of war, and Xuan Ji the mortal. The god of war and Xuan Ji have the same “soul”, and that soul came from the glass of Mosha’s imprisonment lamp, and also from Mosha’s altered corporeal body. So, she is a part of Mosha, but has also become her own entity. 

To Si Feng, all 3 identities are Xuan Ji. The memories, emotions, and experiences of all the identities are what made Xuan Ji Xuan Ji, and so he loves all of them. 

But what made Xuan Ji finally crack so that she’s now able to love Si Feng in this 10th reincarnation? I think it has to do with her upbringing. We see in her previous 9 lives that she had a troubled upbringing filled with scheming and violence. So she was consumed by the darkest side of humanity and Si Feng couldn’t pull her out. But in this life, she grew up with an abundance of love, which made her want to learn how to love, which allowed her to open up to Si Feng. In this way, the drama shows that Si Feng alone isn’t enough to redeem her, but it took the love of her friends and family to help her grow a heart. 

The Angst

Okay. So. Si Feng has probably suffered more than any male lead in xianxia history. I think someone said that he has a martyr complex. But, I’d like to break down the type of angst that are present in dramas. 

There is angst that is harmless, and there is angst that is damaging to the relationship. 

Harmless angst is usually angst by external forces. Like parents who don’t allow their kids to be together. Like in AOL when Xufeng mistakenly thinks that Jin Mi might be his sister so he can’t be with her. In L&R, this kind of external angst happens when Si Feng mistakenly thinks that Xuan Ji likes her 6th sect brother Ming yan. Xuan Ji isn’t purposely hurting Si Feng, but it’s an unintentional misunderstanding. 

Damaging angst is when the couple turns against each other and become enemies. This happened when Jin Mi kills Xufeng and says she never loved him (which technically is true since her heart was re-sealed so she didn’t even understand what love was when she said it). In L&R, this happens Xuan Ji sides with her sect and attacks Si Feng when he reveals his demon form. This happens again when they confront each other outside the Lize Palace and she announces that she’s done with him and breaks ties with him. This happens again when she stabs him, says she regrets having ever known and loved him, and proceeds to try to stab him again. In Love and Redemption, Xuan Ji keeps saying hurtful things to him. There’s not just one moment of betrayal, but a constant onslaught of betrayals over 10 episodes that make the relationship feel like it’s entered a point of no return. 

The masochistic side of me likes love/hate relationships and damaging angst. I grew up with it. TVB dramas have a lot of it. My favourite is the angst in Raymond Lam and Charmain Sheh dramas like Drive of Life and Lethal Weapons of Love and Passion. But despite over 20 years of watching dramas, I was still not prepared for the pain and suffering in Love and Redemption. 

The good news is that they make up fairly quickly, though some may argue too quickly and easily. 

What I Enjoyed

Other xianxia romances usually only have 1 mortal reincarnation. This has 10 reincarnations (even if only shown briefly), and I love that. The leads have already had such a rich history together, but they don’t remember, and so the romance is about them falling in love all over again in this life, while also slowly remembering the love they had in their previous lifetimes. 

The world-building was also compelling, and the supporting characters were great. They were the voice of reason and talked sense into the main leads to help move the plot forward. I also liked how the ML and FL each had their own personal relationship with the supporting characters separate from each other. For instance, Ming yan has a childhood friendship with Xuan Ji, but he also develops his own friendship with Si Feng. Wu Ziqi was once Mosha’s helper, and also knew the god of war, but also forms his own friendship with Si Feng. Zi Hu is also friends with both Xuan Ji and Si Feng. Having separate friendships with the leads means that the supporting characters are unbiased. They’re not likely to help the ML more than the FL or vice versa, but they’re able to see both sides of things. They help the leads, but they’re also critical of them, and is therefore able to help the leads make rational decisions. It reminds me of the friendship dynamics in Avatar where the characters have unique relationships with each other. Like Toph has her own relationship dynamic with Sokka and Katara, which is different from Aang’s relationship dynamic with them. 

It goes without saying that Si Feng is the best part of the drama. He plays an emotionally repressed character, so it always feels like the heavens opened up when he smiles, and Xuan Ji seems to be the only one who can make him smile. SF's best moments are when he shows moments of vulnerability, like when he begs Xuan Ji not to cut ties with him, or when he's so happy to the point of disbelief and he's afraid of it being true that he begins to slightly quiver, like when he kept asking XJ if she was really the one who took off his mask. You can see him break down and not being able to contain his emotions and how much he’s desperately yearning for his love to be reciprocated. 

I like that the FL has the same personality throughout the drama. I'm always annoyed when the FL's personality takes a 360-degree turn when she has a sudden "awakening" when her past life memories come flooding back and she instantly matures and becomes jaded. In Love and Redemption, Xuan Ji stays her bubbly self, even when she’s burdened with responsibilities. Hell, even when she becomes a mother, she’s still aloof and playful. In episode 52 or so when she burns her leg and refuses to leave Si Feng’s house, she acts like a helpless little girl again. Si Feng tells her that such a small injury wouldn’t even faze someone as powerful as she is, but she reminds him that he once told her that even if she didn’t feel pain, her body would know the pain, and so she should always tell him when she’s hurt. I just like this throwback to the earlier episodes to show that while Xuan Ji has grown and matured, she’s still the same person who wants to be loved and pampered. 

Weaknesses of the Drama

Xuan Ji is a really multi-faceted and complex character (because of her villainous tendencies), but Crystal Yuan doesn’t completely deliver in all of her performances of the character. Crystal Yuan is great when she’s acting cute (though it reminds me a lot of Zhao Liying’s acting in Journey of Flower, even the voice actress is the same actress), but I feel like Crystal Yuan’s crying scenes are a little lacking. Also, Xuan Ji is a character who is often in moral and emotional conflict because she starts to feel emotions that she doesn’t understand since she’s never felt them before, but sometimes Crystal isn’t very convincing when trying to convey this internal conflict. For instance, in the scene when she thought Si Feng was getting married to Ah Lan, I thought that her devastation at seeing that should have been a bit more palpable. I mean, you finally found the love of your life after searching him for over a year and now he’s in front of you, about to get married to another woman. There should be more pain, anger, regret, disbelief, a battle of emotions unfolding on the face. There should have been more deflation, more staggering. I think back to when Tang Yan was watching Luo Jin get married to someone else in Princess Weiyoung, or when Jin Mi was watching Xufeng propose to Sui He in AOL, and the desperation and shock was subtle, but still so strong. You could feel the drop in your own stomach when sympathizing with the female character. 

I also obviously disliked how Xuan Ji didn’t believe Si Feng. But I would have understood why she didn’t believe him (even when he logically explained his innocence) since there are so many people pressuring her judgment, but what I can’t get over is how she had it in herself to physically hurt him. And she already hurt him before too, so she knows how much it pains her to hurt him. She already regretted the act before. But because she mistakenly thinks that he killed Hao Chen, she decides that she needs to kill him? Does Hao Chen mean that much to you that you’d be willing to sacrifice Si Feng in order to avenge him? That was my breaking point for her character. 

I didn’t like how Hao Chen’s arc was resolved. For 1000 years, he thought he was right and never had any regrets. He was obsessed with controlling his friend Mosha to the point of killing him and sealing his soul away. He then created another being, became possessive over that being to the point of falling in love with it (without admitting it), and then follows his creation down to the mortal world, and wrecks havoc on the mortals, especially Si Feng. And when Hao Chen learns that he can no longer control or redeem Xuan Ji, he decides that he needs to kill her in order to prevent Mosha from coming back. But then suddenly, because of a few words and visions from the Jade Emperor, he immediately has a change of heart and sees the error of his ways. It’s just so anti-climactic. Yuan Long’s ending was also underwhelming. I just wanted the good guys and bad guys to fight it out without divine intervention. 

While I sympathize with Si Feng and agree that it's like watching a puppy get kicked over and over again, he honestly gets jealous way too easily and is too insecure. He also keeps everything to himself and sucks at communicating. We blame Xuan Ji for being too quick at jumping to conclusions, but Si Feng also jumps to conclusions too and causes unnecessary pain for himself. 

Overall Impression

Overall, despite the frustrations, I really liked the consistency of the drama. It flows as one complete narrative and all the subplots are well intertwined with the main plot. With other reincarnation xianxia dramas, you could divide the story into distinct arcs, but it’s harder to do with this one since you have arcs that overlap and transcend other arcs. There’s the mask arc, the god of war arc, the reincarnation arc, the demon identity arc, the Mosha arc, etc. Before one arc is completed, another arc is introduced.

If you’re looking for a be-all-end-all, til the end of time and end of the world romance, this is it. While it has many similar tropes to other xianxias like AOL, I think this executes the tropes better. Although if you’ve already watched AOL or other xianxias, you might be more immune to the angst (even though this drama is angstier). But if you watch this drama first, I think it sets the bar pretty high for other xianxia dramas.

The chemistry and sexually tension is also through the roof (and the BTS will have you raising your eyebrows - are costars normally that flirty and touchy feely on set?)

So yes, this drama does live up to the hype. More meta posts to come because I’m still going through withdrawal. 

(Just checked the word count on this review, and it’s over 4700 words. I’m clearly an obsessed mess). 

Other meta posts:

Recurring details and motifs in Love and Redemption

Similarities to other stories in movies and literature

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas​ donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

*

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

       rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

               teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

 December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

       rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :(  :(

       rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

             teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

                     coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

 November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

    rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

         bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

               rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

 November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

 November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

     bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

           teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

     rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

          bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

*

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

*

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

*

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

        bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

              rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

     rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

    rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

[king-finnigan]

242. Soulmate Au and 27. Sick/Injured, geraskier.

Jaskier’s used to bruises. He’s used to the pain, to being littered with dark and yellowing spots. He’s used to waking up to another gash on his arm or leg or torso. He’s used to the scars that mark his once so clear skin.

He wonders what his soulmate’s skin looks like. Clean, probably, barely scathed. No scars, no regular bruises that take weeks to heal and hurt like hell the second they appear on their body.

Jaskier’s used to the pain, but even more, he’s used to the weird looks people throw his way when they see the healing wounds and yellowing spots. Who the hell is his soulmate? he can hear them whisper, Why would they do that to him?

He’s used to wondering, himself. Everyone knows about soulmates. Everyone knows that your wounds appear and heal on the other person’s skin and vice versa. Everyone knows that.

So why would his soulmate let him suffer like this? Why would they not actively avoid danger to spare him this suffering? 

He gave up on being careful a long time ago.

Surely, if his soulmate was going to make him bruise and bleed and scar, was going to make him bear the burden of the healing process while their own wounds disappeared like a drop of blood in a stream - why should Jaskier try to be careful? Why should he not risk it all just for the sake of living a little? The world is full of people who live their lives carefully just to make sure their soulmates don’t suffer. Why should he be one of them, when his soulmate isn’t, either?

So yes, maybe he does sleep around with people he shouldn’t really be sleeping around with. Maybe he does get chased out of several bedrooms every month. Maybe he’s as careless with his heart as he is with his body. Maybe it gets broken once or twice or a billion times. It doesn’t really matter.

He’s used to the pain.

He decides to become a bard, at one point or another. He doesn’t really remember when, exactly, but he knows why - he’s so used to being stared at, so used to people’s gazes lingering on his bruises and scars and cuts, so used to the pity in their eyes and the indignant hurt he feels every time he sees it - might as well give them a damn reason to stare. And he’s always been rather fond of music, anyways.

So, he buys a lute, and sets out on the road.

And, alright, things go like shit. He gets food and insults thrown at his head, he gets kicked out of several establishments and even more bedrooms, people still stare at the injuries that aren’t really his. But he also feels more alive than he’s felt in a while. The adrenaline in his veins when he runs from an angry spouse, the lashing of his tongue when he throws insults back, the ache in his feet that’s entirely his and his alone - all things he cherishes and clings to, when he’s starting to feel hopeless once more.

And he still wakes up to new bruises, he still has to sit down at the side of the road when he feels a heavy blow to his gut or back, he still has to calm people down when they see a new gash appearing on his skin out of thin air, still has to say that yes, this happens all the time, don’t worry about it.

I’m used to it.

After a few lonesome months on the road, he finds himself in a tavern in Posada, once again getting yelled at, getting food thrown at him, the whole ordeal. Whatever. Free bread for him, none of his singing for them. Their fucking loss.

His eyes land on a white-haired man, sitting in the corner. Jaskier cocks his head, before stuffing some of the bread into his pockets. He stands up, sauntering over to the mysterious stranger, and he can’t help but admire the way the sunlight coming in through the dirty window bounces off those white locks, can’t help but marvel at the man’s smooth, even skin. A luxury Destiny never granted Jaskier - after all, his first scar appeared when he was barely a week old.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even think them. Careless with his body, his heart, his tongue. He’s used to it, by now.

“I’m here to drink alone.” The man’s voice is surprisingly deep, sending pleasant shivers down Jaskier’s spine. 

“Good, yeah, good. No one else has hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance.” He moves so he’s standing in front of the man. He’s used to being ignored or even downright rejected, at first, almost everyone does. It’s been a while since that scared him away, though. “Except for you. Come on, you don’t wanna keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.”

Okay, maybe not his best line, but he’s definitely said worse things - downright insulting things, if he doesn’t watch what he says, sometimes. 

The man merely rolls his eyes. Not a rejection, Jaskier decides, and sits down at the table. “You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

It’s quiet for a while, until the man says: “They don’t exist.”

Okay. He didn’t expect that. Better than nothing, though. “What don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song.”

“And how would you know?” 

The man doesn’t reply, and suddenly Jaskier is struck with a realization. Oh, this is great, this is absolutely perfect. “Oh, fun. White hair, big ol’ loner, two very-” his breath hitches in his throat for a second at the sight of the weapons, something primal stirring in him “very scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

The man- Witcher stands up, taking said swords with him, leaving Jaskier sitting at the table. He contemplates whether he’s going to stay there or follow the man. Sure, the Witcher isn’t going to appreciate his company, clearly, but there are some very good stories there underneath that unmarred skin that Jaskier can’t wait to hear.

For example, do Witchers have soulmates? Probably not, given how perfectly clear Geralt’s skin is, but still, are they born without them? Or do they outlive their soulmate? Ooh, or do they kill them? Now that’s a story.

So, he decides to follow. He hits his hip on the table as he stands up, and hisses in pain, before it immediately disappears again. I’d say I’m sorry, soulmate, he thinks, as he clutches his now painless hip, but I’d be lying. You’ve given me plenty of bruises, now let me return the favour.

He only now notices that Geralt’s stopped in the middle of the tavern, for some reason. He continues, though, and Jaskier pays no mind to the strange behaviour, as he follows the Witcher outside.

---

“Need a hand? I’ve got two, one for each of the uh... devil’s horns.” Okay, maybe this may be his worst line yet, actually.

“Go away.” He can’t help but smile at least a little bit in triumph at that - at least it’s an answer, it’s something, and something is always better than nothing.

“I won’t be but silent backup!” It’s quiet for half a beat, and he takes that as encouragement to continue, to explain himself. “Yes, I heard your note, and maybe you’re right, real adventures would make better stories, and you, sir, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. What is that, onion? Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak.”

“It’s onion.”

Another reaction. Great, now Jaskier just has to convince Geralt fully to let him tag along on this- quest? Hunt? Contract? To let him tag along, at least.

Another idea dawns on him. An interesting one, to say the least. “I could be your barker! Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken!”

Geralt turns around, and hope flares up in Jaskier’s chest. “Come here.”

He smiles at that. Finally, now we’re getting somewhere. “Yeah?”

“I apologize to your soulmate.” Jaskier frowns. What? 

It suddenly makes sense when Geralt lands a heavy blow in his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. Jaskier’s still half on the ground, wheezing, when Geralt suddenly doubles over as well, hand on his stomach.

“What-”

Jaskier regains his footing again - after all, he’s used to the pain - and stares at the Witcher, mouth open in shock, as Geralt stares right back at him. 

Surely this can’t be. He blinks, unsure of what to do, if what he suspects is truly happening. Only one way to find out. He reaches up, twisting his own right ear painfully. 

And, well enough, Geralt hisses in pain, grabbing at the right side of his head in reflex. Suddenly, Jaskier recognizes little things, little scars and marks on the Witcher’s skin, that shouldn’t be there if he didn’t have a soulmate - a scar on his lower lip from when Jaskier had fallen when he was a kid and split his lip open, a small bruise on the left side of Geralt’s brow, when Jaskier had hit his head on the side of the door, due to his own clumsiness, last week, a small cut on the Witcher’s finger, when Jaskier had cut himself picking up a nice, shimmery piece of glass, this morning.

All injuries that Jaskier sustained, before disappearing like snow under the light of the sun, appearing on the skin of his soulmate instead, healing there.

Which means-

“You,” Jaskier breathes out, the numbness and surprise making way for joy and happiness and-

A surprising amount of anger.

“You!” He shouts, again, pointing an accusing finger at Geralt unconsciously. “So you’re the one who’s been-” he gestures up and down his own body, at the bruises, the scars, the healing gashes “been doing this to me!”

The Witcher visibly pales, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t know. We’re not supposed to-”

“What? Meet the person you’re doing this to?”

“Have a soulmate.”

It’s quiet for a moment, as they stand there, staring at each other. It makes sense, now, that Jaskier’s skin is littered with old and new wounds, it makes sense that Geralt barely has any. It makes sense, and somehow, that only makes it worse. A Witcher and a human - surely that can’t be.

“So...” Jaskier mutters, anger gone as soon as it came. “Soulmates, huh? Quite a surprise really, but now I do understand why I- uh... why-”

“Why you’re getting all these bruises and scars,” Geralt fills in for him. Then quieter: “Why you keep getting hurt.” The Witcher turns away, continues walking. “Go away. For your own good, stay far away from me.”

Jaskier frowns, feet glued to the ground, unable to put the things he’s feeling into words right now. He doesn’t want Geralt to go, doesn’t want to be left behind once again, as usual. Not by his soulmate. He’s used to it, but not like this.

“Make it up to me.”

Geralt stops, turns back around, amber eyes curious but cautious. “What?”

“You feel bad, don’t you?” The Witcher nods. “Then make it up to me. Let me come along on this little adventure or whatever, and if you- and by consequence, I- get hurt, make it up to me. Kiss it better, or whatever it is that you Witchers do with soulmates you’re not supposed to have. Make it up to me.”

“I’m not kissing it better.”

That’s not a full rejection, Jaskier thinks, and he smiles. “We’ll see, my dear Witcher. We’ll see.”

And when Jaskier gets a bloody nose from a blow landed in the Witcher’s face by a she-elf, later that same day, he can’t convince Geralt to kiss it better.

And when he gets a slash in his upper arm from a Kikimora the Witcher was fighting three miles away, a month later, he can’t convince Geralt to kiss it better.

And when he gets a bruise on his forehead from a rock some little shit threw at the Witcher, half a year later, he can’t convince Geralt to kiss it better.

And when, a year after their first meeting, the Bard slips and falls, and a few seconds later, the Witcher’s lip splits open, Jaskier finally convinces Geralt to let him kiss it better.

[theglguidetowebcomics]

Full review: Girly

What’s Pink, insane, NSFW, hilarious, and somehow heartwarming at points? This comic is a ride and a half, and I’m genuinely surprised more people haven’t heard of this one… I’ve been wanting to talk about this one for a WHILE. 

So let’s talk about the elephant in this room… Because I think it just ate someone’s couch. 

Slightly NSFW review with spoilers below.

Girly, by Jackie Lesnick was a webcomic that ran between 2003 and 2010, (and really has some of those early webcomic hallmarks). Its monochromatic pink, vertical, with a poppy early cartoon feel. It’s also listed as a romantic comedy, which is… correct, but cuts a whole lot of what makes this comic good, short. 

This review was always going to be one of the 4 I really struggled with. And not just because I lost it the first time without a back up in a code glitch, got distracted by a pandemic, then procrastinated my way to finally making a second version in my new backup folder… No, well also yes but no. This was a comic I read when I was younger (and should NOT have read  when I was younger), and have always had a soft spot for. I’ll admit as much as this comic has its flaws or weird moments or just weirdness in general, its one of the few comics I’ve found myself rereading in its entirety more than once. And no matter how much I know it's coming, find myself sobbing, uncontrollably, at the final panel. There’s surprisingly a lot of heart in this comic, and a whole lot of honesty in just the direction the author took this weird little thing. But, first let me take of those rose tinted glasses as much as I can… (actually that might not work too well with a pink comic seriously whats with all these early 2000s lesbian comics being PINK?). And give this old comic a look and a bit of a dust. but , first...

Sex.

Getting to the point - page 3 of “Girly”

Girly is a NSFW comic. It’s not shy about it either. It hits the audience (and the main character) over the head with it literally in the first pages. It has sex positive characters, a sex positive world, some characters with… sex powers almost, and Dildos, a whole lot of dildos. Some even with smiley faces on them. It’s a pretty unavoidable part of the comic that makes up a large core of it’s humour and is baked into its wacky world. So if that’s not your thing, and it’s not really skippable in this case, you won’t like this comic.

But, if you’re alright with that part of it this might just be a hidden gem. Moving on.

Art

Artwork is always interesting in webcomics. They’re usually one man shows, have a weird niche / strong influences, and or usually go on massive journeys as the art improves. Girly is no different here. 

Girly starts out rough. Some poses are wonky and its a bit scratchy. Technically speaking it has a few issues, which is fine. Its a free webcomic, from the 2000s that didn't copy and paste faces. (Won’t name names, you know who you are). You can’t be too harsh on a free comic, though.

However, what the art style does, even early on is set the style and feel of the comic. Anime inspired faces, bold outlines, and blocky silhouettes that were really popular with 90’s and 2000s cartoons. It has a newspaper, manga comedy strip vertical style, too. It fits the style of story well as a poppy wacky story. It's the perfect art style it could take.

Its rough in the beginning, but moves on from its scratchy days, to loose pen brush, to finally a polished free hand poppy style. It gets more technically advanced as it goes along, but it keeps its core style throughout. It’s fun, a little unhinged, and just pares perfectly.

The one issue I have with the art is it comes off as a bit cramped. It certainly matches the energy of the story, but it also feels like it doesn't let the characters have any breathing room in the frame. It comes off as squashed, and can make some character poses hard to read. That’s the only complaint I can find though. The issue even fixes itself later in the story, but just very very close to the end. It looks great there, but the majority of the comic is a little cramped. Still that’s just a small complaint.

Nitpicking here but some panels need a lil more room

This a humour comic foremost. It's the biggest part of what makes Girly specifically Girly.

Humour

The humour is mostly wacky nonsense, playing off its insane characters, physics defying world, everything being dialed up to 11. It also works a lot like satire, poking at what influences it, and playing with cinematic expectations. The first page has Otra shooting someone into space on a rocket because they annoyed them, the first “adventure” the character’s go on is stealing everyone’s pants because they couldn’t find anything else to do. Then there’s the kidnapping adventures, knight trials, and slice of life shenanigans that happen. All of it as wacky as the last. I haven’t really found any other lesbian comics like it. Its not everyone’s tastes, but it is certainly unique.

If you’re into a willy wonka tunnel of over the top characters and plots, you’ll like Girly.

Characters

Girl is a LONG comic, it ran for 7 years. The art evolved, the story writing, jokes, and themes along with it. It was originally meant to run for only 50 strips... and it ended up with 764. 

so, there’s a lot to unpack.

Firstly, the premise of the story is somewhat simple. It focuses on Otra. The kinda straight man to the entire universe. She starts out almost depressed, out of place, and bored of the wacky inhabitants of her world. Until one of those wacky residents smacks her over the head with a giant dildo and won’t leave her alone for the next 7 years of run time. 

What follows is the sullen Otra being pulled around by the always cheery and zany nonsensical Winter as the sidekick for bizarre adventures. Otra’s depressive grounded view keeps the bizarreness funny, while Winter cuts through her negative attitude and causes a lot of the over the top plot. Leaving Otra to warm up to the world, and Winter to get less reckless as they balance eachother out. It’s a fun dynamic, and works as an emotional core of the story. No matter how weird the plot and rules of the world are, their relationship keeps the story somewhat focused and rewarding to see develop.

An example of bold wacky character designs from even early on

The comic isn’t just about them, though. As an ensemble comic there's plenty of side characters that go through arcs and beats as well. From el chubacabre, the man that woman find so irresistible that they sleep with him as soon as they see him; detective Clapjaw the street wise detective who is very bad at his job; Officer Hipbone and police guy from the cute P D; captain fist the ever popular bad at his job superhero who gets all the credit; the news reporter obsessed with captain fist; the woman with babies; Steak;  the elephants that just… appear and eat buildings; among many many others. A lot of whom also have nicely written character arcs and depth in later chapters. Many of the character however are simple and remain simple, which isn’t a bad thing. For such a large cast, having a diverse range of strange characters with strong identities and looks even if a bit simple stops it from getting bogged down. It strikes a good balance. Plus there’s plenty enough of characters with more depth later on. 

 All the character’s are insane, and over the top in a way that really sets up the world they live in and how it works... as dysfunctional as it is. There’s something very Cartoon Network about all the characters, but with some wider influences. something about  dumb characters, with very specific goals and quirks that work on their own physics to feed into the high energy insanity of the world. Its entertaining to read, and leads to a weirdly charming feel of the comic. 

Story and plot

For the bit people actually want to know about. What is it about?

Just a little bit of influences...

For the style itself the comic comes off as a mix between early 2000s slice of life-y anime, 2000s cartoon Network, and a dose of 2000s webcomic sarcastic action/adventure flare. It definitely has one of the most pronounced styles that I’ve seen, and even if it's very much a webcomic of it’s time it also goes a bit beyond that into something that feels personal to the author and honest. Its a batshit comic. But, it wears its influences on it’s sleeve and really plays with tropes and ideas the author found engaging at the time. It somehow comes off as refreshing in just how willing it is to go weird or niche for no other reason but because it wants to. It's what I appreciate most about the comic. It’s honest.

The overarching story of the comic is without a doubt about Otra and winter growing together as people. But with a comic that’s run for 7 years a little bit more happens in the journey, at least you hope it would. Girly runs on chapters, 15 in total (with 15 having sub chapters due to being the story’s climax), and each one of those chapters follows a different plot or adventure with Otra’s and Winter’s developing relationship gluing them together. 

The plots themselves are wild and vary a bit in quality. But for a long comic that’s understandable and expected. They go from solving elephant problems, super villains, body swapping, fantasy parodies, and all sorts of strange things. Sometimes a few plots drag and a few character arcs feel a bit bland. It still manages to be entertaining all the way through though. The plots themselves work to get the character’s to play off each other and explore the strange world it takes place in. Exploring evil teddy bears, or an entire town devoted to cheap gags. No matter what, all the plots work in fleshing out the world and pushing character’s out of their comfort zone or forcing them to change. There are some that are less fun than others, but none of them manage to be boring or useless. Which for a long comic such as this, is quite an achievement.

Conclusion

Girly is a hidden gem, Its an insane sex positive comic. A loose style and even looser physics. It’s bold and unabashedly itself. But, at its core it's about the love story of Winter, the wacky insane woman needing to slow down and open up, and Otra, a sullen woman who’s deemed herself only worthy of being on the outskirts of society. It’s two people growing together in a world that’s up to its ears in care bears, sentient dildos, earth shattering cloning, and jabs at 2000’s paste it comics. And somehow it all sticks together.

The characters resonated, at least with me, which may be the nostalgia talking. But by the end of the comic I can’t help but  think back on how long it took them to get there. The bits that made me laugh (a lot of them), the stupid parts, and the character’s arcs, as over the top they could be at times.  It may not everyone’s cup of tea. But it has a lot of heart at its core. (If you get past all the dildos). 

For all it’s flaws and weird bits. I still find myself going back to Girly. 

Maybe now, some more people will too.

[sagamemes]

critrole sentences starters  ---  shadow of the crystal palace.   under the cut, you can find a total of 137 lines of dialogue from critical role’s call of cthulhu one-shot. as this contains both in and out of character sentences, there are options for modern and old timey or more eloquent muses alike. themes of the paranormal, heists, secret missions, light and darkness are sprinkled all around this sentence meme, but a good chunk is also usable by just about any muse. oh, and a lot of cat talk. as always, feel free to alter to fit your muse!

❝  good luck, may light and knowledge prevail.  ❞

❝  consider your words heeded, sir.  ❞

❝  hopefully, you can carry it.  ❞

❝  i didn't have time to have it actually translated. if i recall, that's a review of the latest sailor moon musical.  ❞

❝  she just wished me goodbye a minute ago in a text, i don't know what it means.  ❞

❝  i want you in constant communication with us if you feel anything untoward, anything out of the ordinary at all.  ❞

❝  we're not alone.  ❞

❝  i imagine no one really wants to stay to hear the end of this speech.  ❞

❝  could you try to enjoy this a little less?  ❞

❝  are you?  /are/ you getting it out of your system?  or are you just getting started?  ❞

❝  i'm more like a... tuning fork.  ❞

❝  there are definite... bonuses to this little adventure.  ❞

❝  what am i gonna do to you?  ❞

❝  you're a good scientist who follows data.  ❞

❝  most things that die in here, they never really leave.  ❞

❝  perhaps we should try to get the thing that the rich guy wants?  ❞

❝  i think we're doing more than just delivery.  ❞

❝  i am a little worried about us getting discovered sneaking about here, though.  ❞

❝  man was not meant to live within glass.  ❞

❝  i'd say it's been fun but i'd be lying.  ❞

❝  i suppose that's just a loss on the champagne then, isn't it?  ❞

❝  poor [name]. i picked you especially for this.  ❞

❝  we may be able to walks around unencumbered tonight.  ❞

❝  my pants are exciting, just in the wrong way.  ❞

❝  is there anything you /can/ do?  fight?  run?  be prey?  ❞

❝  you like to lead---after you.  ❞

❝  it happens, you know. sometimes you shatter... artefacts.  ❞

❝  i am so delighted that you are stuck here trying to find a lightswitch.  ❞

❝  my kanji is at about second level.  ❞

❝  bless your ignorance, child.  ❞

❝  i do love a good poker.  ❞

❝  have you ever tried to pull the sword, the excalibur sword, from the stone at disneyland?  it's got just enough give to irritate a child for hours. i say---definitely not from /experience/.  ❞

❝  i am here to make sure we're safe from threats on the other side.  ❞

❝  it is for people such as ourselves to know. and then we protect the general public.  ❞

❝  jesus, why am i following you people?  ❞

❝  you can make the story a little less about him and a little more about you.  ❞

❝  he's been very good to me.  ❞

❝  i'm here to make sure this car stays on the rails, as it were. and to assist, of course.  ❞

❝  i was concerned when i first met you.  ❞

❝  is it pictures of all of our possessed bodies?  ❞

❝  grant me my wish, make me big.  ❞

❝  we're just gonna go to the cat room and we're just gonna hang out there for the whole time.  ❞

❝  i believe it's better for the general public to believe your [writings/stories/tales] are fiction.  ❞

❝  i'm beginning to think i'm the only one with any sense here.  ❞

❝  i may be requesting your services again in the future.  ❞

❝  it's just a little trinket from my country.  ❞

❝  you need to know when to cut and run!  look, i've got debt across europe but it's not worth dying over!  ❞

❝  it's like a script you keep reciting from.  ❞

❝  they wish to talk, in their own way.  ❞

❝  care to place a wager?  i'm feeling very confident.  ❞

❝  nobody knows the value of a good redshirt anymore.  ❞

❝  oh, fuck a duck, where are we going?!  ❞

❝  i'm so confident, i will put 10% of my earnings from this job on the line.  ❞

❝  i had my suspicions, you fraud.  ❞

❝  what did you do to the light?!  ❞

❝  mirrors are liars. they only show us what we expect to see.  ❞

❝  i have some contingencies if things go wrong and will be waiting for your signal.  ❞

❝  i mean, if you're looking at it from the right angle, you're just taking it back.  ❞

❝  i fucking love cats, let's go.  ❞

❝  did you learn /that/ at the [institute/school/etc]?  ❞

❝  nothing to worry about, just go about your business!  ❞

❝  [you're/he's] a shower away from pretty again.  ❞

❝  they've never hurt me.  ❞

❝  i've had a string of bad luck for a while.  ❞

❝  we've been speaking to the other side for thousands of years. and our understanding evolves and changes with the passing of the years, but the core remains the same.  ❞

❝  there's so much sexual tensioooon...  ❞

❝  no one ever goes to a museum and reads the labels, it's really frustrating.  ❞

❝  i would ask you to leave and never speak of this again.  ❞

❝  oh, you fucking brilliant bastard.  ❞

❝  you're not really a cat person, are you, [name]?  ❞

❝  i know how that sounds, i know what i saw.  ❞

❝  i got it the last time i went to russia.  ❞

❝  mommy and daddy don't need to know about the necklace, though.  ❞

❝  and i do hope we meet again sometime, [name], before the next time world needs saving.  ❞

❝  wouldn't you agree that there are dark corners in this world, easier to find than the light?  ❞

❝  well, /i/ don't like to toot my own horn, but if [name] will, i can't forbid him.  ❞

❝  we're gonna take a moment to collect ourselves and have a stiff drink of something.  ❞

❝  god, you look like a ghost, [name].  ❞

❝  i may be the one non-believer in the group.  ❞

❝  it was certainly someone who looked like her. could've been anybody.  ❞

❝  i was so looking forward to murdering the rest of you.  ❞

❝  i didn't go to medical school, /period/. ph., not m.d.  ❞

❝  just don't make too much trouble, alright?  ❞

❝  you've been hand-picked for your skills.  ❞

❝  i've actually read it as well. i think you sell yourself short.  ❞

❝  your pants are more exciting than mine right now.  ❞

❝  i feel like i should be haunting a house right now.  ❞

❝  he was a problematic mess even by the standards of his time.  ❞

❝  oh, you know, just little things you learn at finishing school.  ❞

❝  you're not a useful doctor, are you?  ❞

❝  honestly, i feel quite ignorant that i didn't put it together myself.  ❞

❝  i'm an archivist, not an adventurer.  ❞

❝  just repress!  that!  shit!  ❞

❝  oh, no, i'm just so enamoured. we very rarely have the ability to socialise with such esteemed guests.  ❞

❝  we might've fucking killed ourselves.  ❞

❝  i think i'll have a nightlight for the rest of my life now.  ❞

❝  i love a good potato clock though, i almost bought one.  ❞

❝  my mum said i'm the most handsome boy is school.  ❞

❝  [chuckling] that's a little mythology joke for you!  ❞

❝  there's minimal security as long as you don't go into the upper floors.  ❞

❝  what have they done to you?  have they hurt you?  ❞

❝  this is getting a bit rich for my taste. [insititute/workplace] does not pay /quite/ that well.  ❞

❝  i believe you are more spot-on than perhaps you even realise.  ❞

❝  we will come up with a good excuse for your back. there's shattered glass in there.  ❞

❝  it's a bit... dizzying in here. does anyone else feel that?  ❞

❝  you do not know what this has cost me.  ❞

❝  he stole it. so i punched him in the face.  ❞

❝  i'm a book doctor, not a blood doctor.  ❞

❝  the idea of walking home in a mist without another living human being there nearly gave me a heart attack.  ❞

❝  i'd like to thank you for your discretion.  ❞

❝  it's a little less of the killing of the dragons and a little bit more of running for your bloody life.  ❞

❝  some of us are just so sharp we could cut ourselves.  ❞

❝  one more pitch to run for the fucking door.  ❞

❝  he's a charlatan, isn't he?  ❞

❝  the trouble with sacrificial magic is it requires sacrifice.  ❞

❝  there's something about you they really don't like.  ❞

❝  the only way we can protect ourselves is to know what we're protecting ourselves from.  ❞

❝  it's a bit of a lark, isn't it?  that's why i agreed.  ❞

❝  i know about this. this is my design. and some /asshole/ put his name on it.  ❞

❝  never owned a cat in my life.  ❞

❝  i say this with as much honest and relative humility as i can:  do i look like the sort of person that they would tell where the champagne is hiding?  ❞

❝  he didn't go into medical school for you to call him /mister/ [name].  ❞

❝  you have an honest face.  ❞

❝  it never hurts to be prepared, and i'm a big believer in being prepared. and i'm willing to spend on it.  ❞

❝  look you were very worried about this chest;  we opened it, it's fine!  ❞

❝  we will never see each other again.  ❞

❝  we're all just reaching for the same truth and describing it in different ways, i imagine.  ❞

❝  the things i've seen you wouldn't want to wish on your worst nightmares.  ❞

❝  take a lantern, you piece of shit.  ❞

❝  he wrote some very, very nice reviews of the best gay brothels of japan when he would walk around. and a pamphlet on farting.  ❞

❝  [suggestively] well, if you're looking for a /heat source/...  ❞

❝  few things in this world are not somewhat haunted. this, i believe, is very.  ❞

❝  do you know that they invented an electrical device in japan in 1776?  ❞

❝  i would really run.  ❞

❝  i'm sorry, did you say  ' paid off the judges ' ?  ❞

❝  it burns like acid.  ❞

[mirrorfalls]

Lego Liveblogs ST: TOS, part 6 (of who-the-hell-knows-how-many?)

So... The Naked Time. Probably gonna be another of those episodes where Roddenberry was in full “but on this planet they have a cultural taboo against pants!” mode, but that shouldn’t disqualify it on its own merits. And... wait, is this the legendary “Sorry, neither.” episode?

Let’s find out.

* And we open up on Space Antarctica, where Redshirt #23 gets himself infected with the Thing in record time. This is gonna be fun. ** But for Christ’s sake, guys. If a mannequin was all you could afford for the “woman”, couldn’t you have at least covered the face up with a sheet of snow or something?! * Spock in civvies cuts a surprisingly... fine figure. * Okay, now I’m starting to see why so many reviewers call the Spock-Bones banter in these early eps straight-up racism. * Alright, I know I’ve said this about half the preceding episodes, but this one’s plot looks genuinely foolproof. Kirk and co. need to perform a conflict-free - but still tricky - scientific mission, and an alien pathogen’s just happened to slip onboard. No leaps in the premise, no stupid B-plots to screw up the pacing. Let’s do this. * Peak Trek Aesthetic; using a punchcard to get your lunch out of the replicator. * See, Mr. RedBlueshirt? This is why we always use hand sanitizer after being outdoors. * Gotta say, this is pretty well-written “madness” for a ‘60s pop-adventure show. Just take a guy’s lingering survivor’s guilt and dial it up to eleven. No random obsessions or nursery-rhyme chants or anything. * Guys, it’s a freaking butter knife. That thing couldn’t stab through a- ** Oops. * By the way - some people might consider it laughably cheap, but as something of an amateur germophobe I really like how the pathogen’s mostly depicted as this thing nobody can see but everyone can feel slithering over their hands. * “A valuable study. We may be seeing Earth's distant future.” This line seriously does not get enough attention in Spock retrospectives. * Somehow it never occurred to me that Sulu is the closest the bridge crew has to a jock. * “Bones, I want the impossible checked out too!” “Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a Scotsman!” ** Seriously, though - I like the general lesson here, that out on the Frontier you can do every procedure and double-check right and still get fucked over, because that’s what it means to explore the Unknown. * Bones why do you have bottles of Lysol just lying around in sickbay * Oh yeah. Shirtless Sulu o’clock. ** And now, The Line. Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting Nichols to sound quite that... schoolgirlish saying it. * ... do you guys not have security on the bridge or ** Okay, I’ll never say no to a Nerve Pinch, but you’d think there’d be at least one Phaser around... * Ooh, 20 minutes before the gravity whatchamacallit flambes the entire ship. Now that’s pacing. * This guy seems a little too conveniently (and maliciously) competent next to the other infected crewmembers... I doubt they’re going to go with a “Oh, he was faking it the whole time, did everything of his own free will!” twist at the end, so here’s hoping he won’t be the antagonist for the entire rest of the ep. ** OTOH, Scotty gets to be a hands-on MVP for a change, and who doesn’t love that? * Spock, let’s have some more of those Nerve Pinches, chop chop! ** At this point you can count every “Jesus, I’m retiring from this show the first chance I get” line on poor Rand’s face. * Oh for the love of- Were you guys seriously examining Sulu without any protection?! * And now we’re throwing the nurse at Spock. Honestly, every face Nimoy makes here should be its own reaction gif. ** Ohhh, right, this is the Spock-cries episode, too. Really should reread that anecdote sometime. * “I can't change the laws of physics!” That’s quitter talk, Scotty, and you know it. * Jesus, Bones, did you stick him with a needle or a branding iron?! ** Oh, so this is why so many recaps of this episode just talk about everyone being drunk... the pathogen is just water that’s evolved(?) to a different molecular form resembling booze? Sure, fine. ** Insert stock you’d-expect-an-Irishman-to-hold-his-drink-better line here ** (Also, I suppose the crew is lucky that nobody's the go-to-sleep kind of drunk.) * Ahh, our first taste of Spock backstory. Let’s have that good good angst. * Not that I mind a little violence between friends, Kirk, but are you sure you want Spock doing supercomputer-tier calculations while smashed out of his mind? * ... hm. On the one hand, Spock being (temporarily?) shocked back into sobriety on seeing Kirk succumbing is both emotionally touching and narratively efficient. On the other: more proof that when all else fails, all you can do is appeal to a Vulcan’s ego. * Wonder how big the Kirk/Enterprise tag on AO3 is... * Cheap religious symbolism ho! * Took ya long enough to get him an antidote, bud. * Well, that was quick. ** Uhhh, I’ll assume imploding engines are a good thing in this context. * Wait, are you serious? Time travel stuff in the last three minutes of the episode?! * Sooo... our heroes literally get a clean slate from everything that just happened. I guess they still have to live with the memories of it all, but really?

I’m really torn about this one. There’s only the slightest slip of a Lesson here (beyond “don’t take your fucking Hazmat suit off on an alien planet”, I guess), but it’s probably the series’ best-paced episode yet, with tangible stakes and unobtrusive comic relief... right up to those last three minutes, which throws all that beautiful buildup into a woodchipper. Deus ex Machina isn’t even a strong enough word to describe it - probably nothing is.

Ah, well. We’ve got solid proof that the writing team can build a solid start, if nothing else. One day they’ll stick the landing.

Next: In the main study of an exclusive private school in New York’s Westchester County, a strange, silent man sits motionless... what? Wrong Charlie X? C’mon, how different can they be?

[typhlosion-teeth]

sweet beginnings [raihan x reader]

This is some straight up fluff with our favorite dragon boy. ;) Based in the same timeline as my other scenario, Sunday Morning, although this one takes place earlier! I hope you enjoy. 🐉🧡💕 If you have any comments or think I should start a tag list, always feel free to drop me a message! I love hearing from you.

///

Another yawn escaped your mouth as you pulled open the top drawer of your dresser and rummaged for some socks. You began tossing your selected pairs into the open suitcase beside you, hoping that they all mostly matched. You didn’t mean to leave packing until the last minute, really you didn’t, but sometimes your warm blankets just didn’t want to let you go. Your Skitty was doing his best to help your endeavor by sitting on top of your laundry pile and meowing every so often in encouragement.

At least, that’s what you assumed he was doing.

Once your clothes were mostly selected, you dragged the suitcase to the living room and headed to the bathroom to pack your toiletries as well. You didn’t get very far before your doorbell rang. Your doorbell? At this hour?

You opened the door to your apartment and came face to face with Raihan. He grinned at you in greeting. The two of you had become fast friends when you moved to the central city a few months ago, but for some reason it surprised you to see him at your doorstep. Surprised, and yet thrilled you all the same.

“Morning!” He said, his bright blue eyes meeting your gaze. “I hope I’m not intruding too early?”

“Oh, no not at all!” You replied, finding it easy to return his grin. “Good morning to you, too. Did you want to come in?”

“Actually, I came to see if you wanted to grab breakfast with me. I’m in the mood for a big, decadent pastry down at the cafe, and it’s always better with company.”

“You know, that sounds amazing!” You replied, but at that moment your Skitty tugged on the leg of your pants, pointing with his tail and meowing at the mess of a suitcase on the living room floor behind you. Frowning slightly, you crouched down to scratch behind his ears. “We can finish packing when I get back, okay? It won’t take too long. I’ll even bring you home a treat!”

That seemed to satisfy the pink kitten, who squeaked and ran in a quick circle around you. The guest at your door gave you a curious glance as you stood up again.

“Packing?” Raihan questioned. “Are you going away somewhere?”

“Yeah, for a little bit.” You said, sliding your shoes on and grabbing your bag from the table. “I can fill you in over a big, tasty pastry.”

“Deal.” The gym leader nodded, stepping back so you could close your apartment door.

The walk to the cafe was easy, peaceful and comfortable with Raihan by your side. The sun was still working its way up in the sky, and many inhabitants of Hammerlocke were still in bed. Pidove cooed and chattered from the rooftops, and a few older townsfolk were taking their Yamper for a walk by the railway station. As you approached the building, the scent of coffee and sweets reached your senses and you realized how hungry you really were. Raihan opened the door for you with a slight bow and a wink, and you giggled as you stepped in.

There were a couple other patrons with their morning coffee, talking softly while piano music wafted through the air. The Milcery at the counter chirped excitedly as you approached, alerting the cafe owner to your presence.

“Good morning! Hey there, Raihan. The usual for you?”

“Yeah, please.” He said with a nod. When he turned to you, you were already looking through all the treats in the glass case. Raihan laughed. “Our real goal today is one of these beauties.”

“They’re all fresh from the oven this morning.” The owner said proudly.

Raihan crouched down to look in the case with you. “Which one are you feeling?”

“I think I might have to go with the strawberry danish.” You pointed at the pastry in question, glistening with fresh red berries and white drizzled glaze. “And a green tea.”

“Got it. One strawberry, and one cinnamon apple danish. And a nice hot tea.” Raihan told the man behind the counter. You straightened up and went to reach for your wallet, but your companion took your wrist gently. Looking up at him, you saw his face light up in a smile. “Ah-ah. My treat.”

You attempted to disregard the blush on your cheeks as his touch lingered on your skin.

“Thanks, Raihan.”

“No problem.” He only let go of you to pay for breakfast, and the place on your wrist that he came in contact with tingled slightly.

You selected a cozy table in the corner of the shop, settling down with a comfortable sigh. It wasn’t long before another staff member delivered your drinks and pastries to you, which the two of you accepted with thanks.

“So, tell me about this trip of yours.” Raihan said, looking at you over the rim of his coffee cup. “Vacation?”

“Nothing like that.” You answered, lifting your fork to take a bite of your danish. It was incredible. “I have to head back to my hometown for a little bit. The professor that I used to work with there has research for me to pick up. It’s not really anything that pertains to me, but I need to deliver it to Magnolia so she can begin reviewing it. More of a favor to an old friend than actual work, but it will be nice to see those old friends again for a little while.”

Your companion nodded, finishing his own bite of pastry.

“Makes sense to me. At least you’ll have a nice time while you’re getting it done. Do you miss your hometown a lot?”

“I miss it, yeah. I mean, I love it here in Galar, but nothing’s quite like seeing the place where you got your start, you know?”

“I’m sure your Pokémon will be happy to adventure with you too.” Raihan grinned.

“Oh, you bet. Especially Skitty, he will run through the grass any chance he gets.”

“Say...” The gym leader suddenly looked very shy. “While you’re off doing that errand, would you mind doing one for me at the same time?”

You were surprised at his inquiry, but you supposed he didn’t have quite as much time to get things done in his daily life. You were happy to help out a friend, after all.

“Yeah, sure. What do you need?”

“Well, I have a Pokémon egg that I found, and I want it to hatch. I know I could just incubate it with a fire type Pokémon for a while at home, but I think it would be better for it to spend time with you on your trip while it grows. Make it strong with the energy of the world and other Pokémon, yeah?”

“Oh that’s easy!” You clapped your hands together. “I can keep your egg with me while I’m away. Whatever’s inside will grow up to be an adventurer.”

“Awesome.” Raihan said, looking relieved.

The two of you continued to chat for the better part of an hour, taking your time with your breakfast on this easy, comfy morning. You learned a bit more about your gym leader friend, and in turn shared more about yourself. Before you left the cafe, you were sure to pick up a biscuit for Skitty, which Raihan also insisted he buy for you. Afterwards, he walked you back to your place, and before going inside, you turned to him.

“Thank you again for breakfast! We will have to do that again when I get back next week.”

“Sounds good to me.” Raihan beamed. “When are you leaving? I can bring the egg to you before you go.”

“About 5 this evening. I’ll be taking the train out at 5:15.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at the station tonight. Don’t forget!”

“I won’t.” You laughed and waved to him, letting yourself in your front door. Skitty was at your feet in seconds, meowing excitedly. You made your way into the living room and handed him his biscuit, which he nibbled on immediately.

You felt your smile linger all day, even as you finished packing your suitcases.

~~

Once 5 o’clock approached, you gave your room one last glance around, making sure you didn’t forget anything. Skitty perched himself on your shoulder as you locked up and made the train station your next destination.

As promised, Raihan was waiting outside the station for you. Although you noticed that he was wearing a different outfit than his usual hoodie and shorts, probably to deflect attention from the townspeople and fans. His expression brightened as he saw you approach.

“Time to head out, huh?” He said as you stood beside him. You nodded. He reached into his bag and gingerly handed you a green Pokémon egg. It was warm in your hands, and you held it close protectively. “I can’t wait to see how this turns out.”

“Me too!” You agreed, nodding. “Surprises like this are so exciting.”

The announcement system chimed and declared that the train would be departing in 10 minutes.

“Guess that’s your cue.” Raihan nodded towards the clock. “I also have this for you.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a cleanly folded up note. You reached to take it for him, but before he let go, he gave you a sly smirk.

“On one condition. You can only read this after the egg hatches. Okay?”

While it was a strange request, you agreed all the same. It added to the mystery of the egg hatching!

“Okay. No peeking until this baby comes out of its egg.” You giggled and tucked the letter into the front pocket of your bag. “It’s a deal.”

“All right. Now go on, we don’t want you to miss your train!” The gym leader pulled you in for a hug, being careful not to crush the egg you were holding gently. You shifted your grip so you could at least wrap an arm around his neck. He was warm, and he smelled so good - like juniper and bergamot. You willed yourself to let go and bid him farewell.

“Safe travels!”

“See you in a week!”

You noticed that he saw you off until the train safely rolled out of the station. You wondered if he saw you watching him through the window as well.

~~

Being back in your hometown was just as great as you expected it to be. You visited your family, caught up with some old friends who wanted to hear anything and everything about the Galar region, and of course stopped by the professor’s lab to retrieve the research you needed.

All with Raihan’s egg nestled safely in your bag.

Those you met with all speculated what they thought it could be. He is a dragon tamer, so maybe a Dratini? No no, that’s too obvious, maybe something unusual like an Alolan Meowth? If you want unusual, what if it’s a Girafarig?

The amount of possibilities just about made your head spin. Your friends had fun guessing what they thought it would be, but you were more than happy to wait to see it with your own eyes.

Which happened much sooner than you expected.

You were walking on a sunny afternoon only a couple days after you arrived home. Skitty was cheerfully at your heels when he wasn’t chasing the Butterfree or rolling in the soft green grass of the route you were traversing. You smiled as you watched him, greeting the other trainers along the way and engaging in a few friendly battles.

It was then you started hearing a crackling sound coming from your bag. You stopped in your tracks, joining Skitty in the grass as you sat down cross legged and held your bag in your lap. The egg was shaking, cracks beginning to web across the surface of the spotted shell.

“It’s time!” You said excitedly as your pink kitten sat attentively beside you, just as eager to watch. Taking the egg from your pack, you set it gently in the grass and watched it rock back and forth with more energy. More cracks formed, and a piece of the shell fell to the ground. From the hole you could hear little squeaks as the Pokémon did its best to enter the world. You cooed words of encouragement, and finally the shell split down the middle and two halves fell to the side.

Before you sat a small, glistening red Applin. Its eyes gazed up at you innocently, and you felt the widest smile spread on your face.

“Hello, little one.” You said softly, holding out your hand. The Applin nudged your fingers happily with another joyous chirp. You could tell by the light mottled color that it was a female, and her nature already seemed to be quite curious. She hopped over to Skitty, who booped the apple gently with his paw. You took this moment to take Raihan’s letter from the pocket of your bag, unfolding it and noting that it was handwritten, beginning with your name.

===

Surprise! I bet you weren’t expecting it to be this little guy. (Or girl. You’ll have to tell me which it is.)

Truth is, I knew what was inside this egg all along. I have a pair of Flapple down at the Daycare and this egg came from them. Believe it or not, despite how open and outgoing I can be on a daily basis, I can be a little... nervous. When it comes to certain things. Which is why I hatched this amazing plan. (Hatched!! I know, I know, I’m hilarious. ;)

You know about the tradition in Galar, right? That presenting someone with an Applin is a token of romantic affection, and if they accept the offering then your relationship has been blessed with good luck and longevity? Well. I wasn’t entirely sure I could give you Applin in person without my heart giving out in nervousness, and I knew you would be traveling with your team, so. Ta-da! Pretty good for something put together in a day.

I like you. A lot. And I’m really hoping I’ve been reading the signs right that you might like me too. The Applin is yours no matter what, but it is my wish that the old tradition worked for this lonely little gym leader, and you’ll honor me with an official date when you get back home to Hammerlocke.

Yours,

Raihan

===

You set the letter down in the grass and turned to the tiny apple Pokemon beside you. She cheeped curiously, coming up to nudge against your leg. You picked her up with a smile, warmth blooming in your chest in a way you had never felt before. The dragon tamer was absolutely right - you had feelings for him that were growing stronger every day.

“He really is something.” You said to the Applin with a smile. Her tail wiggled happily as you set her on your shoulder and reached for your Rotom phone, tapping on Raihan’s number and letting the device hover in front of you for a video call. It rang a few times before the gym leader answered, his bright blue eyes and iconic smile nearly glowing as he saw your face on his screen.

“Hey, you!” Raihan greeted. “How’s your trip been? Are you still-”

You saw the very moment his brain registered the Applin sitting on your shoulder, and the rest of his sentence went forgotten. There was a brief pause as he swallowed thickly, scratching the back of his head with a nervous, yet giddy, smile.

“Looks to me like that egg of yours hatched.” Raihan said, testing the waters.

“It sure did,” You confirmed. “Isn’t she precious?”

“Ah, so it’s a little girl after all! What a cutie.”

“And, as promised, I read your note only after she hatched.” You shifted a bit, feeling your fingertips tingle with sheer delight. Raihan was nearly pressed against his phone, trying to rein in his anticipation. Feeling your cheeks grow warm, you glanced away for a moment while you continued. “I had heard about the Applin tradition in passing when I moved to Galar, but I wasn’t sure if it was something that people still did, or a thing of the past. But now I can see it’s still very much alive.”

“Yeah,” Raihan breathed out. “It’s not terribly common, but I’ve always thought it was sweet.”

“It is.” You looked back at your phone, meeting his blue eyes through the connection. Taking the Applin into your arms and holding her safely against your chest, you let your true grin show through. “And I accept. I would love to go on a date with you.”

The gym leader let out a sound of pure relief, a hand going to the side of his face as he mirrored your smile.

“I was getting worried there for a sec. I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes!”

“Oh, I knew I was going to say yes as soon as I finished the letter.” You laughed. “But maybe I wanted to see you sweat a little bit first.”

Raihan wrinkled his nose playfully. He asked you about how your traveling was going, and you told him all about the encounters you found among the different routes and cities. By the time you got to the end of your tale, the sun was beginning to set behind you. You desperately wanted to continue chatting with Raihan, but you knew you needed to make it to the next town before nightfall. Your conversation wound down to a quiet moment, and the two of you said your farewells. Reaching down to tap your Rotom’s phone screen, the gym leader spoke again.

“Hey,” Raihan said quickly, before you hit the end call button. You hummed, tilting your head. “Thanks. I mean, just.. You make me really happy. And I’m thankful for that.”

“You make me happy too, Raihan.”

He let out a little laugh, as if hearing you say his name was the best thing in the world.

“G’night, sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

You ended the call and your Rotom phone flipped back to the home screen. You nodded towards your bag and it nestled itself into the side pocket as you stood up. The Applin chirped again, blinking up at you.

“I’m going to have to think of a great name for you.” You told her as you picked up your things. Scooping the apple Pokémon into your embrace again, you headed towards the inn on the outskirts of town. There, you could settle down for the evening and start brainstorming the best date locations around Hammerlocke.

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

winter reminiscence pt . 2

Summary: Upon meeting Timothee on the bus, Y/N goes to her favorite bookstore, while Timothee goes out to his study place, to get their minds off of each other. Unfortunately, for both of them it is a small world they live in and luck was not on their side, or was it?

word count: 1,967                                                                                     reading time aprox: 7 mins

timothee's pov

From the turn the bus had taken after she had gotten off to a few stations down, I sat despairingly in my seat, cooped up in evident mental suppression. I ran my fingers through my curls, while my other hand played with the ‘Columbia University’ tassel that hung from my side pocket, scanning the surroundings and finding the bus a ghost town. 

“Kid, this is the last stop” The bus driver announced over the loudspeaker, the wheels screeching to a halt, catching my attention.

“Sorry, thank you” I apologized, apprehensively waving a hand to gesture my atonement. With that I stepped off the bus and made my merry way to the coffee shop where I would buy my daily dose of caffeine. 

The sign read “bon café” in luminescent script, surrounded by cartoons of miniature succulents and vines that draped across the cafe’s door frame. The aesthetic of the place reminded me of the trips to Marseille with my dad whenever I’d fly to France to meet him. The greek inspired textured walls, the little ornaments of boats, and the paintings of water would be what my father called “la plus belle époque architecturale”.

Standing by the counter, I took my place in line while listening to the muted tracks of ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘White Christmas’ that battled against the chatter that filled the atmosphere. As soon as I got to the front, I ordered a hot chocolate and a buttered bagel, knowing that I was going to be here for a while. 

I picked up my order from the counter, and chose a two-seater in the corner where a single ficus stood, an overhead light illuminating the table. I rested my Anthropology textbook in front of me, opening to the review page as I studied for my Midterms. 

The rings of the welcome bell by the front door would take me out of my concentration, although I tried to focus on the material in front of me. But what really did it for me was the change of music in the place, the cheery seasonal playlist was swapped out for a Beatles song, specifically, ‘Here Comes The Sun’, more specifically:

her favorite song

It seemed as if I suddenly forgot how to read as my eyes scanned the same phrase over and over again. With this, I closed the book aggressively, shutting my eyes in irritation and dragging my hands over my face. In addition to this, as the song ended, ‘She Loves You’, another song from the beatles, came on. 

With a groan, I rested my head on the surface of the table, banging my head in attempt to physically shake out all the sensations and memories I wish I regretted. 

-

“She’s my best friend Y/N! Why can’t you understand that” I muttered in a low tone, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to keep this stupid and unreasonable fight to rest. 

“I’m not saying I don’t understand Timmy, I get it! She’s your best friend and I understand that completely. But how do you expect me to react when she’s telling all her little friends that you, quote on quote, told her you wanted to kiss her” She counteracted, crossing her arms while shaking her head at me, which seemed to fuel me even more.  

“That’s how we joke around and it was through text. Gosh, can you even take a joke?” I justified

“So that’s joking around, huh. Right Timmy? That’s joking around” She asked, sarcasm dripping off every word she spoke. “But whenever another guy dm’s me, suddenly, you want to log into my account to check them out and then magically they get erased from my message box. Right Timmy?” 

I stood silent as anger began bubbling through my veins, traveling upwards towards my face as rouge began to show through my pale skin. With clenched fists, and gritted teeth, I managed to get out “So what do you want me to do, huh, do you want to stop being friends with her?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying Chalamet, I’m literally just here confronting you on a situation that I’ve heard of” She stated, letting out a breath as her passive-aggressive words slipped out from her lips. 

“But that’s what you want, don’t you? You want me to stop talking to her?”

“That’s not what I’m sayi-”

“No you tell me” I stated firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “If that’s what it takes for you to drop this, I will” I confessed, staring at her blankly, my lips frozen in a line. 

“Yes” She nodded, sighing as she rubbed the side of her temples. “But I don’t want you to do it, if you really don’t want to. I don’t want to sacrifice your convenience for mine” She added on, her natural compassion trickling into her speech. 

Taking out my phone, I searched up the contact that I had of my best friend and with a little hesitation, clicked the block button and placed my phone back in my pocket. 

“There” I replied dryly. “Anything for you” 

-

y/n’s pov

Trudging through the melted ice, I made my way to a modest bookstore that nobody really knew about. It was in a quaint neighborhood in Brooklyn that had old fashioned cobble streets, filled with extraordinary and history filled antique shops, charming eateries and cafes, museums, and statues of people long gone.

Quickening my pace, I pushed against the glass door and into the, fortunately, heated space filled with countless amounts of literature. What I loved about this secret library was that it was a hidden gem in the area as it isn’t particularly visible compared to the garnished and well-decorated buildings beside it. 

The plain peach walls and the small reading benches created a cozy atmosphere, a perfect place to sit down and embark on adventures through other people’s written words. 

Shimmying through the aisles, my fingers ran to touch the spines of the old books as I, once again, found myself in between the ‘coming-of-age’ and ‘historical dramas’ section. Closing my eyes, I continued to feel the books until I landed on a random novel, plucking it out of the shelf, I opened my eyes to see printed “Little Women” as the title. 

With a curious smile, I read the blurb eager to set upon another expedition. Maybe one to get my mind off of my own trying times. It seemed to be about four sisters, set back in the Civil War Era, that described the values of poverty and family. 

Approving the book, I read the first few pages and walked over to the counter, where a brittle old lady with an obnoxious hat and humongous reading glasses sat idle. 

“Good afternoon” I greeted, handing her the copy I had taken from the shelf, waiting patiently as she tried finding the barcode for the book. 

“Little Women I see, I remember when I was about your age I would find myself gravitating towards this book again and again” She grinned, releasing a hearty chuckle that ended up in a coughing fit. “Pardon me, I guess the old lungs don’t work like they ought to” She admitted. 

Throughout her spiel, numerous scans had been demonstrated and nothing but a red bulb light up, indicating there was some sort of error. “Oh golly me, I apologize for the inconvenience young lady. I guess I’m not the only one getting old” She joked. 

I politely joined in, but ultimately grimaced as she proceeded to bang on the machine with unknowing force. “This might be a while” She bashfully disclosed. “If anything, please feel free to browse, this’ll be about 15 to 30 minutes”

With a courteous nod, I notified her of my return later on as I stepped outside of the store, basking in the imposing village around me. With a breath of fresh air, my eyes landed on an archaic coffee shop embellished with shrubbery across the street to where I was. 

I squinted my eyes at the outside menu plastered on a chalkboard near the entrance, although my nearsightedness limited me as I only recognized blots of white chalk and of what looked like script. 

An abrupt grumbling noise broke the quiet air and I felt a twist in my stomach. Suddenly, I felt the craving for a chocolate croissant and maybe a brownie or three. The scent traveling from the crepe cart near me didn’t help with the situation, my sense of smell lolling in the piquant aroma. 

I walked across the street clutching my stomach as I was rather not keen in being cold and hungry. The glass front came into view, squaring in on various college students chatting about or studying and business men absorbed into typing furiously on their laptops. 

Opening the door, I was instantly hugged by the smell of coffee and the warmth provided by the old fashioned heaters, finding a spot on line to order a few things.

timothee’s pov

The ringing of the cafe bell snapped me out of my thoughts, bringing me back to reality, where I suppressed those memories in the back of my head. Opening my textbook once again, I forced myself to invest my full fledged attention to the course. 

At least that was the initial plan, when a phone dropped in front of my table for the second time today, causing me to do a double take as the scene from my memories has discernibly come to life in front of me.

y/n’s pov

“Shit!” I cursed gracefully, tripping over an old rug and hearing the sound of my phone’s impending doom. With a sigh, I turned around with a croissant stapled to my lips and a brownie bag in one hand. “I’m so sorry-” I mumbled through the baked good, but stopped when found my phone in the same place as it was before. 

Realization hit me and mortification soon inundated my stance, my current appearance giving a sharp blow to my dignity as Timothee sat handsomely in his seat. 

“You seriously need pants with deeper pockets” He quipped, handing me my phone with an uncomfortable smile. Gazing at my state with condolence. 

“Thank you...” I paused, “Again for, you know, saving my phone” I replied stiffly. Never meeting his fixed stare, I focused on the tips of my shoelaces, reminiscing on my favorite episode of Phineas and Ferb, my thoughts carelessly diverting my attention to these fond memories. 

“So, um, how have you been?” He asked with a tight smile, folding his textbook close. 

“I’ve been great” I replied a little too enthusiastically like I had something to prove. I looked at him chastely, noticing the flecks of brown in his irises, something I’d spend hours fixated on when we’d lie in bed. “How’s college going on for you?” I asked, referring to the book in front of him. 

“Oh yeah, college, it’s difficult, I guess” He answered with a dry chuckle, scratching the back of his head. 

Sensing the unpleasantness in the air, I nodded at him and smiled, the chattering voices in the background unable to fill the awkward silence between us. “Um, anyway. I best be going” I said, the words basically fumbling out from my tongue. 

I hastily reeled around, making a full 180 as my heartbeat threatened to fall out of my chest with the pace it’s been going at. Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I pursued an escape route from the arduous ambience. 

However, the action was pulled to a halt when I felt an all too familiar hand grip my wrist falteringly. 

“Wait” 

Timothee spoke with a dawdling and reluctant voice, in which I turned around prudently, looking into his unreadable eyes. 

But at least this time, he was looking back at mine. 

-

finale

[lovelyirony]

Iron Widow for 51. “Are you trying to seduce me?” - “Depends. Are you seducible?” 😍

Tony Stark was heir-apparent to the Carbonell and not the Least Bit interested in marriage. 

“You have to get married,” his mother frets. 

“Why?” Tony asks. 

“Because I need to have someone who will actually reign you in. Do not think for a second I am fooled by Rhodey, I saw you both on the roof last week.” 

Tony groans, throwing himself on his bed. 

“Tony, darling,” Maria says, smoothing her son’s hair back. “We need advantages. I didn’t...it’s not exactly beneficial for my small kingdom to be at odds with the Starks.” 

Tony scowls; his mother had left King Howard for multiple reasons, the clearest of which was that he was the worst man alive.” 

“I’ll do it to spite him then,” Tony says. “And you made the right choice, Mama. Now you can have the children of the kingdom in whenever you please.” 

They start reviewing eligible candidates. 

Some are a complete snooze. 

“This guy...Hammer? Rhodey, did you seriously put him in here?” 

“A comedic break,” Rhodey says. “I know you have higher standards than that. Did you really think that I would think you two were a good match?” 

“Granted,” Tony shrugs. 

Sharon’s also in the back, reviewing the paper copies. Her eyes go up as she sees someone. 

“Rhodey, skip to slide thirty-two.” 

“You guys made thirty-two slides?!” 

“Relax, five of those were memes I made of the potential suitors,” Sharon says, rolling her eyes. “Well, also one of Rhodey. But you can always see that later. I’d like to introduce you to Queen Natasha Romanov.” 

She’s gorgeous. She has a serene smile and has her interests are surprising for someone of her caliber; she likes marksmanship, stealth, and leading some of her country’s own military operations. She rules in partnership with her equal, King James.” 

“They’re not married?” Tony asks with a frown. 

"Their kingdom has a need for two leaders. In case one is killed in action, the other takes over. No romance necessary.” 

Tony nods. 

“I’ll be seeing her at the ball?” He asks carefully. 

“Of course.” 

- 

The prep for the ball is simply exhausting. Tony has heard that the Head Chef is wreaking havoc on the interns for buttercream frosting production, Sharon’s been vetting security and holding arrangements of flowers, and his own mother is making minute adjustments. 

“This is going to be a fucking train wreck,” Tony grumbles, frowning. 

“It won’t be terrible,” Rhodey muses. “At least you have free entertainment for the night. Sharon invited Justin and we’re seeing if he’ll believe that our country has blue wine.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“We’re attempting.” 

Tony snorts, looking at the suit that his advisory has laid out. It’s a simple black but it fits like a dream and is simplistic and neutral. He adds a rather nice pair of cuff-links and turns to his friend. 

“Do I look presentable?” 

“As ever. Let’s head down, Sharon’s getting antsy.” 

- 

Natasha surveys the room. She was surprised when she received an invitation, but even more surprised when she took a look at the heir and found herself very...interested. 

He had a gaze that was intense, a stature that let those around him know that he was in charge and he knew what he was doing whether or not you wanted him to be doing that. 

Consider her interested. 

Natasha herself was with James, who was very uncomfortable in his suit and it showed. 

“Could you even act at-ease?” Natasha murmurs. “You’re not even the one interested in this.” 

“That’s because I don’t see why you’re fawning over this guy,” he grumbles. 

“Because he’s smart and he has nice eyes,” Natasha says. “I’ll see if he has anything else to offer by the end of the night.” 

She leans back now to enjoy the show of Tony Carbonell coming down the stairs, light on his feet and incredibly graceful. He seems to float as he walks, greeting his mother with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. She straightens his tie, which results in an eye-roll but no other form of frustration. 

- 

Tony decided he would never again socialize as long as he lived. Many of the suitors were alright, but some were just the absolute worst. Doom wasn’t so bad on the eyes at least and could carry a decent conversation about science and engineering, but really? 

He wouldn’t shut up about his country to let Tony get a word in edge-wise. 

“When we’re married I think you’d look wonderful in green,” he muses. 

Tony’s eyes blaze. 

“There’s no ‘when,’ Doom, because I would rather volunteer to swim with piranhas than spend even a night with you!” 

He stomps off, steam nearly coming out the ears. 

Rhodey and Sharon are amused. 

“Free entertainment,” Sharon sighs. “I love tonight.” 

“Then you go spend an hour talking with Doom,” Tony says, ordering a water from the bar. “Or hell, have him talk at you. I am tired.” 

This is when Natasha Romanov makes her move. She’s currently been talking with other candidates and Sharon, who has been a lovely woman to talk to and would probably make a fantastic match for James, who has been brooding by the appetizers table. 

“Good evening,” Natasha says. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself yet. I’m Natasha Romanov.” 

“Tony Carbonell,” Tony responds. “Pleasure.” 

“May I have this dance?” Natasha asks. “It seems that Justin Hammer is coming back around for a round of questioning and forgive me for saying, but you cannot hide your facial expressions that well.” 

Tony clasps her hand and gets himself whirled onto the floor, easy music flowing through. 

“Are you always this smooth?” Tony asks. 

“Only on days that end in ‘y’,” Natasha answers. Tony rolls his eyes. 

“That was terrible.” 

“Yeah,” Natasha admits, grinning. “But I think not as terrible as Doom.” 

“Ugh, I know. He’s annoying.” 

They dance for a while longer until the song ends and Tony invites Natasha to get a plate with him. 

“What brought you here?” Tony asks. “Besides the invitation.” 

“Had to see if your pants fit you as well as they do in the picture,” Natasha responds. 

Tony chokes on a cheese cube. 

“Are you...trying to seduce me?” 

“Depends,” Natasha starts, grinning. “Are you seducible?”  

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“You are about the biggest sap here, I swear to god.” 

They talk late into the night, long past when the band goes home and Tony was supposed to bid all the other guests goodnight. 

He much prefers debating with Natasha about conspiracy theories, telling her about his awful father, and her solemnly promising to help with the situation. 

- 

Six months later, Natasha has an official, royal proposal. It makes world headlines, she’s very proud. She’s even better when she gets to show off her husband to the world and promise everyone that the countries were friendly and allied with one another for future benefits, such as clean energy. 

(And cleaning up King Howard. But that was a different adventure much left after the honeymoon.) 

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hell is For Children: Animorphs as Children’s Lit

[Guest post from Cates!]

So a couple of months ago Bug asked me to write a post about why Animorphs is Middle Grade/Children’s Fiction, not Young Adult. Since she asked, I’ve read several wonderful posts from other people questioning or explaining what the difference is between Middle Grade and Young Adult, where Animorphs fits, and why it matters. Here’s my two cents as a children’s literature scholar.

To start, Animorphs’ 20,000-30,000 word count per book is a big hint it’s not YA fiction. Obviously, a book with a low word count is not automatically a children’s book, and a book with a high word count is not automatically a book for adults. But if Animorphs was aimed at teens, Applegate would likely have been expected to make the books longer. While there are a lot of great YA novels that are as short as or shorter than your average Animorphs book (check out BookRiot’s list of 100 YA novels under 250 pages,) most YA series, and especially fantasy or scifi YA series, are expected to top 100,000 words. (The three books in the Diviners series by Libba Bray have a total wordcount of 520,000 words; Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy tops 400,000 words, for example.)

Animorphs’ word count isn’t enough on its own to exclude the series from YA classification, but Animorphs’ short word count also fits the trend of children’s—not YA—series fiction in the 1990s. In order to understand this trend, and why it produced books specifically for children, not teens, we need to jump back in time to WWII. Because so many American men were drafted into the military, women took over jobs that had been almost exclusively done by men, like mechanics, sales, electricians, etc. When WWII ended, thousands of men returned home, but women didn’t leave the workforce. Realizing they had an excess of young men and not enough jobs, the US government created the GI Bill, allowing soldiers to attend college for free or at a steeply reduced cost, thus stemming the influx of workers and giving the economy and industry room to grow.

At the same time, families were having children (and those children were surviving) at an unprecedented rate. Thanks to the GI Bill, college was no longer something reserved for wealthy white men, but something available to the middle and even lower class. A college education offered social and economic mobility, and the Baby Boomers, children of the GI Bill recipients, became the first generation to grow up with the idea that college was something that could and should be pursued by all.

Then, the Baby Boomers began having children in the late 1970s through early 1990s, meaning a large chunk of those children (including Bug and I) were in elementary school in mid 1990s to early 2000s. Thanks to their parents, a higher percentage of American adults than ever before had attended college. Thanks to advancements in women’s medicine, psychology, sociology, and education, among other fields, people understood as never before the importance of instilling a love of reading in children at a young age. The huge middle class was willing to invest lots of time and money in their children’s educations, because at this point not having a college education was seen as a barrier to success.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. (Kidding).

Children’s publishing exploded in the 1990s because children—or, more accurately, their parents—were seen as a huge, untapped market. Previously, children’s publishing didn’t receive as much money or attention because, the logic went, children did not have money and therefore couldn’t buy books. But then the publishing industry realized that there were literally millions of parents willing to spend money on their children’s education, and publishers like Scholastic, Dutton, Dial, Penguin, Random House, and others rushed to take advantage of this new customer demographic.

Of the ten books featured on this Scholastic bookfair poster from 2000, seven are series fiction.

Serialized fiction—ie, stories that took place over the course of several books about the same characters and/or in the same setting—was the perfect way for publishing houses to capitalize on this new market. And hoo boy was it successful. From 1993 to 1995, Goosebumps books were being sold at a rate of approximately 4 million books a month. That means roughly 130,000 books were sold every day.

Here’s a few names to bring you back: Bailey School Kids, The Magic Treehouse, Babysitter’s Club, Junie B. Jones, Encyclopedia Brown, Cam Jansen, Horrible Harry, Secrets of Droon, The Magic Attic Club, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Bunnicula, The Boxcar Children, The American Girls, Amelia’s Notebook, Dear America, Wayside School, Choose Your Own Adventure…we could keep going for days. All of those series have two things in common: one, they were either published between 1985 and 2005 and/or experienced a huge resurgence in the 90s, and two, they’re all middle grade novels. Some are aimed at younger children, like Junie B. Jones and The Magic Treehouse, and some are aimed at older children, like the Dear America series and A Series of Unfortunate Events.

The point is, Animorphs is so clearly a product of its time (and not just because of the Hansen Brothers references,) it slots perfectly into the trend of series fiction for children. If you want to claim Animorphs is YA, you also need to claim all of the series I just listed above.

Now, let’s talk about the main argument I see in favor Animorphs being YA: the dark content.

This is my personal wheelhouse. I’m planning on someday doing my PhD dissertation on trauma, violence, war, and trauma recovery in Middle Grade—not YA—fiction. I always find it funny when people use descriptors like cute, sweet, innocent, silly, light, and simple to describe children’s books. While there are certainly plenty of children’s books that are one or more of those things, there are also dozens that are the polar opposite—dark, complex, serious, violent, and deep. I once read a review of The Golden Compass which said “it’s not like other children’s books with a clear cut good guy and bad guy and a simple message.” I don’t know how many children’s books the author of the article had read, but I’m guessing not a lot. Let’s just do a blunt reality check with a few of my favorites—including some picture books which are typically for an even younger audience than Middle Grade. Spoilers for all of the books I’m about to mention.

Baseball Saved Us by Ken Mochizuki This book follows a little boy who is sent to a Japanese interment camp during WWII. He and his family deal with abuse, starvation, and sickness. Suggested reading age*? Kindergarten and up.

*(For this and all subsequent books I used reviews from Kirkus, the Horn Book, and School Library Journal to determine suggested reading age.)

Check out this picture of Shorty playing baseball while an armed soldier watches him from a guard tower. Isn’t it cute, sweet, and innocent?

Pink and Say by Patricia Polacco Pink and Say are 15-year-old boys serving as Union Soldiers during the Civil War. Confederate Soldiers kill Pink’s mother, Pink and Say become POWs, and Pink is hanged because he is African American. Suggested reading age? First grade and up.

Fox by Margaret Wild This book starts grim and just gets grimmer. Dog and Magpie have been burned in a wildfire. Dog loses an eye, Magpie a wing. Magpie rides on Dog’s head—she is his eyes, he is her wings. Fox comes and convinces Magpie to leave Dog and come with him. There are definite sexual undertones. The book ends with the possibility that Dog and Magpie will be reunited, but no certainty. Suggested reading age? Six and up.

[The text says “He stops, scarcely panting./ There is silence between them/ Neither moves, neither speaks./ Then Fox shakes Magpie off his back/ as he would a flea,/ and pads away./ He turns and looks at Magpie, and he says,/ ‘Now you and Dog will know what it is like/ to be truly alone.’/ Then he is gone./ In the stillness, Magpie hears a faraway scream./ She cannot tell if it is a scream of triumph/ or despair.”]

Tell me this isn’t a total punch in the gut.

The Rabbits by Shaun Tan The introduction of rabbits to Australia is used as an allegory for European colonization and the casual destruction of the Aboriginals’ lives and cultures. Suggested reading age? Six and up.

The Scarlet Stockings Spy by Trinka Hakes Noble A girl spies on the British during the Revolutionary War while her brother fights. He’s killed and there’s actually a description of her finding the “bloodstained hole” in his coat where the bullet struck him. How cute and silly! Suggested reading age? Second grade and up.

Meet Addy: An American Girl by Connie Rose Porter I think this works as a nice comparison to Animorphs because it’s another long-running, popular series aimed at kids just starting to read chapter books. Among other incidents, there’s a graphic description of Addy watching her brother get whipped by an overseer and a passage where another overseer forces Addy to eat worms. I actually give American Girls a lot of points for not shying away from the uglier parts of history. They don’t always get it right (*cough* Kaya *cough*) but those books are more complex than I think most people realize. Suggested reading age? Second grade and up.

My Teacher Flunked the Planet by Bruce Coville From the sight of a child starving to death to homeless children freezing in the streets, Coville certainly doesn’t avoid the darker side of human nature. Pretty sure most adults only noticed the funny green alien on the cover. Suggested reading age? Fourth grade and up.

“That was the day we crept, invisible, into a prison where men and women were being tortured for disagreeing with their government. What had already been done to those people was so ugly I cannot bring myself to describe it, even though the memory of it remains like a scar burned into my brain with a hot iron.

“Even worse was the moment when it was about to start again. When I saw what the uniformed man was going to do to the woman strapped to the table, I pressed myself against the wall and closed my eyes. But even with my hands clamped over my ears I couldn’t shut out her scream.”

Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai The Vietnam War, migrants drowning in the ocean, refugee camps, racism…this book is a bit like Animorphs in that it’s got a surprisingly dry sense of humor even as awful events take place. Suggested reading age? Fourth grade and up.

The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Patterson A pretty harsh look at the realities of America’s foster care system as told by a girl who could give Rachel Berenson a run for her money. It’s not afraid to show that parents aren’t automatically good people. Suggested reading age? Third grade and up.

Stepping on the Cracks and Wait Til Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn If WWII, bullying, dead siblings, draft dodging, and parental abuse are too light and fluffy for you, you can always read about a child consumed with survivor’s guilt because she started the fire that killed her mother. Suggested reading age? Fifth grade and up.

“‘How do you think Jimmy would feel if he knew his own sister was helping a deserter while he lay dying in Belgium?’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ I said, stung by the unfairness of her question. ‘Stuart was sick, he needed me! I wish Jimmy had been down there in the woods, too! Then he’d be alive, not dead!’

Mother slapped me then, hard as she could, right in the face. ‘Never say anything like that again!’ she cried. ‘Never!’”

I could go on (and on and on and on) about trauma narratives for children, but suffice to say while I think Animorphs is probably the most brilliant one I’ve ever read, it’s far from the only one. Kids’ books can be dark, which is good, because if we only tell stories about white, able-bodied children living in big houses with two loving parents then we’re excluding the majority of real children’s lived experiences from our narratives.

There’s one more point I’d like to address: without sounding overly accusatory, I think a lot of the compulsion to consider Animorphs YA instead of children’s fiction is born of the adult bias against children. I’ve mentioned this before on the podcast, but Children’s Literature scholar Maria Nikolajeva created the term aetonormativity to describe society’s tendency to value the adult over the child. Like I discussed above, we have this idea that children’s books are somehow sweet and innocent, while YA fiction is darker and grittier because it addresses so-called ‘adult’ topics like sex, drugs, suicide, violence, and death.

As I hope I’ve established above, just because a book addresses these topics that doesn’t automatically mean it’s for teens. Books about heavy subjects can, are, and should be written for children. I think most of us are fans of Animorphs because it’s a series that sticks with us long after we close the neon-cloud covers. It’s a series that strongly disputes the notion of a clear right and wrong, and doesn’t shy away from the atrocities of war. And it was written for children. It was sold to children. It was read by children.

Some of us adults are just cool enough to read children’s books that treat child readers with the respect they deserve.

— Cates

[rogerina-deacon]

“Teenage Fantasy” High School Senior!Brian May x Fem!Reader

Pairing: High School Senior!Brian May x Fem!Reader Summary: Unable to keep his eyes off of you all day, mystery man Brian May invites you over to help him study. But what starts as something so innocent becomes so much more. Warnings: S M U T. It takes a while but once it gets there, it does. Not. End. There’s oral (m and f receiving) and protected sex. Word Count: 4048

A/N: Okay so this picture of Brian really gets me going so I just had to write out my fantasies. His eyes kill me. Okay bye, enjoy the fic.

It was lunch time and, as always, you were sat with your friends, though not entirely paying attention to whatever conversation they were having. Instead, you were reading The Bell Jar, a semi-new book by someone named Victoria Lucas. Although, it was increasingly difficult to focus on Esther Greenwood’s descent into madness when the eyes of the hottest, albeit mysterious, man in your class were stuck to you as if he would die if he looked away. Rather than mindlessly scan the pages, you set the book on the table, hoping your friends conversation was enough to keep your mind off him.

“Finally decided to come back to earth, Y/N?” Your friend Shelby teased, as she always told you to get your nose out of whatever book you were reading and focus on the real world in front of you. And while you finally succumbed to joining your friends, you still couldn’t get your mind off him, even when you were looking at your friend Mark. Luckily, lunch was dismissed a few minutes later, and you walked to your locker to grab your advanced algebra textbook for your next class, which you happened to have with the man you couldn’t keep your mind off of. He sat in the row behind you, so you were sure you would feel his eyes on you yet again.

“Okay class, that’s all for today’s lesson. Now, I’d appreciate it if you could stay away from the door while we wait for the bell to ring. And don’t forget about the test next class, I trust you all will have the review packet done. And although it won’t count for a grade, it will still be worth doing in the long run. Have a good weekend.” Your advanced algebra teacher, Mr. Jacobsen, ended the class with before turning around to erase the chalkboard behind him. You got up, and gathered your materials in your arms as you waited for the bell to ring. Today’s class was rather rigorous, so you were able to keep your mind occupied for the most part. And just when you thought you were free of your thoughts of him, he soon approached your desk, his long legs taking him far in just a few seconds, his eyes never leaving your body. Your heart began to race, butterflies whirring around your stomach as you clenched your books closer to your chest.

“Hi, um, Y/N, right?” He almost sounded nervous, though the looks he had been giving you all day had been giving you a different impression.

“Yeah, that’s me. And you’re Brian, right?”

“Yeah, um, I noticed that you’re really good at this stuff, and I just can’t seem to get it. I was wondering if, um, maybe you could help me study for the test?” His demeanor completely changed, his face softening as he asked. You were flattered, guys never payed attention to you mostly because of your intelligence, and all your male teachers rarely called on you to answer questions, so a man asking you for help really boosted you confidence. “Yeah, I could definitely help you. Did you have any specific time in mind?” you asked as you pulled out your planner, flipping through the pages until you got to today.

“Well, are you doing anything after school today? I could drive us back to my place and we can set up shop in my living room, yeah?”

“That sounds like a plan, Brian. Where should we meet up at the end of the day?” You asked, putting your planner back on the top of your book pile.

“What do you have last? I could pick you up outside your class-” And with that the bell rang, and you and Brian were soon the only ones left in the classroom as everyone had hurried out.

“I have English with Ms. Berry. See you soon!” you called as you went your separate ways, walking backwards from each other as you finished your sentence with a wave.

Your next class couldn’t go by fast enough, your eyes barely leaving the clock. Ms. Berry was out today and hadn’t left any work for the substitute teacher, so you just had a study. And for the entire hour and 15 minute class you were playing with your pen, watching as the minutes ticked by. You were already when the bell finally rang, and you were surprised to see Brian already there. He stood there, back resting against the doorframe, his slender frame looking absolutely heavenly as he waited for you. Walking you to your locker, you two barely made conversation, only partly because of how rowdy the halls were. Once you were done putting everything either into your locker or your bag, you two made your way to the student parking lot, Brian leading the way.

“You can toss your bag in the back, if you’d like” He told you as you climbed into the passenger seat of his car, and you decided that it wasn’t the worst idea in the world, so you did as he suggested. He turned the radio up, a cover of “Please Mister Postman” by the Beatles soon emitting from the speakers. His fingers tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the music, his head swaying ever so slightly. Now it was your turn to be unable to keep your eyes off of him, he was so entranced by the music.

“Like what ya see?” He teased, a smirk growing on his face as yours soon became hotter than the summer sun as you quickly averted your eyes away from him and to your hands placed delicately in your lap. He chuckled at your reaction as he glanced at you, his eyes soon finding their place back on the road. The rest of the car ride you were too nervous to look at him again, and luckily it wasn’t too long until he pulled into his driveway. He quickly jumped out, rushing to open your door for you. Thanking him, you reached for your bag, but with no success. Brian notices your struggle and swiftly grabs it for you, his long arms coming in handy. Handing it to you, he closes the passenger side door and leads you up the steps, opening the door for you to enter in front of him. Smiling a silent thank you, you step into his house, and he follows suit, closing the door behind him. He leads you into the living area, motioning to the empty seat next to him for you to sit beside him.

“What would you like to start off with? We could go over how to approach rational exponents in denominators, or…” You started, but he quickly interrupted.

“We can get to that in a minute. Would you like something to eat or drink? We’ve got some fruit, I could grab you a glass of water, if you’d like.” He said, getting up from his spot on the couch. You were now looking up at him, smiling, and he could get used to seeing you like that. He knew he had to get that thought out of his head immediately, as his pants barely left anything to the imagination as it was. Yes, this was one of the reasons he brought you over, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a gentleman in the meantime. So, he turned once you said yes, hurring to the kitchen in hopes that fruit would calm him down. He put various fruits in a bowl before running them under the faucet. While the fruit was rinsing, he grabbed two glassed from the cabinet above him, filling them with the already running water. Putting everything on a tray, he was quick to return to you, setting everything down on the coffee table in front of you.

“So, rational exponents in denominators. What is it we do with them?” He asked before popping a grape into his mouth, his eyes trying to understand the words on the textbook placed on your lap. You positioned it so he could see better before taking a sip of water, setting it back on the coaster.

“We have to make it so that it is just a regular nth root of a number, no fractional exponents. Here how to do it…” you said as you pulled out a notebook and pencil, moving the textbook onto the coffee table, making up some problem to show him how to solve. For the next hour the two of you sat on the couch, going over various challenging mathematical concepts.

“I just remembered, my parents are spending the weekend out on some romantic adventure, so we’ll have to make our own dinner. My mom said she had something prepped in the fridge - ah, there it is!” He said, emerging from the fridge, tupperware in hand. You two soon got to work, him preparing the meal while you set the table. He had a record playing in the background you couldn’t recognize, but it was good. He clearly had a thing for music, bopping around the kitchen to the beat. Once you were done setting up, you stood in the archway between the kitchen and dining room, leaning against the frame. A giggle escaped as he tried some terrible dance moves, and he soon pulled you into the kitchen with him, twirling you before taking both your hands, forcing you to dance with him. You quickly obliged, but he turned you once too many so you fell into him when he stopped, his arms quickly wrapping around you to make sure you wouldn’t fall.

“Are you okay there, love?” He asked, his eyes bright as they connected with yours, the grin placed on his face making your knees weaker than before. All you could do was nod, unable to focus your eyes on anything but his. He slowly brought his head closer to yours, about to close the gap between your lips. He wanted to make sure you wanted this, so he let you close the distance. And you did, your lips melding perfectly with his, moving together in perfect rhythm with the slow song playing in the background. He deepened the kiss, bringing you up closer to him, before backing you up against the kitchen counter. His hands soon found your face, one cupping your jaw, the other around your neck. Yours found their way up his chest, resting on his shoulder before wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer, if it was even possible. Just as the two of you separated, the timer went off, signaling for Brian to take dinner out of the oven.

You made your way over to the dining table, sitting down as you took in everything that had just happened. You had just made out with Brian May, the most attractive man you had ever met, and were about to have dinner with him. You could tell you would be distracted the entire time, your arousal only increasing the longer you were apart from him. You really hoped you two would continue where you left off once you were done eating, as did Brian. It was an unspoken truth you both agreed upon, eating your meal quickly. You helped him wash the dishes, the music still playing for the two of you to dance to. He was gentler this time, flirtier as well. Once you dried the last dish and set it down, he wasted no time in taking your hands in his. Pulling you closer to him, he soon connected his lips with yours, your arms finding their way around his neck yet again. But this time, he placed his hands on your hips, giving you a light squeeze before making his way up your back, causing you to gasp into his mouth, a sensation causing him to smirk against your lips.

“What do you say we take this upstairs, love” he asked, taking your hands in his once again.

“That’s all I could think about during dinner, honestly.” You said shyly, though you still held his gaze. The biggest smile you had ever seen was plastered on his face for a second before he kissed you again, quick yet deep.

He led you upstairs, pulling you into his room, closing the door before he kissed you yet again, leading you to the bed. You were quick to get on it, Brian on his knees, his hands cupping your cheeks as you moved toward the middle of his bed, his legs on either side of you. Your hands moved down his shoulders, past his chest, all the way down to the waistband of his pants, his breath hitched as you did so. They stayed there, his hands soon moving to the hem of your shirt.

“How ‘bout we get rid of this, dear” he said, pulling at your shirt. You quickly pulled it over your head, tossing it to the floor, exposing your pink lace bra. He stared for a moment, admiring your beauty, his eyes scanning your torso. You began to unbutton his shirt, his hands trailing up your arms to your shoulders, moving towards your breasts. He cupped them delicately before gently massaging them, your head throwing itself back at the feeling. You began to pull his shirt  down his shoulders, and he took a break from your breasts to completely take it off, tossing it next to yours on the floor beside his bed. Your hands roamed his bare chest, finding themselves above his crotch yet again, this time undoing his belt buckle before undoing the button. He was quick to rid himself of them, quickly undoing the button on your skirt and pulling them off of you, leaving you in just your matching undergarments. He lowered himself closer to you, his lips finding yours once again. He moved to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses at random, alternating between sucking and lightly biting your soft skin, until he found just the right spot to make you moan. He kept at it, his hands reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, gently pulling the straps down your shoulders as he slowly detached himself from your neck, a mark already showing itself. Ridding you of your bra, he was quick to cup your bare chest with his large hands, rolling one nipple between his fingers before sucking on the other, your core aching more and more with every sensation. He began to kiss down your abdomen, looking at you for confirmation before he took off your panties, and he began to place soft kisses on you, from your knee all the way up your thigh, almost reaching where you needed him most, before starting all over again on the other leg, a slight whine escaping your mouth as he moved further away from your drenched heat. He chuckled against your soft skin, the vibrations making you wish even more that he hadn’t moved his mouth so far away. Knowing how needy you were made him take even more time, building you up so that by the time he got to your aching pussy, you would be a begging mess under him. And he was right, the closer he got, the heavier your breaths became.

“Please, Bri, quit teasing me, I need you!” You exclaimed as he was a mere two inches away from where you needed him, but you knew that would take him a minute.

“Alright love, just wanted to make sure you were wet enough for me by the time I got to you” he said softly, although he knew you were wet enough well before, he just loved how you looked when you needed him so bad. His cock was aching to be inside you, but he’d be damned if he was going to go the night without tasting you.

He swiped his tongue through your folds, lapping up your wetness, savoring every second. A loud moan erupted from your mouth as he did so, your fingers soon threading through his hair, your hands spurring him on. He soon attached his lips around your clit, sucking and pulling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves. It wasn’t long until you were a complete moaning mess under him, his mouth working wonders on you. He pulled a finger up to your entrance, teasing momentarily before slowly entering you, your walls tightening around him as he began pumping his digit in and out of you, your hands fisting his sheets.

“How does it feel, love” he said against you, the vibrations sending you closer to the edge. His finger kept its pace, his mouth hovering over your clit, awaiting your response.

“Fucking amazing… oh god, don’t stop, Bri!” you managed to moan out, and he soon went back to eating you out like a god, entering another finger, curling them upwards. You were already a moaning mess underneath him, your thighs tightening around his head as you feel your orgasm building inside you.

“Fuck, Bri, I’m so close!” You screamed louder than you thought possible, your grip on his sheets tightening as he sped his fingers up, curling against your walls at just the right places.

“Cum for me, baby” He hummed against your clit before going right back to sucking on it, and that was just what you needed to tip you over the edge, a string of curses flying from your mouth as the waves of your orgasm washed throughout your body as Brian rode you through your high, his movements slowing as your breath calmed. He detached himself from your core, placing kisses up you body before sucking a quick hickey on your neck, finding your sweet spot as his hands softly laid on your waist, his cock throbbing against your thighs through his boxers. He soon made his way to your jaw, placing a quick open mouthed kiss to it before crashing his lips against yours, your hands making their way to the nape of his neck, one of which began to entangle itself in his hair as you pulled him closer to you. Once you fully came down from your orgasm, you flipped him over, your mouths connected until you began peppering kisses along his jawline as you straddled him, his hands guiding your hips as you ground them against his. You slowly made your way down his neck, across his collarbone before planting open mouthed kisses down his sternum until you reached the waistband of his boxers, hooking your fingers on either side as you made eye contact with him, your mouth mere centimeters away from his member. His breath hitched as you removed his restricting clothing to reveal his impressive length. He threw his head back as you took him in your hand, your thumb gently grazing over his slit, gathering the precum which had accumulated as he watched all the pleasure he had given you. Now it was your turn to repay the favor, and you sank your mouth onto him, unable to take most of him.

“Oh, fuck Y/N, that feels so good” he moaned out as you twirled your tongue around the head of his cock, your hand working his shaft. You slowly began to take more of him into your mouth, still a good amount of him in your hand when his tip hit the back of your throat, the sound of your gag making his cock twitch as he let out a loud moan, his hips bucking before he said a quick “‘m so sorry, love, just feels so good.” All you did was hum around him, bobbing your head up and down, you tongue flat as it applied pressure to him. His fingers tangled themselves into your hair, lightly pushing you down his length as he moaned your name again. You looked at him through your lashes, a single tear welling in each eye as he hit the back of your throat. You focused again on his tip, your tongue swirling around him as you looked into his eyes, and you began bobbing your head again, maintaining eye contact as he got closer to his release.

“I’m so close, but I wanna feel you ‘round my cock before I cum” he said as he pulled you off of him, bringing your lips to him as quickly as possible. Your hands cupped his jaw, and while one of his hand rested on your hip, the other searched through his bedside drawer for some protection. Once he had a condom in his hand, he flipped you onto your back, attaching his lips to your neck once again as he opened the package, breaking away to roll it onto his cock. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lined himself up at your entrance, his tip separating your slick folds.

“Are you ready?” he asked, kindness in his eyes as he looked at you for encouragement.  You nodded rapidly, managing to breath out a “yes” before he slowly slid himself into you, his head burying itself into the crook of your neck as he bottomed out, filling every inch of your wet pussy as you both let out loud yet breathy moans. He was stretching your walls perfectly, and he waited a moment for you to get used to his size before moving out of you again.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight” He breathed out as he began to thrust in and out of you, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he began hitting the perfect angle. Your head was going deeper into the pillow as he quickened his pace, his grunts and your moans filling the empty house. He dug his fingers into your hips, pulling you closer to him before he wrapped his forearm under your ass, creating an even better angle for him to pound into you at. He brought his other hand to your abdomen, rubbing circles into your clit causing you you let out a string of curses, his name entering the mix every few words.

“Fuck, baby, I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer.” Brian grunted out, his thrusts getting sloppier as your second orgasm approaches, the feeling of Brian inside you doubled with him rubbing your clit making your mind reel.

“Neither will I, it feels so good, please don’t stop!” you screamed out, and before you knew it you came, Brian's name escaping your lips as your walls tightened around him, his load shooting into the condom as soon as he felt you cum around his cock. He continued his thrusts, riding out both of your highs. You both were breathing heavily as he collapsed beside you, removing the condom before tossing it into the trash bin beside his bed, his arm soon wrapping around your waist as you buried your head into his chest, your hand resting on his abdomen. He placed a delicate kiss to the top of your head, his hands rubbing up and down your back.

“I guess you should be getting back home soon, your parents must be worried sick.” Brian said as you looked up at him, and you placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong. My parents just so happened to take a romantic weekend of their own and left this morning and won’t be back until Monday night.” You told him, your hand brushing through his hair as his face lit up.

“Well then, how’d you like to stay the night? Or maybe the weekend?” He asked hopefully, leaning closer to your face.

“That sounds amazing, Bri.” You said, settling back into his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off to sleep. It was still rather early, only about 8:30 PM, but two orgasms and a comfy bed really tire a girl out. And you had all weekend to be together, so you didn’t worry. You knew Brian fucking you senseless was bound to be a daily thing for the next three days. And you couldn’t be happier.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This is my first smut, so I hope it was good! Feel free to give me feedback, anything is appreciated! Until next time!

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