#some of these are fresh to fill out a full roster

[jovialspecter]

Talk about your fantrolls NOWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

ALRIGHTY BITCHES. So note that some have more iterations than others and im prolly gonna fix up the less refined ones AS I AM TALKING.

Ill add a cut because theres so fucking much of them.

Feel free to ask more questions i love my sillies!!!

Lets go in order of caste, therefore...

FIRST OF ALL! Nihila Umbrax, the Knight of Void, Derse sway, Burgundy Blood.

Nihila is a burgundy who was less fortunate at wriggling to say the least. They have multiple significant mutations, their eyes are solid red and their height is comparable to that of an older purpleblood, aswell as large mothlike wings. All of this and its seclusion in the woods has led to it being mystified as a local cryptid, the fact that its horns are shaped like antennae does not help the mothman allegations. Beneath all of this Nihila is overall just a big clumsy blind individual, they like to tinker with electronics and usually end up dumpster diving to salvage parts. They were most likely the troll who got SGrub up and working for the group, but its cryptid nature is not at all ceased during the game. Bowkind Strife.

Next we have Squash Tapeko, the Bard of Space, Prospit sway, Bronze Blood.

Squash is a bit of an anomaly in general, being that he operates outside of the typical laws of space and time. Paradox space and Squash get along like two peas in a pod, or more aptly two pumpkins in a patch, while normal space seems to avoid him like the plague. Hes always wearing those tacky shades that have the lines and stuff, and only has one horn which curls like a stem. Anyone accquainted with the laws of paradox space can tell in an instant this goofy goober is like a pumpkin given physical form. He likes to garden, usually growing squashes for later use as plot devices. Sodakind Strife.

Next! Aureum Crisia, the Maid of Light, Derse Sway, Gold Blood.

Aureum has little to no psiioniics despite being a goldblood, she's insecure for obvious reasons. She compensates with over the top optimism, though in truth she is a realist who never waits for things to fall into her hand. She has spent her whole life using charisma and wit to work her way into alternian business, despite the prejudice shown by higher classes. She can be a bit shady sometimes, but she refuses to take any disrespect. Coinkind Strife.

Beitah Bliuta, the Sylph of Breath, Prospit Sway, Olive Blood.

Beitah is close with Nihila, shes shared purr hive with them for as long as they can remember, practically siblings. Their hive is rudimentary regardless, mostly a well decorated cavern. Beitah is overall playful and childish, and the youngest of the group. She is also however a bit feral, for lack of a better word, most view purr as just overall weird for any of these things. Beitah is smaller than most of the others and wears baggy clothes constantly.

Raekie Venaer, the Rogue of Doom, Prospit Sway, Jade Blood.

Raekie likes to call themself a poet, followed by a murder of crow lusii constantly. They didn't favor life in the brooding caverns and instead live in a makeshift treehouse they ended up making after running away. They don't live in the same area as Beitah and Nihila but they do exchange tips through Trollian, and of course Raekie shares their cheesy poetry. Despite the gothic aesthetic Raekie is a terminal optimist, and knows good and well how cheesy their poetry is. Penkind Strife.

Terrun Biyiga, the Thief of Life, Prospit Sway, Teal Blood.

Terrun hates his own caste, plain and simple, mostly because of having lower class friends and realizing he was a part of the problem. He internalizes this hatred as of the start of the session, simply playing along. He has a certain level of internalized self hate, but covers all of this up with a hero complex and cowboy accent. Revolverkind Strife.

Now for a real interesting one, Celare Scurra, the Mage of Mind, Derse Sway, Cerulean Blood.

Celare Scurra is actually not 100% a troll. She always seems oddly well dressed, and never removes her gloves. On Derse, you may hear a whistling of a familiar tune, though back on Alternia it's less well known. Celare Scurra has joined The Midnight Crew on Derse. By some twist of fate, her body has a hint of Carapacian, which has shrouded half of her dreamself in black. She serves as a villain for this story, overall. Bit of a bitch, but unlike Vriska she doesn't flaunt it. Cardkind Strife.

Kirkor Stilis, the Heir of Heart, Prospit Sway, Indigo Blood.

Kirkor isn't the brightest, but he's sure lovable. Hes the only one even close to matching Nihila's height, and serves as Aureum's bodyguard at times as a result, warding off anyone who would threaten her due to his sheer scale. Theres some sort of moiraillegiac tension there, probably. Overall he serves as, well, the heart of the group. Hes also just very clumsy, someone give the 7 foot tall pair some dexterity. Hammerkind.

Manika Dexsue, the Witch of Hope, Derse Sway, Purple Blood.

Manika gets her kicks in a different way from most purplebloods, she usually only dresses up in the full clown getup for formal stuff. Normally shes wearing a dirty jumpsuit and rubber gloves with a purple gas mask, inviting Nihila over for their latest biomechanical experiment. Nibies' arm tends to end up the test subject. Manika is overall just a short mad scientist, and of course besties with Nihila. Sawkind / Needlekind Strife.

Sourim Paetel, the Seer of Blood, Derse Sway, Violet Blood.

Sourim is a socially inept hopeless romantic. He knows how to interact with high troll society... And thats about it. He's all prose and pretty words, with no real awareness of the state of things. He loves rainbow drinker literature, and this was why he first took an interest in Raekie, and then fell HARD. The fact that he has no social awareness makes flirting difficult, aswell as the fact that he takes Raekie's poetry seriously and Raekie doesn't take his seriously. Theyre both idiots with romance. Rapierkind Strife.

Ossico Blakke, Prince of Rage, Derse Sway, Fuchsia Blood.

Ossico is constantly tired, quick to anger if awoken from a good nap. Overall the whole group knows she has some anger issues to work through, but she cares deeply about her friends and is a sweetheart when shes calm. She is a force of raw destruction with a love for all things cutesy and brightly colored, and ducks. Furniturekind Strife.

Nibies Dulcis, Page of Time, Prospit Sway, Cotton Candy Blood.

Nibies was claimed by a purpleblood cult before she could be culled, and was worshipped as the avatar of their god, this was not a good thing for her. Eventually she did make it out and meet Manika, theyve got some sort of undisclosed redrom going on there, noones really sure. Nibies also hates Celare for an unknown reason, and its rather obvious theyve got some blackrom tension. Nibies is silly and over the top to make up for Manika's lack of clown behavior, with a very intense sweet tooth. She probably would have gone entirely mad if not for this group, and Manika and Nihila made her a prosthetic arm to replace the one she lost. Sweetskind Strife.

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Saturday September 29th, 2012.

He had told his doctor he was sleeping better.

He had lied.

Sleeping more wasn't the same thing as sleeping better.

"It's not a side effect of the treatment so it doesn't matter," he snapped when Beckett had gently stated that maybe lying to his doctor wasn't the best idea.

"It does matter."

His responding glare was enough for her to drop the conversation. Days had passed in a blur, she hadn't mentioned it again.

They hadn't really talked much at all since then.

Each morning, he was still asleep when she left for work. And by the time she returned in the evenings, he'd be practically falling asleep on the couch or in his office.

To his credit, he had been trying. He managed to pull himself from bed each day to make it to the hospital for his standing 9am appointment. According to Martha, he would fill the rest of his day by plodding around the loft and keeping himself busy with small, menial tasks that wouldn't consume too much of his energy. He didn't want to waste the day in bed, didn't want to give into the fatigue that plagued him. He was doing exactly what he needed to: fresh air, light exercise, sleep routine. Unfortunately, with her roster, that meant their time together had been severely limited and when they did manage some time alone, he was tired and irritable.

And anxious. Even if he tried to hide it, she could tell.

He was officially halfway through his first round of treatment. The first week had been fine: he was handling the drugs well and managing to stay positive about it all. The week had played out like a picture of domestic bliss. Beckett would come home from work to a full house, Alexis would talk excitedly about all of her Freshmen moments and Castle would keep them all updated on how his sessions were going: the nurses were nice and the hours he spent at the hospital allowed him plenty of people watching time. Considering their world had been rocked, everything seemed... fine.

Until it wasn't.

Week two of treatment introduced a handful of side effects.

The nausea came first. Some days, it was unrelenting. It would hit without warning and as the colour drained from his face, he rechannelled his focus into the simple act of breathing: in and out, slowly. If he was lucky, his slow breathing would be enough for him to ride out the wave of nausea. Most of the time, however, it merely bought him a few extra seconds to rush off to the nearest bathroom.

Beckett would spring into action: fresh bottle of water, clean hand towel from the linen closet, disposable gloves and a sealable bag for possible clean up. Then, she would wait outside the bathroom for him. He had insisted - several times - that she didn't have to witness this part, but she refused to leave him alone in this.

The good and the bad, we do it together.

Pain and general discomfort, loss of appetite and something his clinical nurses referred to as Chemo brain followed soon after. Slowly - but entirely too quickly - the up-beat, positive Castle that had existed for too short a time was beginning to fade. Most days he was too tired to fight off the confused and frustrated man trying to replace him.

No one could blame him.

Still, he was trying.

It was not long past 6pm, but Castle was already in bed for the night. The sun was still high in the sky, warming the streets to a comfortable 72 degrees. Beckett longed to be outside but the thought of being any further from Castle made her tense. The couch already seemed too far away. Most nights she would head to bed not long after Castle and read a book but tonight - after he'd been particularly surly this afternoon - she had decided to curl up on the couch, save accidentally bothering him with her book light or something.

"Here."

An over-filled glass of red wine appeared in Beckett's line of sight, followed by an exhausted looking Martha. Beckett accepted the glass with a gracious smile, but placed it on the table without taking a sip.

"Thanks but I quit."

"It's the one you like," Martha informed her as she lowered herself onto the couch.

Alexis joined them, curling up beside her grandmother. "Dad won't mind," she assured Beckett.

Castle had told her as much before he started treatment. He had insisted, even, that just because he could no longer enjoy a nightly glass of wine with their dinner, that didn't mean she couldn't either. To prove his point, he had poured her a glass of this very same wine on their first officially not a secret date, while he sipped water instead. She had sipped slowly, savoured the taste of her favourite red wine because, despite his assurances, she was determined that that would be the last time she'd taste the robust flavours for the foreseeable future.

"Besides, you look like you could use it," Martha added with a sympathetic smile.

Beckett closed the book she was reading and let it drop to her lap. She scrubbed her hands over her face and let out a heavy sigh. "That bad?"

"Have you gone home at all in these past few weeks?" Alexis asked.

Beckett opened her mouth to answer but Martha raised her hand, silencing her before she even had a chance to speak.

"Other than to pick up more clothes," the older woman clarified.

"I want to be here."

Silence fell upon them and Beckett felt scrutinized under the near-identical stares from the redheads.

"You need a break," Alexis said decidedly.

Frustration flared as a wild defensiveness coursed through Beckett's veins.

"Why? Because I can't handle this?" she said bitterly.

The shame and regret that instantly washed over her seemed to mirror that of Alexis's.

The girl deflated, dropped her gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry that I said that. I didn't mean-" She sighed. "Honestly, I don't know what I meant. I just... I'm sorry."

"We all know that you are one hundred percent in this, Katherine," Martha assured, her hand on Beckett's knee. "And even if we didn't, you sure as hell would have proven us wrong," she added with a huff of laughter.

"Balancing the long work days while still managing to be by dad's side as much as possible-" Alexis paused to swallow the lump of emotion that clogged her throat. It didn't work. Tears welled in her eyes and her voice shook as she whispered, "Thank you."

In that moment, any hostility that may have been lingering between the pair had completely dissipated.

Beckett rose to her feet and held out her hands. Without hesitation, Alexis took them and - in an act so uncharacteristic of the guarded detective - Beckett pulled the girl into her arms. Mere seconds passed before Martha joined their embrace.

The three women stayed that way, silently comforting one another, for just a few short moments but as they all pulled away with tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces, Beckett realised that this - the tension and the snipes, the tears and the smile, the wordless comfort - this was family.

[basiliskonline]

Started Paid GMing 3 months ago

This Post has Advice/Thoughts about starting Pro-GMs here.

I started paid GMing 3 months ago, here are my experiences:

When I started in mid-September it took me a while to figure out the process of getting set up through startplaying, a lot of amazing help from @sun-gone, who was familiar with the process.

I'm not a crushingly successful pro-GM yet but I'm happy with how it has gone, I'm closer to where you are as you read this, so I figure I'd share the perspective of someone who muddled there way through and where I am 3 months later.

September

I tried to focus on indie and small game one-shots, that... didn't work. I realized I was gonna need to do 5E if I was gonna get people, and that sounded just awful.

Most of September I poked around the website, looked at what other people did, how they set up their templates and familiarized myself with Startplaying while I considered if I wanted to do this knowing I'd have to play a lot of 5E.

October

My buddy asked if I wanted to join their PF2E game, I was hesitant (i hated PF1E and I am not exactly thrilled about supporting Paizo) but figured it was another option, and I'd heard it was much better than 5E so I dove on in.

Honestly I'm still shocked and somewhat dismayed by how much I like PF2E. I found an Adventure Path, The Quest For Frozen Flame, and I fell in love. It seemed like a module made for me, specifically. I started a personal campaign while still fiddling with Startplaying.

I then put together my pages for The Quest for Frozen Flame on Startplaying.

I started my price point at, I think, $18, per person with an aim to get 6 people. However, I had no reviews from confirmed/paid customers, no games played, I was fresh. I slowly walked my price down.

At $14 I got my first person to join, they were patient and waited while we tried to hit the minimum player count, but eventually they found another game in the same time slot, so understandably took that option.

I moved down to $12 per person, and I started to get some interest.

It still took me a few weeks to get a game together, i had some people drop. (needing 1 more, someone leaves literally days before another person joins was frustratingly common) my numbers and roster would fluctuate.

Once you get a couple people though, it has been in my experience now, much easier to get people in there.

November

By November my first campaign had filled up, I was aiming for 6, but capped it at 5 because my players were concerned about game drag (this is something I am no longer concerned about, the 5 of them are flying through the content, even with some new to PF2 people).

Just before the game started we lost 2/5 of our group to schedule changes, one after the Session 0, and one just before. That put me right on the edge, if people couldn't make it or someone drops, I go down to 2 players and the game stalls out. I was sweating.

Thats when I found this page about places to promote your games on startplaying.

I put together a google doc with the rules-appropriate formatting for each location so i could easily post and adjust as needed for each place.

By the end of November I was full 5-people and making $60 a game (3 hour sessions) so about $20 an hour. not.. *amazing* but sufficient to *start* for my situation.

December

While I ran my first paid campaign I started planning to start my second paid campaign, but moving into the holidays, I specifically set it up to start in the New Year, 1/4/2023.

This new campaign would be once again, The Quest For The Frozen Flame.

I am aiming to run the same campaign a lot for a few reasons:

I am, through weird brain stuff, basically immune to burnout, so thats not really an issue.

I am very excited for this module and its dinosaur, ice-age, paleo megafauna hunter-gatherer vibes.

If I play the same campaign as I am running for my personal campaign this greatly reduces extra game prep I need to do. Any game-prep is something I would have done anyway. This is very important to me, especially while I'm working at a lower than desired price point.

I get lots of practice, familiarity and tested feedback with this Adventure Path, which I'd imagine is alluring.

My second campaign I posted at $14 per person, aiming for 6 people.

January

My second campaign, just hit the minimal player count I set to start (3), so my session 0 will be Wednesday the 4th. I have no doubt, that it will fill up during the early days of the campaign, if not before session 1.

Once my second campaign gets underway, I'll be aiming for a 3rd paid campaign (also Frozen Flame) and probably aim for $16/person.

[photographyrich1965]

War Pig

Have you ever looked through the modern day version of Little Nickel, i.e. FB Marketplace, with no ill intent. only a benign plan to kill a few minutes until lunch break is over or the ten hour workday draws to a close ?

Recently happened to me. my daisy fresh coworkers scanned away as I mentally willed the minute hand to eclipse 5:24 on the old Kronos. right around 5:16 I spotted a bike that'd been very much on my "own one day" roster - a Harley Davidson XR1200.

Harley does one type of motorcycle, the cruiser, extremely well. when they venture out of their box and try to compete against other genres..., well it's often a hard hit in the sales numbers. the XR1200 was an attempt in the late aughts to attract some of those sweet sweet Euro's the go-fasters of European lineage seem to eat up.

there's one type of racing Harley Davidson's have long dominated, dirt track racing. their XR750 has been many many winners weapon of choice. has to do with the way the V-twin's power pulses connect with the hard packed dirt, the ease with which the bikes handle, and other variables my shallow pool of dirt track knowledge has long drained. suffice to say, Harley figured, "why not design a fast (for a the type) street version of our race bike, using parts bin technology - most notably, the stodgy old Sportster engine filled with go fast goodies from the Harley owned, and killed, Buell.

All this probably looked good on paper. In reality the XR absolutely sucked eggs compared to any of the Japanese or Italian offerings. the Sportster engine is, after all, extremely antiquated technology. a Sean Connery James Bond in a lean and buff, steroid enhanced modern world. Where the Japanese motorcycles are smooth and mild mannered until they howl past 10K rpm, the XR vibrates too and fro at rest, followed by an a fussy pull off idle, then rocket like midrange that wants nothing more than to punt you into the side of the Explorer across the intersection.

The bikes redline, 7.5K, is nothing to write home about for anything other than a Harley V-twin. like granny on your fixie in San Fran, you expect to see parts spread down the highway once the shrieking stops. 70 mph is a relatively busy 4K rpm. this is a bike you ride with a full face helmet and earplugs, trusting the dialed down cacophony and Harley's engineers to hold together.

If this sounds like a whole lot of lame, stay tuned for part two where I'll tell you why the XR is so appealing, and why it's an especially good fit for crusty old me :-)

[m39]

Doom WADs’ Roulette (2008): Remain 3

I wouldn’t be surprised if Eternal won two Mapper of the Year awards in a row if not for the fact that you can only win it once in your lifetime. As if having a WAD getting a Cacoward in 2007 was not enough, not only did he manage to do that again in 2008... but also filled both runner-up slots with the other two. Complete and utter madman!

Today, we will be taking a look at Eternal’s first out of three WADs from the 2008 roster.

S1: Remain 3

Main author(s): Alexander S. (Eternal)

Release date: August 26th, 2008

Version(s) played: ???

Required port compatibility: GZDoom

Levels: 13

Remain 3 is the only WAD on the roster that requires a specific source port rather than just a limit-removing one. It took over a year of work to be created (it started in 2005 but there were breaks in between), and I’ve run out of interesting things to say in this section, so let’s just jump straight into this WAD, shall we?

For something out of 2008, Remain 3 doesn’t have the rights to look this good. Even with the knowledge that some of the maps were made back in 2005, and might look basic, this WAD makes up with the atmosphere for the lack of better words. From different kinds of tech bases/labs (both in grassy or desert areas), to the cities and more unusual places like the rocket silo and the meat factory. The further you go, the WAD gets prettier and prettier.

The WAD’s soundtrack consists of classics from the older WADs like Icarus, HRII, STRAIN, and others (one of the tracks feels like it was out of Batman WAD, but I’m not entirely sure). Hell, even the stocks used in MAP06 and 09 fit like gloves (I’ll tell you why later). The track from Wrongday could be something different in my opinion, but asides from that, the soundtrack is pretty damn great, not gonna lie.

Remain 3 isn’t a complicated WAD to finish. There were some annoying moments for sure, but these were relatively rare.

What I noticed about this WAD is that it feels like it is structurally split between at least two types of maps.

Maps from Wrongday to the Bridge of Death feel the most original, with the original concept as a foundation like infiltrating the base or crossing the titular bridge.

The Crusher to the Pits are more like an homage to the maps from the original Doom II, with maps 08 and 09 actually being almost the same as the original ones but with slight changes, additional areas for a more organic transition from one map to another (this is with every map in this WAD), and tougher enemies.

Refueling Base to Downtown meanwhile, while still taking a concept of their original variants, make something completely fresh out of them.

To describe some of the maps this WAD offers, in Base-Court you visit some kind of village that might be populated by cannibals, with a food line near the butchery, and a hangman nearby.

Circle of Death focuses on stealing a rocket that takes you to the Meat Factory, in which you kick it back online to unlock a passage to the Downtown.

The last map is full of interesting landmarks, having a hotel with broken elevators, a bar next to the supermarket with a freezer room, some slums with hobos standing around, a construction site occupied by Imps, a playground near a park, a water pool area, etc. it looks incredible.

I don’t think this WAD is hard. Sure, there are cheap moments here and there occasionally, but it wasn’t going too far in my opinion.

It would be better if there were no stealth enemies in the last two maps (sigh) but at least it’s like one/two enemies per map.

The new enemies definitely spice up the roster, being used already in the older WADs/maps although without the KDiZD makeup this time. It has typical stuff like tougher variants for Imps and Nobles (along there are other ones too) and a bunch of old new zombies like rocketeers and rapid-firing blondies, but it tends to offer more unique variants like super-shotgun zombies, marine zombies (sucks due to no attack windup), half invisible orange pinkies that breath fire and spit out lost soul after death (like they were possessed), Cyberdemon with spiderdemon’s legs, tortured soul as a miniboss of MAP11, bouncing skulls from Happy Time Circus (slightly less annoying now), and Tornado Demons who are basically arch-viles but with wind powers and teleporting around. Hell, you even get attacked by a helicopter in MAP10 (basically a flying spiderdemon), not to mention barrels with napalm in the last two maps (even if they don't technically count as enemies).

The only bug I’ve encountered was with enemy bats playing helicopter crashing instead of their screeching. That was weird.

Remain 3 is another great WAD from Eternal. Fitting in almost every place perfectly. Not to mention using GZDoom in a way that is not a script galore (done badly). Full recommendation; go play it, folks.

But as you might already guessed, we are not done with Mr. Eternal. Tune in next time, as we will take a look at the second runner-up of 2008.

Bye!

[downtoearthmarkets]

‘Tis the season to eat, drink, be merry and bestow some great gifts upon family, friends and co-workers! Throughout the month of December, Down to Earth’s farmers markets will host a full roster of local food artisans, distilleries and craft-makers whose specialized creations will make unique gifts that are sure to delight whoever the lucky recipients may be. In anticipation of our holiday season markets, here is the first installment in our holiday shopping-themed newsletters designed to help you tackle even the longest of gift lists.

Farm-to-Basket Gifts You simply can��t strike out by gifting the favorite foodie on your shopping list with a festively curated holiday basket stuffed with a variety of sustainably produced and locally sourced farmers market goodies!

A gift basket offers plenty of versatility within its size, scope, theme, contents and price point. Once you’ve determined your specific gifting parameters, you can let your creativity run wild. The first step is to select the size of basket that is most appropriate for the recipient and occasion. Keep in mind that the bigger the basket, the more goodies you’ll need to fill it with, which can potentially result in a heavier, more unwieldy piece.

Next, decide upon the type of “basket” you’d like to use, whether it be a wicker piece with or without a handle, a plain wooden or decorated box or another type of vessel such as a salad or serving bowl that becomes part of the gift. Perhaps you already have a gently used basket hiding in plain sight amongst your stash of wrapping paper, ribbons and other gifting sundries. If the basket is still in good condition with little sign of wear and tear, there’s nothing wrong with going green by using it once again. In fact, minimizing and repurposing packaging is a great way to reduce your carbon footprint this holiday season.

In addition to the basket itself, you’ll need plenty of tissue paper or some decorative dish towels with which to cushion its contents and attractively arrange each piece, as well as to stuff any empty spots with. If your basket is going to sit awhile before being given gifted, opt for a variety of non-perishable goodies that will last for as long as you need them to. And now on to the fun part! Keeping in mind the individual tastes and food preferences of your giftee, it’s time to browse the vendor stalls and discover the many delectable gift basket treasures that await. 1. La Trafila Pasta is a Brooklyn-based business that creates handcrafted fresh pasta, their signature stuffed gnocchi, sauces, tiramisu and cannoli. Their amazingly decadent jars of Caramel Tiramisú feature layers of fluffy mascarpone cream, delicate ladyfingers and a rich caramel drizzle. Tuck a container of this delicious dessert into your basket to gift the ultimate Italian indulgence. 2. Cano Coffee Company is a New York-based roaster that imports beans from their family coffee estate in Colombia. Their fair-trade, single-origin coffee is available in whole bean and ground, plus their packaging is bright Santa Claus red that will insert a festive pop of color into your basket arrangement. 3. A bottle of Arlotta Food Studio's premium, organic, Kosher, flavor-infused California olive oil and barrel-aged balsamic vinegar will add a touch of culinary pizazz to your gift basket. 4. Help your giftee relax and unwind by including some much-needed pampering from Ash Hopper’s organic skincare line in your basket display. Ash Hopper specializes in creating 100% plant-based products that seamlessly blend science and creativity. Their sustainable skin solutions are designed for the eco-conscious generation, utilizing green chemistry and carefully sourced natural ingredients. 5. Simple Fine Foods' line of specialty condiments made with locally sourced ingredients provide a multitude of options for discerning gift basket shoppers. Choose from a range of tasty tapenades such as Muffuletta, Kalamata & Caper, Artichoke Pesto and Fig & Olive. Or how about a jar of gourmet mustard in unexpected flavors such as Dill Pickle, Creamy Garlic and Maple & Bacon? 6. Crop Culture is dedicated to protecting local ecosystems through the transition towards a circular economy and sustainable practices that minimize waste, conserve resources and promote regenerative agriculture. They sell a range of green lifestyle products including gardening kits and handmade crafts from cultures across the world. 7. Cooper’s Daughter Spirits is a woman-owned and family operated distillery, cooperage, and apple orchard sourcing Hudson Valley ingredients to make seasonal batch spirits. Local grain, fruit, botanicals and tree syrups form the foundation for the distillery’s unique spirits and liqueurs, while barrels that are handmade onsite are used to age their bourbon and whiskey. Their seasonal winter offerings include:

Black Currant Liqueur

Black Walnut Liqueur

Buddha's Hand Citron Vodka

Cacao Maple Vodka

Finocchietto Amaro

Mulled Peach Whiskey

Pumpkin Spice Vodka

Smoked Maple Bourbon

8. Ici Et La Creations focuses on the development of sustainable solutions that help facilitate daily life. They hand-sew reusable cover bowls, snack bags, waterproof bags, book protectors, toiletry bags, mini organizational travel pouches and more! Ici et La Creations considers product quality to be critical as each item should be a long-term investment for both the customer and the planet. 9. If your gift basket is being bestowed right away, why not stuff it with a cornucopia of fresh farmers market treats? Make it a classic fruit basket, but with a local twist, by selecting a variety of firm, not overly ripe, apples and pears from the farmstalls. You can even sneak in a bottle of maple syrup and drape your basket with a bunch of Concord grapes to add some extra fruity flair. Or how about a baked goods-themed basket replete with Blissful Table’s homemade granola, Orwashers Bakery’s babka and rugelach and Wave Hill Breads cookies in Ginger Molasses, Snickerdoodle, Oatmeal Cranberry and Chocolate Chip. Just let your creative juices run free! Down to Earth Markets hopes that these gifting ideas spark joy this season while helping you make a magical dent in your shopping list. Our farmers markets aim to present a wonderland of opportunities for fun and festive local holiday shopping that is an enjoyable, sustainable and accessible experience for everyone!

[somecrappyclone]

Things with prep:

Fresh Mango Salad

• ⁠1/2 red onion (white or yellow works fine too. It’s just there for the crunch)

• ⁠1 packet edamame or a can of black beans (I prefer edamame but oof it’s pricey & black beans are a good cheap alternative)

• ⁠1 de-seeded cucumber (important unless you want a super watery salad)

• ⁠1 mango

• ⁠1 de-seeded tomato (again, important unless you want a super watery salad)

• ⁠1/4 cup cilantro (optional)

• ⁠Mince & dice everything

• ⁠Add to bowl

• ⁠Juice of 1 lime

• ⁠2-4 tbsp of apple cider vinegar

• ⁠Salt to taste

lasts 5 days MAX after prep. Not the cheapest option of all time but it’s a good way to add something fresh, crisp, and full of vitamins to to your meal roster as a side or just for a light snack.

———-

Cucumber Salad Thingy

• ⁠deseeded cucumber cut into quarters then sliced.

• ⁠2-4 tbsp low sodium soy sauce

• ⁠1 tsp sesame oil (if you want to add chili oil then u can forgo this)

• ⁠2 tsp chili garlic paste or chili oil

• ⁠2-4 tbsp rice vinegar or apple cider vinegar

• ⁠4 cloves Garlic minced

- Add to mason jar and shake. Add cucumber then shake again.

- Drain marinade back into its container before eating/leave the marinade in the jar. You can eat it immediately but waiting a day is even better. The cucumbers last 3 days after prep & you can reuse the marinade twice although it’ll be less potent and more watered down.

———

Things with less prep:

- Plain low-fat yogurt, mix in a scoop of protein powder & a light handful of frozen fruit or whatever fruit is on hand. can easily make into a smoothie with a 1:1:1:1 ratio of same amount of yogurt, fruit, & liquid + 1 scoop of protein powder into a blender. You can toss in a little bit of chocolate chips in as a treat for either!

- tofu marinaded with 1:1:1 ratio of soy sauce: sesame oil [or chili oil]: rice vinegar: 1 clove of garlic[optional]. Chop up tofu into bite sized pieces, put in Tupperware with marinade & shake. Can be eaten immediately but tastes better if it absorbs the marinade for a while.

- GORP. Get a package of peanuts [can be switched out for any type of nut], raisins [or any dried fruit], & chocolate chips. Combine to ratio of preference, put in big ol Tupperware & you can use it for a quick meal or snack that lasts for a good long while. Trail mix & gorp are some of the most customizable shelf stable quick snacks that are very nice in a pinch. Pre made trail mix also works just as fine

——

Things with significantly less prep:

- [one of my favorites] bell pepper eaten like apple. Punch the top in with your thumb and pry out as much seeds as you can then rinse out the remaining seeds in the sink. Can be eaten like apple or tear off pieces and dip in hummus or another protein dense dip to make it more filling.

- actually just any vegetable that can be used as a scoop + hummus. Slightly more filling and you get some protein in!

- low-fat yogurt + sugar free pudding mix with flavor of your choosing. It’s tasty as hell & if you freeze it, it is even better! Eat a handful of carrots on the side and voila, a semi-balanced meal

——

I hope you don’t mind the more obvious recommendations or the more prep intense ones! I’ve found that if I’m not actively cooking, the amount of prep time doesn’t bother me which definitely isn’t the same for everyone else, so ignore them if they’re a lil too intense for a ‘simple’ meal prep

Hope these help!

can you guys send me like snack recommendations. i’m trying to find like snacky/light meal things that don’t require cooking (microwave is fine)

healthy things would be preferable but if you have a favorite send it in! i don’t mind if it has prep involved btw just no cooking please :)

[yoditorian]

crush

eddie/gn!reader

i am being dragged out of my hiatus by the newest scruffy sad brown eyed man on the roster hELP

main masterlist // stranger things masterlist

word count: 1.6k // warnings: language, my usual brand of wistful longing, inclusion of my actual high school memories in the name of realism, the tense is a little weird bc he’s recounting memories but in the present, and since i’ve not posted for ST before pls note that as a general rule with all my writing this is 18+ please no babies

The first time wasn’t his fault, not exactly.

Exceptional circumstances he’d rather not relive any time soon sent every one of his grades into a nosedive that he had no hope of salvaging. Senior years are kind of like pancakes anyway, the first one’s always a write off.

He was looking forward to it, oddly enough. A fresh start. As fresh as it could be in the exact same school, with the exact same teachers, and six hundred people he should have left behind already. Maybe it was a little more depressing than he wanted to admit. But Hellfire was growing, and if anything was going to make this next year bearable it was Thursday nights in the drama club prop room. Well, that’s the way he thought it was going to go.

And then you sat in front of him in English, and Eddie was a goner.

It was the Levi’s at first. Pale blue denim that fit just right sliding into the seat in front of his every morning, at 8:31 exactly. Was it a little creepy of him to get to class a few minutes early, just to watch? Definitely. Did he still make sure he was firmly at his own desk by 8:29 after the first time he’d made it there before you? Absolutely. 

He played the moment you spun around in your chair to ask if he had a pencil sharpener on a loop in his mind for 3 months straight after it happened. 

Okay, so he played the more ideal version. 

The version where Old Mr Young is droning on about another one of Iago’s soliloquies, where you turn around in your chair to meet his eyes - shining like beacons in the morning sunlight - and ask.

“Do you have a pencil sharpener I can borrow?”

A version where he’s cool and collected. He leans down and plucks the green sharpener out of his bag, holds it out to you between two fingertips. An easy smile, a quiet sure thing, the barest brush of your hand against his as you take it from him. He watches you turn your yellow striped HB once, twice, three times, before you turn back with a smile and set it down beside his own pencil. 

“Thanks. It’s Eddie, right?”

And he nods with a mirroring smile as you give him your name in turn, as if he didn’t already know. 

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says, and you turn back to your notes with a bashful little smile. 

He wished he said.

Reality had other plans. Plans involving freezing for a full thirty seconds in your gaze, trying desperately to work out what it was you were asking him, when all he could do was watch your mouth. Where he knew he must have looked like a deer in headlights, fishing around in his bag for another long minute trying to find the damn thing. He practically threw it at you. At least you’d been nice about it, still put it back on his desk carefully with a whispered thank you.

Honestly, he thought it would stop there. He thought you’d be a way to fill the first hour of his day, some soft daylight fantasy he could indulge in because English was the one class he never had a problem with. And, for a while, you were. 

Until he realised he could see your usual lunch table just over Gareth’s right shoulder from his spot in the cafeteria. Then, of course, he started seeing you everywhere.

Your locker was across the hall from his; you cut through the library to get to math at the same time he used it to get to history; you skipped the odd class with a friend in the same stairwell he used to use to cut deals; your name freshly carved into the wooden desk by his seat in chemistry. It was embarrassing.

He heard you laugh for the first time in December. 

Just a few days before the Christmas break, clear as a bell across the cafeteria in a rare lull of activity, there was no denying who’s laugh it was - Eddie almost snapped his neck looking up to find you. 

Whatever your friend said had clearly tickled you, left you with a smile so wide it was a wonder your cheeks didn’t split apart under the pressure. His own reaction to the sound took him by surprise, he was sure he would have fallen if he hadn’t already been sitting. His heart flipped so violently that for a second he thought it might stop altogether; jealousy flared in his stomach for the briefest of moments, because he needed to be the reason you make that sound again about as much as he needed oxygen. But it dies just as quickly, maybe he could be if he wasn’t such a chickenshit.

Winter came and went and while he’d managed to stop looking for you everywhere he went, he was no less deep in the shit with this crush. He’d stopped looking for you, that didn’t mean he’d stopped noticing you. But of all the unlikely places for you to show up, he definitely wasn’t expecting to see you walk into detention after the last bell, with Steve Goddamn Harrington in tow. 

Two seats left, and The Hair took the one at the front - which just left the second chair at Eddie’s desk.

You brought a waft of laundry detergent with the barest hint of regret with you when you dropped into the seat beside him with a huff and pulled a book from your bag. Maybe not regret for whatever landed you there, but an air of reluctant acceptance for getting caught.

His reason for yet another pink slip sat in front of him on the desk, Ms O’Donnell’s essay from two weeks ago still unfinished - though not for lack of trying, he’d spent the majority of the night before staring at the half empty page willing something, anything, to bring him inspiration. But it was no use, and he missed another extended deadline. 

You were your own enigma. Not a face he ever thought he’d see in the detention room, by your own doing anyway. Maybe you’d caught Mr Hamilton in one of his moods and ended up on the receiving end of the wrath wound up by another unruly 9th grade geography class. 

Young Mr Young wasn’t paying much attention anyway, far more interested in whatever magazine he was definitely hiding behind the decoy textbook in his hands, so Eddie bit the bullet and tore the corner from his notebook page.

What are you in for?

He folded the paper twice and slid it across the doodles on the tabletop towards you, stretching his arm out to leave it directly in the middle of your book. So much for subtlety. You raised an eyebrow, more to yourself than for his sake, and stole his pen to scrawl a short reply below his question. You folded the scrap of paper back up, a third time for good measure, and dropped it on his notebook without looking at him. 

Marrows caught me and Harrington climbing into the ceiling in the music room.

Eddie had never needed context so badly in his life.

He took a split second to check whether Young Mr Young was sufficiently distracted before swivelling ninety degrees on his chair to face you fully, eyes wide with questions.

“We babysit the same group of kids. One of them had a nightmare, he said there was something hiding in there, so we promised to check.” Your voice was barely a whisper, eyes still firmly on the open book in your hands. But something told him you weren’t completely in the room anymore. 

“And?”

“No monsters. Just some cobwebs and a mouse.”

You shrugged the sudden shadow off your shoulders and turned the page of your book as if you hadn’t said anything at all. Honestly, he’s grateful you didn’t look at him, the soft tone of your voice sent his mind to unsavoury places.

Then, it was over.

For all his hard work and sleepless nights and pure desperation, he still didn’t make the cut. Ms O’Donnell wouldn’t budge on her decision to fail him again, despite the grovelling, despite the fact he would have passed the year before if he hadn’t spent finals week shifting all his shit to his uncle’s trailer, despite the fact that he knew he had the credits for it this time. Stubborn. He’d baulked a little at his results paper, barely scraping a C in English, though that one was his own fault. Well, technically speaking it was Levi Strauss’s fault. So he watched everything he worked for slip away. Including any chance he might have to pluck up the courage with you.

And now, you’re here. Right in front of him.

It’s fucking ridiculous, his long dormant crush rearing its head at a moment like this, because it’s not like you’re an ex. Not like you ever dated, ever broke his heart, it’s not as if he loved you and lost you and never got over it. But maybe that’s the problem, the lack of closure.

Because you just left. You graduated and left and moved on and he stayed stuck because he couldn’t make the grade yet again. And he can’t even be mad about it because he barely said two words to you over the course of the whole year. 

But here you are. Nudging your way around Steve and Dustin to crouch on the grimy floor in front of him. All big eyes and reassuring smile. The sun comes out, peering stubbornly through the grimy window to shine on your face and your face alone. It’s love, the heat that rises so fiercely behind his lungs it threatens to crack his ribs, he’s sure of it. 

“Eddie, we’ve got you, okay?”

Maybe that’s what makes him believe you.

taglist (add yourself to my stranger things taglist here):

@bee-dameron​ 

[firefly-in-darkness]

Lost and Found.

Pairing → Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Characters → Ciri, Jaskier, Priscilla, Yennefer (mentioned)

Summary → Geralt left with Yennefer for months.

Word Count → 5k

AFG Square Fill → Geralt @anyfandomgoesbingo

Warnings → 18+. Angst, heartache, jealousy, swearing, happy ending

Betas → @wonder-cole // all mistakes are my own.

A/N →  Well this ended up being a longer story than I expected… I’ve only written for Geralt / The Witcher fandom once before and will have used content from the series, the books and the games as I have watched, read and played everything based on our ashen haired babe

The tavern was full of locals that had escaped from the cold night air. Farmworkers caked in mud with a distinct stench of sweat, merchants drowned their sorrows or celebrated their successes. A shadowy corner for the gamblers prayed for their Gwent decks to fare better than their opponents. There were even some families gathered by the large fire with bowls of broth and torn pieces of bread.

You had taken a seat at an empty table, slightly out of sight from the group you were meant to be with. You weren’t ready to be confronted with that situation until you had at least two tankards worth of ale in your system. In all fairness, you had debated about coming here in the first place, but it was Cirilla’s twenty-first birthday, and you would have felt awful if you hadn’t shown your face, even for the briefest of moments to wish her well.

It had absolutely nothing to do with avoiding a certain witcher, nothing at all.

A few years ago, Ciri marched into a small school on the outskirts of Rochdale, a quaint town in Velen, and stated that she wanted to continue her studies. Even if it was only for a few days a month. When her family visited. The matron was sceptical at first, not knowing who this child was or where she had come from but when Ciri produced a large coin purse, there were no qualms of fitting her into the roster of students.

You took Ciri under your wing the moment she’d stepped into your classroom. Ciri’s love for history and mythology strengthened the bond between you. Many evenings were spent talking about the world and all its wonder. And particularly, the monsters that lurked in the darkness.

In the space of a few weeks, you learnt a lot about Ciri and her adoptive parent. She confided in you about her hardships of trying to find Geralt. He was someone that her grandmother had told her to go to when Cintra fell to the Nilfgaardians. Your heart had clenched at the thought of such a sweet young girl wandering this world alone, with no family and in search of someone that she did not truly know existed.

It was one evening when Ciri unravelled the rope attached to her horse outside the school, waiting for Geralt to arrive, that you first met him. While you loaded the saddlebags with books, the sound of hoofs on the cobblestones caught your attention, and a majestic mare appeared from the side of the stone wall with a man astride her. He silently nodded to Ciri, no further expression or acknowledgement was made.

It looked as if there were no more than fifteen years between Geralt and Ciri, and he was not what you had expected. You had envisioned an older man, a farmer or merchant perhaps, with a family of his own. Not this handsome man, in a black cape, luscious white hair that curled over his shoulders.

He had caught you off guard, enamoured as you watched him dismount the horse. Your bodies almost touched in the tight space between you both. You stared at his chest, the wolf head medallion indicating his occupation. A Witcher. He towered over you; amber eyes glared down as you froze to the spot. Your legs felt like lead as you were held in his gaze. He should have frightened you, a slayer of monsters but, regardless of his stoic appearance, his presence provided a sense of calm.

The first grunt that he expelled went unheard, you snapped out of it when he did it a second time and shifted from his path so he could collect the books from Ciri. You could have sworn that, even though he seemed gruff, a small smirk twitched at your flustered state.

“See you next week Miss,” Ciri called after you as you lifted yourself into the saddle and gave her a small wave.

The awkwardness heated your cheeks and your mind spiralled at the way you’d reacted to Geralt. You had never frozen in front of a parent or guardian before. A cough brought you to your senses and a groan rumbled through you unexpectedly as you turned to him, eyes wide with embarrassment and a wish for the ground to swallow you whole.

You waited for Geralt to say something, but no words followed, and he seemed to be in just a flustered state as yourself, but you tried to shake that thought. There was no way a man like him would ever think of a teacher in any way other than a guardian should.

Ciri popped from around Geralt’s horse, a mischievous look on her face, “He’s trying to ask you if you’d like to join us for dinner or would like company back to your lodgings.”

You smiled to yourself at the fond memory, the sound of music and laughter lifted your spirit in the small tavern. Until you glanced to the side; the seat beside you was empty, and its presence was a reminder of what you had lost. 

What had happened between you and Geralt was a friendship that had developed into secret sparks of lust. But your burning flame of love was extinguished the moment you saw him with Yennefer. After two years of tiptoeing around friendship and the late night trysts, you’d lost him to the most beautiful and powerful woman of the continent.

Your heart ached when you caught several glimpses of Geralt throughout the evening; either talking to the innkeeper or with Ciri and Jaskier as they attempted to get him to dance. He hadn’t seen you yet, you were sure of it, and you hadn’t made your presence known to anyone either. As much as you wanted to keep it that way, you would have to see Ciri at some point and that time came sooner than you expected as your eyes met across the tavern and she ran towards you.

In a flash of light, she teleported to your table and wrapped her arms around you. You would never get used to that. You returned the hug, clinging onto her as tightly as you could because it was likely this would be the last time, you would see her.

Nobody knew about your job offer at Oxenfurt Academy, that you were strongly considering the move to Redania, bags packed and ready at the door. It was what you needed, a fresh start. Plus, you knew that the matron was going to start looking at reducing the staff numbers after the drop in births in the town so you might as well get out before you were penniless.

You let Ciri go and caught another arrival to your side; Jaskier. His beaming smile was infectious, and he made you giggle as he dramatically bowed to you. Geralt was behind him, no expression on his face and not that you dared to look at him properly in fear for how much it would hurt you to do so. 

Completely unaware of the awkward tension that was filling the space between you and your former secret lover, Jaskier instantly took a seat opposite you and tipped his tankard upside down, “Oh Geralt, it looks like it’s your round!” 

Geralt grunted and left the three of you on your own. You relaxed ever so slightly as you watched him walk away and turned your attention to the birthday girl, woman.

“Oh, Y/N, it has been a while, three months at least!” Ciri said as she clasped your hands in hers.

“It has indeed, I heard from many merchants about your birthday celebrations, and I had to make sure at once that I was here to join in!” You beamed at her and shuffled along the wooden bench for her to join, “How long are you staying in town for this time?”

“I’m not sure, it depends on Geralt as always.” Ciri shrugged.

Priscilla, a beautiful blonde bard that caught Jaskier’s attention many moons ago in Novigrad, appeared at this side and pulled him away to perform a duet on the makeshift stage. In her excitement, Ciri jumped out and followed them. Even though they didn’t notice you had stayed behind, you didn’t mind and chuckled at their antics as they coaxed the patrons to gather around.

“Guess this is for you then.” Geralt slid into the seat opposite and gestured to the tankard, the foam spilling over the edge as you took it from him.

You were sure he could hear your heart thumping in your chest, choosing to give a small smile and a nod as you sipped the ale. The bittersweet melody filled the room, and it took you back to another time. To one where Geralt held you in his arms and filled you with so much hope for a future together.

It was your first visit to the Skellige Isles, and you loved every second that you spent with Crach an Craite and his clan, celebrating his daughter, Cerys, becoming Queen. You had been surprised when Geralt had asked you to accompany him, thinking that he’d ask Yennefer or Ciri to join him, but you didn’t let the moment pass you by; it was the first time you’d been on a ship and travelled the seas, let alone attended a coronation.

The banquet hall was full to the brim of Jarls and their clans from the many islands that formed Skellige. Enormous amounts of food were laid out on the tables and wine was on a never-ending supply. The revelry continued long into the night, you and Geralt clapping and laughing along to the guests dancing the Cèilidh.

You brought the goblet to your lips, now stained red from the wine, and sipped slowly as you felt the alcohol taking effect. Warmth filled your cheeks and you felt like you were floating with Geralt at your side, his arm securely around your waist.

“Drink up, because we are going up there any minute.” Geralt whispered in your ear.

Once more, Geralt had surprised you, thinking he’d never do such a thing and proving you wrong in an instant. Or, just, maybe, you shouldn’t believe everything that Yennefer tells you. He whisked you up into his arms and you skipped into the throng of bouncing and twirling dancers.

After a few stumbles and the odd miss turn, you found the rhythm and began to enjoy yourself. It was like you were in your own little world with Geralt. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst from your chest. Together, you rounded the dance floor, twirling between other people and joining them for the group segments of the dance before returning to Geralt to skip through a human archway.

The music hit its end, you and Geralt both collapsing onto a bench, still giggling through the pain of being out of breath. He leant forward, his hand firmly on the nape of your neck, and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back with no inhibitions.

Your fingertips skimmed along your bottom lip, the memory of Geralt’s kiss still lingering there. After all this time, the memory had you brimming with hope and desire, or maybe it was the ale that was clouding your judgement. Without a second thought, you turned towards Geralt to find that he was looking straight at you, and he was too slow to hide his staring. You choked out a laugh as his eyes went wide and his cheeks tinged pink. Never in a million years did you think you’d see the witcher blush.

“I’m sorry but your face.” You giggled into your palm, swaying from side to side and clutching your belly. “So-sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He tried to sound angry, but his smirk betrayed him.

Your fit of laughter tapered off and allowed you to regain your composure. The awkward silence filling the space between you once more as you resigned to not pursuing the conversation. A wave across the room caught your eye, Ciri beckoning you over but as you turned to stand, Geralt placed his hand atop yours on the table.

He hardly touched you, and you were staring at his hand, uncertain as to what he was doing. You lifted your head to find his softened gaze and immediately dropped back into your seat, nodding for him to say whatever it was that was on his mind.

“What were you thinking?” He whispered.

“When?” Your brow furrowed, the weight of Geralt’s hand growing as he relaxed.

“Just now. It looked like you were daydreaming.” He asked.

Your heart raced; you were silly to think he wouldn’t notice. He notices everything, and you couldn’t lie to him, he would catch you out, even if you were good at it. Stalling for time, you picked up your empty tankard and tried to catch the remaining droplets for some courage.

“If you really must know,” You paused, waiting for him to shut the conversation down but he didn’t and you felt the heat rising up your neck, “Erm, well, I was thinking about when we danced at Cerys’ ascension.”

Geralt smiled, a full beaming one, one that was like the moment he pulled away from your kiss all those years ago. It hit you with a force, and you couldn’t hold back all the feelings that you had packed away when he left with Yennefer not even a few months ago.

He didn’t say anything, just smiled and then sipped his ale. You weren’t sure what was happening and why he was looking at you like that. As if he was happy that you still thought of him fondly. Before you could question him, Ciri was at your side and tugging at your arm to join her, exclaiming that there would be dancing. You unfurled her hand from its grip and shook your head.

“I’m sorry Ciri, but I have to go now.” You gave her a sad smile as you stepped out from the table and pressed a light kiss to her cheek, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your celebrations little sparrow.”

Ciri’s face softened at the old nickname, “Thank you, do you need someone to walk you home.”

You chose to ignore the glare that Ciri was giving Geralt as you pulled the cloak around your shoulders. Geralt wouldn’t fall for her tricks but she was stubborn and from the huff and scrape of the chair, you knew she had gotten her way.

“Ready?” Geralt asked and you nodded, following him through the door into the night.

It was freezing, the air bit into the exposed skin of your cheeks and neck. Suddenly Geralt was in front of you, pulling the hood over your head and bringing it tighter around you.

“There’s a storm coming, you don’t want to catch a cold.” He explained.

You were dumbfounded at his care and the way he weaved an arm across your shoulders, guiding you back to your cottage. Unable to do or say anything more than put one foot in front of the other, or thereabouts, in your slightly merry state.

Geralt was warm, and smelt of ale, sandalwood, and leather. You were unable to stop yourself from sinking further into his hold, relishing the moment. Even if it meant that your heart would shatter once you reached your home, and the loss of his warmth would bring tears.

Silence remained between you, yet this time it was comfortable. It was as if this is where you were meant to be; walking side by side in a small town, surrounded by the multitude of stars and nothing but the beating of your hearts.

The cobbled path wound around various shops and cottages, culminating in the town square. It was empty, a distinct comparison to when you visited earlier in the morning to see if the visiting merchants had anything new or different to sell.

“Would you have liked to dance?” Geralt whispered, if the square was alive with the traders and merchants, you wouldn’t have heard him, but it was clear in the open air.

“I’m sorry?” You uncurled from his hold and stood in front of him, looking up at his glowing eyes.

“Back there, did I stop you?” He asked with a neutral expression that you had long ago realised was a mask to hide his true feelings.

“No,” you shook your head and wrapped your arms around yourself, “I did think it was time to leave though.”

“Because you were daydreaming about me?” Geralt asked, a lopsided smile on his lips as you continued down the path.

“Yes, because I was getting caught up in our past.” You ducked away from his sight, “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“I was thinking about the same thing, well more specifically what happened afterwards.” Geralt stopped at the gate to your cottage, “And I think you were too.”

You looked up at him, knowing you couldn’t lie, with a sad smile “You know I was Geralt. Don’t play games with your thinking. Thank you for walking me home.”

Geralt’s words rushed out, “Can I come in?”

Once again, Geralt was full of surprises, he’d never invited himself round and usually, he would just enter without question. Then you thought of how different things were now that you had gone your separate ways. When he chose to be with her.

“What would Yennefer think?” You asked, the jealousy not missing from your tone no matter how hard you tried to be nonchalant.

“Yennefer is not my master.” He grunted, “Why are we even talking about her?”

“Because you left with her. That day.” You bit down on your lip in a hope of tears not making an appearance. “I didn’t realise you had feelings for her until Jaskier mentioned the djinn and the wish you granted.”

“That fuckin’ bard.” He growled, “I do not have feelings for Yennefer, my wish was about you, but it didn’t work. You didn’t want me near you.”

You recoiled at his tone, “excuse me? You’re the one that left in a carriage to god knows where for months without a single word.”

“I left a letter.” Geralt pushed through the cottage door and gestured his hands towards the candles dotted around the cottage, causing a flame to ignite at their wicks.

You followed him into your bedroom and watched as he pulled at the drawer that you’d put aside for him many moons ago, and atop his tunics was a piece of folded paper. You stared at the letter, now in Geralt’s hand. 

It had been too painful to open the drawer, you hadn’t been in it since he left. It had taunted you enough just by being there, a reminder of you welcoming him into your home. Let alone being able to feel the fabric or take in his scent, it would have filled your heart with more pain.

“As it’s still in the drawer, I’m guessing you didn’t find it.” Geralt sighed, placing it down on the furniture and leaning back against, folding his arms. “And that explains why you didn’t turn up the other night.”

“I didn’t, why would I have gone in there?” You whispered as you began preparing the fireplace, anything to keep you busy.

He mumbled, “Because you sleep in my tunics when I’m away.”

“Okay, and what about the other night?” You questioned as the flames caught on the logs, “Where was I supposed to meet you?

At the lack of response, you turned to look at Geralt and he was scowling at something behind you, the trunk at the door and a collection of bags. You watched him taking in the rest of your home. There were no ornaments or trinkets on the walls, no books on the shelves or stacks of parchment dotted around. It was all packed away, ready for you to leave.

“Are you going somewhere?” He asked, the neutral appearance back on his features.

“Yes.” you nodded.

“For how long?” His arms dropped from their hold on his chest.

“For as long as I have a job.” You stated.

“Where?” Geralt was quiet and looking down at the floor.

“Oxenfurt Academy.”

His head snapped up, amber eyes glinting in the dim light of your cottage, “Why are you going to Redania?”

“Because I have nothing else here.” You shrugged as a tear fell from your cheek, you knew that not saying goodbye was hard, but this seemed a lot harder.

“What about Ciri? Or Jaskier? Priscilla?” Geralt asked, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he waited for your answer.

“I’m sure I’ll see them again. Ciri and I will likely cross paths if she pursues her education, and I’m sure she’d track me down the second she finds out about me leaving. I already made a promise to Jaskier that I’d see Priscilla’s shows wherever I am.” Before Geralt interrupted, you sat on the edge of your bed and continued, “He doesn’t know, it was an old promise, and you know what I’m like when it comes to those.”

Geralt silently moved across the room and sat beside you, taking your hand in his, “What about me?” 

You shook your head, “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Geralt looked at you, a softness in his eyes, “So, Oxenfurt Academy?”

You were unable to look at him, ashamed of deciding to leave in haste and without talking to him about it at least once, “Yes, I leave in a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere.” He promised and before you could counter him, he continued, “I asked you to meet me at the docks because I wanted to give you this.” 

Geralt opened a pouch attached to his hip and pulled out a delicate silver chain. He held it out so you could see the side profile of a wolf’s head with an amber gem for the eye. You weren’t sure what to say as you marvelled at the beautiful gift, lifting your hair away from your neck for Geralt to clip it in place.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” You whispered.

Your fingers glided along the chain and you held the wolf away from your chest, twisting it in the glow of the candles. A stray tear fell down your cheek but Geralt caught it with the pad of his thumb. You leant into his warm touch, his calloused palm a welcome feeling that you had long missed. Geralt lifted your face and pressed his forehead to yours before he softly kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, light pecks making way for harder pushes and pulls, swipes of tongue until your arms were wrapped around Geralt’s neck. You adjusted until you were straddling his lap. Geralt pulled at the lacing of your tunic until it loosened around your shoulders and exposed more of your chest. 

He brought his lips to yours again, the kiss was more heated than before. Tongues swiped and teeth nibbled along each other’s lips with him pulling your body into a tight hold, his erection hardening and pushing against your core. 

At the spark of pleasure, you pulled away in shock and lifted your body from him. You held the tunic in place and backed away, sitting further down the bed from him, his head hanging down as you tried to make sense of why you pulled away and were still protecting yourself when it was clear that he wanted you.

“I’m sorry Geralt, I- for the longest time, I thought you were with Yennefer, I-” You sobbed, hand cupping your mouth as you let the emotions flow freely.

You felt the bed dip and you turned to find Geralt laying back against the pillows, an arm open in waiting. You scooted up the bed and curled into his side, sinking into his warmth, and being soothed by the fingertips that swirled up and down your arm in nonsensical patterns.

“As I said before, I will follow you anywhere that you go.” He murmured and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

With the tears no longer falling, you tipped your head up to look at Geralt to find his eyes closed. You rested your head onto his shoulder and began to trace the shape of the medallion on his chest, sleep finally taking you to the world of dreams as raindrops began to patter on the roof.

A new home: it was on a quiet street quite close to Oxenfurt academy, only a twenty-minute stroll until you were in the hustle and bustle of the city. It was a lot busier than you had prepared for, especially compared to your small town of Rochdale. 

Your colleagues had told you that you’d been lucky to find the lodgings in the area and for such a good rental rate too. The ground floor consisted of a kitchen and seating area and the upstairs hosted two bedrooms. It was just the right size for you, but you hadn’t fully unpacked yet. Satchels half-emptied and trunks open but still full to the brim with trinkets and books.

You were settled in the chair by the fireplace, the warm embers glowing as you read the book in your lap. It wasn’t late but your eyes were feeling heavy after the most hectic month of moving to the city and settling into your new role at the academy. 

A knock at the door made you jump; the book fell to the floor with a thud. Tentatively, you approached the entrance to your home and glanced through the frosted pane in the wooden door but could only make out two figures. Ciri and Geralt stood before you, your mouth dropped agape as their arrival was unexpected and you weren’t sure what to say.

“Surprise! I’ve enrolled at Oxenfurt Academy.” Ciri laughed and wrapped her arms around you.

You held her close and rested your chin on her shoulder, looking over at Geralt, shock and happiness coursing through you. In the dim light of the torches that lined the street, his mouth twitched into a smirk. Your heart fluttered and you couldn’t wait to have his arms wrapped around you once more.

“I cannot believe it; I wish you’d let me know beforehand so I could have prepared for your visit.” You beckoned them into the warmth of your new lodgings, picked up the fallen book and attempted to tidy away the pots and pans on the table.

“Oh, come on Y/N, it’s only us, I’ll start making a pot of tea.” Ciri headed over to the stove and filled the kettle.

Geralt entered your home, he filled the space with his height and broad shoulders, the atmosphere was tense, and you weren’t sure what to do. It had been a while since you last spoke to him; the morning after he returned and discovered you were moving away.

“Hello,” you squeaked, unable to keep the excitement from your tone, “erm- how long are you staying? Where are you staying?”

“Ciri mentioned you had spare beds.” Geralt murmured. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes, of course, right this way.” The steps creaked underfoot as you both ascended the staircase, and your nerves began to bubble as you felt his eyes on your back. You opened the first door to the spare room with two single frames and a small chest of drawers, “sorry it’s not much. My bedroom is just down the hall and there is a bath in there.”

Geralt placed a couple of satchels on the bed and removed his armoured plate. You couldn’t help the way you stared at him in the tunic and the dark hair across the exposed part of his chest. He pulled out a small bag from a satchel pocket and turned back to you with a small smile.

“I-We brought your favourite biscuits from Rochdale.”

The stutter did not go unnoticed, but you did not react to it, instead offered a smile and a whispered thank you as Geralt placed the bag into your outstretched hand. Instantly, you opened it and raised it to your face to inhale the sweet scent of the treat.

“This will go lovely with the tea, we should-.” You gestured back to the stairs and spun on your heel.

“Wait,” Geralt huffed and caught the crook of your arm to turn you to face him, “I should have done something else when you answered the door.”

A frown etched on your features until his hand cupped your cheek and you caught the way his amber eyes glowed as they flicked down to your lips. Your mouth parted and your eyes fluttered closed as you slowly edged towards one another, meeting in the middle in a soft kiss.

Your body tingled in Geralt’s hold, as your lips melted into his chapped ones. Knees grew weak as he invaded all your senses. It was as if he knew and wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you flush to his hard chest.

Both of you pulled away for air, his fiery gaze drank you in and sent a wave of pleasure through your body. He claimed your mouth once more with hunger, your hands carded through his ashen locks, and you tugged him closer still. Geralt lifted you into his arms and carried you to your bedroom.

Too consumed in your reunion and that Geralt had kept his promise to follow you anywhere, neither of you heard the door close behind Ciri’s hasty exit.

The tea and biscuits were long forgotten.

Everything Tag List: @kitkatd7 / @fandomfic-galore / @writerwrites / @thefridgeismybestie / @wedonttalkaboutitenough​ / @courtneychicken / @persephonesinfernos / @miraclesoflove​ / @lizzarooni​ / @queenoftheunderdark​

[ri-ahhh]

hi can you write about spending a valentine’s day with gray pls?

valentine’s day smut w/ gray? + more haha sorry couldn’t put them all in

A/N: I’m sorry this is a day late. It was supposed to be 90% smut but somehow it took on a mind of its own and turned into this monster.

warnings: smut, extremely cheesy, way too long

***

It should be a given understanding that Valentine’s Day is the dumbest, most antiquated, overrated holiday that’s ever existed. That had always been your take on it, even as a little kid — the worry of spelling your classmates’ names correctly on cards imprinted with cheesy Scooby Doo and Spongebob puns; the expectation to dress up nice in the hopes you would get asked to be someone’s Valentine in the hallways of middle school; the potential embarrassment of being the only person in class who didn’t get bought one of those stupid roses from a ‘secret admirer’ in high school.

There’s simply too much pressure surrounding the idea of professing your love or even your mere fondness for anyone and everyone in your life. The fear of rejection if you do, and the judgement if you don’t. It had always made you anxious, whether you had someone to share the day with or not.

But this Valentine’s Day, as a young twenty-something, you were actually (secretly) looking forward to it. Conner was your first adult relationship, with the title of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and labels and commitment. He’s cute and smart and charming and yours. So, sue you if you were quietly anticipating wearing that SavageXFenty set beneath a brand new dress while you went to dinner after being greeted at the door with roses and a box of chocolates.

And yet here you are, on February 14th, hood of your sweater drawn over your head as you rummage through your freezer with a clear target in your mind. Your eyes are blurry and swollen, but you find the pint of birthday cake Nada Moo with ease, and you slam the freezer door closed a little harder than you really mean to as soon as it’s in your grasp.

You’ve just popped the lid off when your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter where you’ve plopped down to eat your depression snack in a more acceptable place than your bed or the couch.

You see Grayson’s name accompanied by a goofy, up-close picture of him smiling filling the screen, and hesitate. He’s one of your best friends, and clearly done nothing wrong, but you’re not sure you’re capable of handling anyone of the male species right now after...everything.

At the end of the day, though, it’s Grayson. He knows heartbreak almost better than anyone, and you’ve coached him through it on more than one occasion. Maybe he can spew back some of your own advice if it comes to that.

You swipe the bar at the bottom of the screen, and your ceiling suddenly replaces the image of his silly, handsome face. “Sup?”

“Yo. Am I interrupting anything? Sorry, just remembered what day it is.”

You swallow. “Uh no, you’re not.”

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip hard, digging your spoon into the softened ice cream. Was it that obvious just from your voice that you had been upset? Or does he just know you that well?

“Nothing.”

“You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie. Let me see your face.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you concede. “No. I’ve been crying.”

He’s quiet, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his own face in the corner of the screen. You shove the chunk of ice cream past your lips, and after a moment he says with a softer tone, “Crying on Valentine’s Day is never a good sign.”

You’re glad that you’ve gotten so much of your tears out already, because you feel the inevitable prickle behind your eyes that would have been full-blown waterworks a few hours ago. You scoop another bite. “Conner cheated on me — has been, cheating on me. I found out last night.”

Grayson sighs your name, and something about the genuine sympathy in his voice makes you even more emotional. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What a piece of shit.”

You shrug even though he can’t see, and sniffle past the lump in your throat. “It’s whatever. I’m still in shock more than anything. Hurts like hell, though, still. I let him have it when I saw the texts and he hasn’t tried to call me once. No texts. Nothing.”

He’s silent, but it’s that raging silence you know oh so well from him. It doesn’t happen often, but anyone who knows Grayson Dolan knows that when his volume comes down, he means business. A loud and obnoxious Grayson is a happy one, but a brooding and quiet one means serious business.

“Do you want me to go beat his ass? I’ll do it.”

A smile cracks your scowl before you know it, and you shake your head. “No thanks, Gray. As much as I’d love to see that happen, I like your face the way it is. And not on a mugshot.”

He chuckles a little, and you feel your chest lift some just hearing the familiar depth of it. “Well, do you at least want me to come over later? I totally get if you need to be alone, but I know from experience sometimes what helps the most is having good friends around.”

You’re a little surprised. “You don’t have a date?”

“Nope.”

“No one from the roster hitting you up?”

“I don’t have a roster,” he argues playfully, but you both know that’s a lie, if not at least a stretch of the truth. “And even if I did, you’re more important. Always.”

You sigh and take another bite. His words make your neck tingle and your toes wiggle, but you ignore it; your brain is full of confusion as it is. “That makes one man in my life who thinks so, I guess.”

You finally prop your phone up against the fruit basket sitting in the middle of your bar so he can see you. Grayson takes in your image, which admittedly must look kind of pathetic, and you watch his jaw clench and release in a way that you can’t deny is utterly sexy.

“Is an hour okay? Tell Vanessa to come, too.”

“Benito took her to Tulum for the weekend,” you say, referring to your best friend and her boyfriend. “She did threaten to get on a plane and come home early for me, though.”

Grayson grins crookedly, but his jaw is still tight. “Well, tell her you’re in good hands. See you in an hour?”

You give it one last quick consideration; you already feel this much better just talking to him on the phone. Nothing bad could come from him being in your apartment, and you trust him. “Yeah, that’s fine. But just so you know, I’m already at the stage of eating ice cream at 10:30 AM.”

“Did you forget you’re talking to the emotional ice cream eating champion? No judgement here.”

You finally let out a giggle, your spirits officially lifted. “I’ll see you soon.”

**

True to his word, Grayson arrives at your door about an hour later, his arms laden with milkshakes from Monty’s, a gift bag decorated all over with sparkly hearts, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

You’re stunned. The only thing you’d managed to do in the time it took him to get here was take a quick shower in attempts to rid your face of some of the puffiness, throw on some shorts this time with a fresh hoodie, and toss the used tissues scattered around your place into the garbage.

Before you can say anything, he holds out the flowers. “They were out of roses. But I know you like pink.”

You reach out for them slowly, eyes wide, your fingers brushing his when you grasp the plastic wrapping. His cheeks are a similar color to the petals, and it makes both your heart and your lips smile.

“Peonies are my favorite,” you say truthfully. “And yes, especially pink ones. Thank you, Gray.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding relieved.

As he crosses the threshold of your door, he leans down to kiss your cheek, and you can’t help but hum quietly and pull him in for a hug. “That gift better not be for me, either,” you mumble into his chest.

Grayson pulls back, his eyes sparkling, but keeps you close with an arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. “Oh, this? No, this is for my other best friend I’m trying to cheer up on Valentine’s Day.”

You slap his arm playfully, and lead him into your kitchen, pulling out a vase from the cabinet beneath your sink for the flowers.

The bag has a few gifts in it: a new Comfy (“I remembered you ruined yours when that ketchup bottle exploded all over you the other day”); a huge bag of watermelon sour patch kids (“I know they’re your favorite. Also ice cream gives you brain freeze after the first pint or so, trust me”); and a heart shaped box of your favorite chocolates (“you can eat them or burn them, I wasn’t sure which you’d appreciate more but either is fine with me.”)

You appreciated all of it, more than he would ever understand. All you can do is fling yourself at him weakly, completely overwhelmed. “Fuck you, you’re gonna make me cry all over again.”

Grayson envelops you in those huge, muscular arms, cooing behind that laugh you love so much. “Is that a really backwards way of saying thank you?”

You grunt in affirmation, and with you still wrapped up in his arms, he starts waddling the two of you back the short distance into your living room.

“Here,” he says, coaxing you down into the blanket nest you had created on the couch. “You chill and find a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

You do, and he does, and the next few hours are spent lounging about in your apartment. Having him here with you is doing wonders from keeping your mind from going down the paths you’d been spiraling towards ever since you saw the messages between Conner and no less than four other girls on Snapchat. You don’t believe in snooping, but finding the first one had been an accident when he received the snap while you had his phone, and your finger happened to press the icon at just the right moment. 

In your eyes, though, the image of one pair of tits that weren’t your own was enough justification to see what else you could find. 

“I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved,” you told Grayson a while later, Shrek playing on the TV quietly. He’s sitting next to you, far enough apart for there to be couch space between the two of you, but close enough to share the oversized blanket thrown over your laps. “Obviously what he did is so fucking shitty and I’m not justifying it in any way, but I can be honest with myself now and realize I wasn’t in that relationship for the right reasons. There wasn’t anything there emotionally at the end of the day.”

“You still have every right to feel hurt by what he did, though. It’s a huge violation of trust,” Grayson assures, reaching out and squeezing your hand gently.  

You squeeze back and grimace at him. “Yeah.” You let out a little mirthless laugh and shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing, too. And finding out the day before Valentine’s, no less. Like, I just wanted to look cute, have a nice dinner, have some nice sex, and just... I don’t know. Have an actual Valentine’s day for once. No pressure or anxiety or anything.”

Grayson stares at you in that way he does — so intense and almost intimidating if there wasn’t a genuine warmth behind it. You’re suddenly aware of his thumb brushing the back of your hand slowly. He squeezes your fingers again. 

“So, let’s do it, then. You and me.”

You arch a brow at him, smiling at the rosiness in his cheeks when he realizes what he might have implied. “The dinner part, I mean. And the dressing up. Even though I think you look plenty cute right now.”

You roll your eyes, but for the countless time that day, your heart flutters happily. Looking back, you can’t remember the last time Conner had complimented your appearance, let alone after hours of crying and lazing around in sweats, sugar crystals stuck to the corner of your lip. 

“That would be great, except there’s no way we’re getting into any restaurant at this point,” you remind him. “Probably no delivery, either.”

“I’ll cook for you,” he counters, throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up with a groan. He stops to stretch, and the way his arms go over his head makes his shirt ride up at the bottom, exposing a chunk of hard muscles and golden skin. 

You swallow, eyes trailing up the rest of his torso appreciatively. “I don’t have much.”

He’s already rummaging through your pantry, though, and pulls out a half-full box of pasta, a jar of marinara sauce, and a leftover chunk of sourdough bread. “You got salad stuff?”

You nod, and he opens the fridge to find some lettuce, peppers, and other salad fixings before setting them with the pasta ingredients on the counter. “Go get dressed, look as cute or not cute as you want. I’ll take care of this.”

He’s absolutely unreal. “Gray-”

Grayson holds up his hand. “Ah, no, I’m doing this. You deserve it. Also, I’m hungry. It’s a win-win.”

Your stomach growls as well, and that’s all the convincing you need. While he gets busy in the kitchen, you tidy up the living area some before heading to your room. You feel a little silly, making your third outfit change of the day, but you also like the giddiness in the pit of your belly at the thought of Grayson doing all of this for you. You might as well take advantage of having someone like him in your life. Show him some Valentine’s appreciation of your own.

You forgo the slinky red number you had planned to wear to the restaurant with Conner, and opt instead for a rather unsuspecting blouse-jeans combo, which happen to both respectively frame your tits and ass perfectly.

The lacy, bright pink set in the back of your closet might have made it beneath your clothes, though. The prettiness of it made you feel that much better, even if no one else was going to see it.

Maybe.

Padding back into your kitchen after running a flat iron through your hair and throwing on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss, you find Grayson draining the pasta into a colander in the sink. 

Grayson does a double-take when he sees you standing there admiring the flex of his bicep as he holds the pot. “Hey! You look amazing.”

“If you say so,” you joke, bumping his hip with yours as. You pass him to pull plates and bowls out of the cabinet.

“I do,” he insists quietly.

Arm outstretched mid-reach, you look over at him, locking eyes with his hazel ones. He looks a little surprised by the words that left his mouth, like he meant for them to stay inside his head. There must be some kind of challenge in your gaze, daring him to elaborate.

He busies himself with the pasta again hastily, his voice low. “Conner is a fucking idiot. To do that to you. To let you go. You don’t deserve that. Especially not today.”

Plates in hand, you rest them gently on the counter with your lower lip caught between your teeth, and peer over at this handsome man you’re so proud and lucky to call your best friend. He’s everything you thought Conner was — cute and smart and charming — but so much more — beautiful and good and kind.

And he’s been right here in front of you the whole time.

You reach out and touch his elbow softly. The hairs on his forearm are crisp but soft, and you follow them down to that gleaming watch on his wrist.

“You know,” you start quietly, fingers tracing the links of the band before flipping his hand over to trace the lines of his palm, “you keep talking about what I deserve today. But you deserve all that and more. You deserve someone’s love that matches your own.”

He watches your delicate fingers on his large, calloused palm, then trails his eyes up to yours when he feels their attention on his face. A piece of hair flops into his eyes, and you reach up without thinking or any hesitation to push it away again with a little smile playing on your glossy lips.

You look down and lay your palm flat against his, admiring the difference in size between your hands for a moment before interlocking your fingers with his.

“I love you.”

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise; he beat you to the words.

“In case that wasn’t obvious,” Grayson continues, turning towards you. “And I hope that’s not too much for you to handle, with everything you’ve had hap-”

“I love you too, Gray,” you interrupt, stepping that much closer to him so you’re nearly chest-to-chest with him.

“Yeah?” He sounds almost boyish in his astonishment, and it makes you want to hold him tight and never let go.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “A lot. I’m sorry it took me getting dumped to realize it.”

He shakes his head, his hand resting on your cheek gently. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod once before he’s swiftly ducking down to claim your lips with his. They’re soft and pliable, and you feel their effects from the nerves in your scalp all the way down to your bare toes.

“Grayson,” you breathe, lashes fluttering open as he pulls back just enough to look at you concernedly.

You smile, bigger and brighter than you have all day, and cup his stubbled cheeks with your hands, scratching your nails gently against his jaw. “I just wanted to say your name.”

Grayson grins now, too. He kisses you more insistently now that he’s got the taste of you on his tongue, which he flicks against the underside of your top lip as he breaks the kiss. “Say it again.”

“Make me,” you challenege, voice breathy and excited, eyes closed as you savor his sweet breath against your lips. “In my room.” You feel him tense up a bit, and you open your eyes to meet his questioning gaze, biting back a smile at the inevitable hope also shining there. “I’m sure.”

With that, Grayson hauls you up into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist with a squeal as he buries his face into your neck. He starts making the way to your bedroom, cooked food left long forgotten in the kitchen behind you.

“Are you wearing my signature scent?” he asks, inhaling your skin deeply.

“Mmhm,” you hum, threading your fingers through the back of his thick hair. It’s so long again, and you give the dark strands a sharp tug that makes him grunt. “Part one of my gift to you. Since you got so many for me today.”

“Part one, huh?” he says, crossing the threshold of your room. “What’s part two?”

“What I’m wearing underneath this,” you whisper in his ear, giggling loudly when he lies you down on the bed with more of a toss than he might have intended. “If you want it, that is.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind at the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t, and you take that as enough encouragement to tug at the bow tying your forest green silk wrap blouse together.

The folds part open and expose your chest, clad in that pink lace demi-cup bra with the cage detailing over the tops of your breasts. Grayson moans and dips down to nuzzle your cleavage, breathing in the scent of your warm skin. His hands trail up your sides, from your hips to your rib cage, until they settle in the dips of your waist. His touch ignites you, makes your back arch and your hips grind up against his thigh between your legs, just from the sensation of his hands on these new parts of your body.

“Grayson,” you sigh, and he smirks up at you with his chin on your tits when he realizes that’s all it took for you to say his name again.

You grab his cheeks and kiss that smugness away, shifting your legs so they’re wrapped around his waist once again, pushing down on the small of his back to get your centers to meet.

Both of you gasp into each other’s mouths when his erection rubs against your pussy, even through all the layers of clothing still on your bodies. You reach down blindly, still attacking his mouth with yours, and feel around for his belt.

His pants come off, followed by yours, and he sits you up enough to push your blouse off your shoulders rather gently considering the intensity of everything. Once the garment is tossed over his shoulder, you’re down to nothing but that pretty lingerie and he in his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment of pause and clarity for the two of you, staring into one another’s eyes as the reality hits of what you’re about to do. What it means to both of you. Grayson stares down at you, and places a hand over your rapidly thumping heart.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, dragging his hand up your chest, over your throat, until he’s cupping you’re cheek and stroking your lip with his thumb.

You smile in return, then part your lips with your eyes locked on his, encouraging him silently to slip that digit in your mouth.

Grayson’s eyes darken, and he offers you his pointer finger instead, swallowing hard when you suck and swirl your soft, wet tongue around it.

Suddenly, he’s rolling the two of you over, switching positions so he’s on his back and you straddle him. You smile happily, taking your turn to duck down and attach your lips to the pulse point his neck, grinding down on his cock with a slow, steady rhythm.

“You’re so amazing, Gray,” you tell him, nipping at the lobe of his ear before kissing the underside of his chin. “Can’t believe you’re all mine now.”

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he growls back, cursing when you trail your kisses down the center of his body, giving each one of those moon’s their own special attention before continuing down.

When you get to the waistband of his underwear, you trail your tongue on the edge of the elastic and watch his abs contract with each shaky breath he takes. One little move of your hands, and you’ll finally get to see what he’s really packing.

But before you can even hook your fingers there to pull down, he’s tugging on your hair. “Fuck, fuck, c’mere. Please.”

You pout, but follow his lead, licking back up his muscular torso until he’s able to drag you to him for a deep, wet kiss.

“Sit on my face,” he demands, shuffling down on the pillow to make more room for you.

That takes you off guard. “But—”

“Do it. Please. I fucking have to taste you.”

Your body must be working ahead of your brain, because before you know it, you’re straddling Grayson’s face, his tongue is sweeping through the wetness in your slit, and his dark eyes are peering up at you from between your thighs.

“Oh... oh!” you cry out when his tongue starts flicking against your clit. He goes back to swiping up all your arousal, then suctions his lips around your clit. He’s using one hand to hold the lace of your thong aside, and the other dips first one finger, then two inside of you. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good...”

Grayson moans, the vibrations erupting around your clit and sending you right to the edge already. You reach back and palm his cock, rock hard in his underwear still, and squeeze as he makes you cum all over his mouth.

He gets his fill of your cum as he groans and keeps up the motion of his fingers, the pressure of his lips, the softness of his tongue as your pussy pulses with each contraction of your orgasm. You wait for him to start letting up, but something about the way he’s working you just makes those waves stay steady rather than die down again. Maybe that’s his intention, because when you drop your head down to look at him with your mouth wet and agape, there’s a sparkling mischief in his eyes has he eats you out like his last meal.

Your hips grind against his face of their own accord, and you delve one hand in his hair while the other supports you on the headboard. You gasp out a quivering, breathless laugh as it all becomes just too much, and you try to lift off his mouth.

Grayson isn’t having it, though. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down, reveling in the moans and whimpers and squeals as he makes you cum again.

“Oh my god — enough, enough, I can’t...” you whine, shoving on his forehead until he releases you and drops his head to the pillow. You could already see it by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but he’s smirking wide, chest heaving as you slink your way down his body.

You collapse next to him in a daze, and he rolls on top of you smoothly, peppering little kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your nose. When you’re back in your right mind, you nudge blindly at his face so his lips find yours. He tastes like your pussy, and you sigh happily as you lift your heavy arms to wrap around his neck while his scoop beneath you, holding you close.

You continue to indulge in each other for a while, in the kisses you hadn’t been allowed to share until now. There’s something exciting about his familiarity and yet also this strange newness that has you absolutely desperate for him in every way.

“This is crazy,” you say when you pull back for air, studying his face hovering right above yours. You push back that stubborn chunk of hair that keeps falling into his eyes with a soft smile. “How did we end up here?”

Grayson turns his head to press his lips to your palm. “I don’t know. Is it too much? Should we stop?”

You shake your head vehemently, and he grins. “No, please. I think I just have to grasp that you’re really... mine now.”

He chuckles. “How do you think I felt watching you with that loser for five months?”

The mention of Conner makes you feel nothing — nothing other than gratitude for Grayson, that is. You slide your hands down his back, over his ribs, across his abs until your hand cups his dick.

His hips thrust into your touch, and you grin up at him demurely as you finally delve your hand past his waistband until you’ve got his length completely in your grasp.

He’s hot and hard and thick, and you start stroking him just to gauge the reaction in his face. He doesn’t disappoint, his jaw gaping open slightly, his breaths picking up, a flush rising to the apples of his cheeks.

Without warning, he reaches down and grasps your wrist. You pout, but he asks hastily. “Are we gonna have sex?”

You smirk. “Hell yeah.”

Grayson grins and shakes his head. “Alright, then you gotta stop.”

“Already?” you tease, letting him sit back and hook his fingers in the tiny string of your thong at your hips.

He gives you a look as he pulls the scrap of lace down your legs, then stands to push down his own underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you wish he’d let you blow him some before you hit the main event, but he says, “I’ve wanted you for too long to take any chances about screwing up the first time.”

You melt a little, reaching for him as he climbs back on the bed. “There should be some condoms in the drawer there. Just to be safe after... you know.”

He nods and dips down to kiss you before leaning over to riffle through the top drawer of your nightstand. He comes back with a purple square, which you take from him.

“Gotta practice an activity safely,” you wink, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his shaft quickly.

“Shut up.” Grayson rolls his eyes, but smiles softly as he settles between your legs just right. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper, gasping as he starts to sink inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as your walls suck him in and grip him tight.

He goes slow for a couple of minutes, allowing both of you time to adjust to each other. He stretches you out so much better than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you can’t help but clench around him when you see those tattoos and smell his cologne and hear his voice — all things that remind you that this is Grayson fucking you.

He growls the first time you do it, then sits up hastily, pulling his face out of your neck when you do it again. He tucks his knees beneath him, sits on his heels, and hauls your hips into his lap as the speed of his thrusts picks up incrementally. Until he’s fucking you for real, and your tits bounce in your bra with every upstroke.

You shove an arm beneath your pillow, enunciating the curves of your body, and watch his expressions as he fights to hold back. His hair is disheveled, lip caught tight between his teeth and muffling his deep, satisfied sounds that mingle with your open higher-pitched ones. He catches your eye and his hands on your hips grip you so tight for a moment that you’re sure little bruises will be there in the morning — not that you mind.

“Fuck,” he whispers harshly before slowing his hips and shifting down to give you a deep, sloppy kiss. “Turn over.”

You moan into his mouth, then follow his order, rolling onto your front as soon as he pulls out. You expect him to haul your hips up into the air, but he moves your hair off your neck and trails sweet kisses from shoulder to shoulder, his hand sweeping down the subtle curve of your back until he’s gripping your ass.

Grayson’s hand moves down your thigh and pushes it up and out once he’s cupping the back of your knee. The angle encourages you to twist your upper half until you have sight of him once again in all his angled, sweaty, muscular glory.

“Fuck me, baby,” you beg him, already anticipating the fullness inside you again. Needing it.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks needlessly, pushing into your pussy once again. You moan loudly, either in confirmation or from pure pleasure, it doesn’t matter. The angle is tighter, the tip of his dick hitting a spot so perfectly accurate inside of you that you can’t concentrate on anything other than how good he’s making you feel. “Yeah. So fucking sexy. So beautiful...”

“Gray.. oh fuck yes, right there,” you whimper, catching onto his arm as he leans over you and gives you those hard, steady strokes.

“Open your eyes, baby, lemme see them when you cum,” he growls out.

You open them as much as you can, your vision blurry, but you can still make out those handsome features soaking in the pleasure on your face. Watching and waiting for you to get yours so he can get his.

As soon as you’re clenching like a vice around him, Grayson is letting go into the condom. You can vaguely feel the throb of him as he cums in spurts, the sound of his masculine, drawn-out groans making you shiver and tense up even more on his dick. If it’s possible for anyone to sound as sexy as they look, Grayson achieves that in spades.

He collapses on the bed next to you, and you have just enough strength to roll over until he’s got you gathered in his arms. You nuzzle into his chest and try to process everything. You had been hoping for nice sex today, and instead you got the best sex of your life.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence while you both catch your breath, after he pulls and ties off the condom, you smile into his cooling skin with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you for making this the best Valentine’s Day of my life. Especially after it was starting to look like the worst.”

“You made this the best day of my life, period,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Gray.”

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 31

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2069

Warnings:  Pregnancy, labor, surgery, breastfeeding

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 31: The Whole Family

I was in full active labor seven hours after I lay down to nap with Steve.  My water broke at around nine that night, but it was just a small trickle and it took a little while for me to realize it had happened.

It was quite a strange feeling to be in labor while everything was just going on as normal around you.  We were experts at it this time, so babies were being breastfed and given tummy time.  Dinner was served and eaten together.  Riley and Pietro were given their stories and a bath before being put into bed and all the while I was getting these strong, debilitating pains that lasted barely anytime every 20 minutes or so.  There was a rotating roster of people who stuck by my side depending on what needed to be done in the house and when all the kids were down for the night Tony suggested that maybe we should just go down to the Medbay and see how things were going.  Turns out the answer to that question was; ‘not well’.

“Elise, honey,” Doctor Schroeder said, as I lay back on the bed with a bunch of probes attached to me, and one inserted inside me and attached to the crown of the baby’s head.  “The baby is in distress, we really need to do the c-section.”

“What?” I said, the alarms beeping around me as my blood pressure shot up. “No, no, no, no, no.”  Beside me, all the color had drained from Tony’s face and he started fidgeting where he stood.

“It’s going to be fine,” the doctor said.  “But he needs to come out.  We need to put you under as soon as possible.”

“But… I…” I couldn’t think straight.  I didn’t know why he would be in distress now.  I had made plans.  I’d gone into labor, I was supposed to deliver like Wanda and Natasha had.

“El, princess,” Sam said, stepping close to me and crouching down by the bed.  I looked at him, still panicking.  “Honey, I’ll stay with you the whole time.  Okay?  I won’t leave your side for one second.  We’ll get Edwin out and when you wake up, we’ll all have a happy and healthy baby boy.”

I felt tears prick my eyes but I nodded, feeling a little bit more sure about things.  Everyone backed off a little and I was moved onto a surgical bed and set up with an IV and wheeled into surgery.  Everything felt like a blur as I was given an anesthetic and oxygen and talked off to sleep.  I remember the last thing I could focus on was the light above me and Sam’s voice telling me he was right here with me and everything would be okay.

The next thing I was really aware of was my throat hurting and how cold I felt.  “Hey, El,” Sam said, gently.  “You waking up?”

I managed to force my eyes open but they fell closed again right away, I shook my head slowly.

“It’s okay, princess,” Sam said, running his thumb over the back of my hand.  “You can keep sleeping if you want to.  Everyone is fine.  Edwin was crying up a storm as soon as he took a breath.  He’s with the others now.  His feet and hands were a little blue and his pulse was a little high, but everything settled once he got used to being out in the big bad world.  They don’t think he’s going to need to be in intensive care or anything.  Just your blood pressure stressing him out.”

I relaxed as Sam spoke and seemed to doze off for five minutes or so before waking again.  A nurse came over to check me over.  “Do you have any pain, Doctor Cooper?”

I nodded and pointed to my stomach where they had cut.

“Do you want some pain medication?”  She asked.

I nodded again and started crying - though I wasn’t actually sure what was setting it off.

“Hey, El,” Sam soothed.  “It’s okay, honey.  I’m still here.”

“And you’re going to see your baby very soon,” the nurse added as she adjusted something on my IV.  The pain started to back off again, but I couldn’t seem to stop crying.

“What’s upsetting you, princess?”  Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” I cried, my voice raspy.

“Aww, honey,” Sam soothed.  “Having a bad reaction to the GA leaving your system.  It’s alright.  It’ll back off soon.”

I’m not sure how long it took to start feeling more awake but they brought me juice and crackers and checked me over before letting me go to my room where the others were waiting with Baby Edwin.  Sam stayed by my side the whole time, talking me through every little medical thing that they did so I wouldn’t worry.

I was wheeled into the room and was greeted by all the others who were seated around on the various couches and sofa chairs set up.  They all stood at once except for Tony who was holding the little bundle in his arms.

“Hey, sweetheart.  They said it all went fine.  How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

“I'm okay.  Feel weird.  I was pregnant and now I'm not anymore,” I said.  “Usually a thing that happens between those points.”

“You had a baby,” Steve assured me.  “He's right there.  Tony’s won’t let anyone else hold him.”

“Hey! You all got a turn,” Tony argued.  “But I helped make him, I’m proud of my good work.”

“Puh-lease, Tones,” Clint snarled.  “You jizzed inside her.  Who hasn't done that?”

“Hey, not in front of the baby!” Tony said, covering Edwin’s ears and looking at Clint with a scandalized expression on his face.

“Alright, alright,” Natasha said. “I think it’s time for Elise and Sam to get their chance holding him.”

Tony got up and carried the little bundle over.  He was wrapped in a blue blanket with just his face showing and he was sleeping peacefully.  He had a fine head of brown hair and a little button nose. “Look at what we made, El,” he said as he put him in my arms.

“I can’t tell who he looks like more,” I said, looking down at him.

“Well he has blue eyes,” Tony said.  “But that could just be because they haven’t settled.”

“He’s perfect either way,” Wanda said.

I smiled down at him and ran my finger over his cheek.  “Hey, Eddie,” I said softly.  “Sorry I missed you being born and stressed you out so much.”

“He’s fine,” Wanda said.  “I promise.”

“A hearty lad,” Thor added.  “You have nothing to fear, my life.”

I smiled and kissed Edwin’s forehead.  “Good,” I said.  “That’s the main thing.”

“Not to hurry you along, El,” Sam said. “But I want a turn too.”

I giggled.  “Okay, but only because you stayed with me the whole time.”

Sam grinned and took him from me, and I lay down, closing my eyes.  “Maybe we should leave you to sleep, honey.”

I mumbled something, trying to ignore the pull of sleep, but finding it hard to resist.  “Mishka,” Natasha scolded.  “It’s the middle of the night and you just had major surgery.”

“We’ll be here when you get up, and so will Edwin,” Bruce said. “You should sleep while you can and heal so you can come back home as soon as possible.”

I nodded slowly.  “I’ll stay with her,” Tony said.

“What a shocker,” Clint teased and came over and pressed a kiss to my forehead.  “You did good, El.”

“Thanks, Clint,” I murmured.

The others all came over and kissed me goodnight before leaving.  I dozed a little while Tony fussed around and eventually set himself up to sleep on the foldout next to me.

The following day I woke up to the sound of Edwin crying.  Tony had him cradled in his arms, trying to soothe him as the nurses came and propped my bed up.  I have no idea how long I’d slept for, but the sun was up and the room was filled with flowers and balloons.

“There’s your mama,” Tony said.  “We were starting to think you were going to sleep all day long.”

“Sorry, Tony,” I said.

He shook his head.  “You’re healing.  It’s fine.”

“How’s your pain?”  One of the nurses asked as she fussed around me.

“About a seven,” I said.  “Maybe seven and a half.”

“We’ll get you something.  Are you hungry?”  The nurse asked.

I nodded.  “Very.”

“Okay,” she said.  “I’ll organize that too.  And are you going to breastfeed?”

“I’m going to try,” I said.

“Okay, let’s see if we can do that first,” she said, gesturing Tony over with Edwin.

It took a little bit of doing but we eventually had him latched and suckling.  I knew I wasn’t really producing anything much yet, the surgery would delay my milk production, but it was important to get him to suckle to bring it on.  He suckled with a scowl on his face, staring up at me with his dark blue eyes as he gripped at my breast with one little hand.

The nurse left to go order my breakfast and my pain medication and Tony sat on the side of my bed and started playing with Edwin’s hand.  “You ready to see the others?”  He asked.

“Yeah.  That’ll be good,” I agreed.

“Your mom is here.  Those are from her,” he said, pointing to a large bunch of white roses and blue irises set in a blue box with foil balloons attached that read ‘It’s a boy’.  “You okay seeing her too?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, that’s fine too.”

“FRIDAY, let them know,” Tony said.

By the time the very large group that consisted of my husbands, wives, children and mother came through the door, Edwin had stopped feeding and fallen back to sleep and I was slowly eating my way through a plate of French Toast with fresh berries.

“There she is,” Steve said, kissing me hello.  “You slept for so long.”

“I guess I was tired,” I agreed.  “I’m up now.”

“You otay, mommy?”  Pietro asked, coming over to the bed and putting his chin on the side.

“I have a big cut,” I said, caressing his hair.  “But I’m okay.  I missed you.”

“I misted you too,” he said.

Thor and Bruce lifted both Riley and Pietro up on the side of the bed.  “Be careful of your mother, she has an injury,” Thor said.

“Don’t touch her tummy,” Bruce added.

Riley immediately ignored both of her father’s instructions and gently patted my stomach.  “Tan I see?”

“It’s just a bandage right now,” I said.  “But I can show you when they come and change it if you really want.  It has stitches because they had to sew me back up.”

“Otay,” she said and promptly stole a strawberry off my plate and started eating it.

Pietro’s lip began to quiver.  “Dey sewed you up?”

“It’s okay, honey,” I said, pulling him in close.  “I’m okay and so is your new baby brother.  Did you see him?”

“Yeah, he’s borwing,” Riley said, matter-of-factly making me laugh a little.

My mom stepped forward and kissed my cheek.  “Congratulations, darling,” she said.  “He’s so beautiful.  They all are, but Edwin looks just like you when you were born.”

“Thanks, mom,” I replied.

Everyone settled around the room.  Some cradling babies while others looked over their shoulders.  Everyone was relaxed and happy and completely present as a family.  It was a little melancholy to think how back when I was born, my mother had me, and I looked so much like him, and yet I didn’t have this.  I would grow up not knowing that this deep love and devotion was a real thing.  That I wouldn’t know it until one day when I knocked over an ex-Russian assassin on the way to work and somehow that act would lead her to become fascinated by me.

In the end, it didn’t matter.  Every little thing that happened in my life led to this.  Me here with the people I loved most.  With the people who I had chosen to be a part of my life.  I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant I would lose this.  I might not have known it growing up, but my kids would.  This was my family.

~ END ~

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) What is a legacy? DC

A03

When Wally had first met Earth's new Green Lantern, the  oh-so great Torchbearer, he'd wanted nothing to do with him. Wally - he'd grown up with Hal, then later John, and even Guy, and now all three were gone. He'd grown up with Hal dipping in and out of his Aunt and Uncles' house like he lived there. He'd grown up coming down to breakfast in the morning and seeing Uncle Hal there too, having just come back from space to crawl into bed next to Uncle Barry. When Aunt Iris had been killed, and Uncle Barry started spiraling out of control, it had been Uncle Hal who had kept everything together, who had promised Wally that he wouldn't let Barry out of his sight, that he'd watch his back. It had been Uncle Hal who Wally went to after Uncle Barry's death and the weight of being the Flash was too heavy.

Uncle Hal had been Wally's Green Lantern.

But Hal had broken too. He'd gone crazy and killed the Corps and then vanished. Hal had caved under the pressure no one had known he was under until it was too late, and when he'd come back he was mad.

Wally hadn't wanted a new Green Lantern, wouldn't give him the time of day, until he'd found himself outnumbered during a meeting discussing Hal - Lord Parallax - and had tried to argue that his Uncle needed compassion, understanding, and  help , not a fight. They'd called him too close to the situation, too young to know what needed to be done, like Wally hadn't been a hero since he was thirteen, like he was still the little kid in yellow who followed the Flash around and started at them all in childish awe. They could never separate him from the child he could be, but the new Lantern had never known him then, and had stood up and agreed with him.

It had worked too, because in the end, Hal had taken the hand being offered to him, and died to save the world.

After that, Wally had found himself seeking the Lantern out on his own. They still bickered, but Wally found that it reminded him more of the playful ribbing of Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal than any genuine bad blood. He got to know him, started genuinely thinking of him as a friend. He learned that his name is Kyle Rayner, that he’s two years younger than Wally and an independent artist that struggled to pay his bills now that he couldn’t spend all his time on commissions. He’s told that Kyle was well-liked growing up for being generally friendly and easy-going, but didn’t actually have friends until art college because he was just a little too weird for other kids to want to be around him long enough to actually hang out. He learns that Kyle’s mother is an Irish immigrant, that she was his biggest supporter growing up, and that he doesn’t know his father because the man walked out on them when Kyle was still very young, that the only memory of his father Kyle has is vaguely of him speaking Spanish. He learns that Kyle is multilingual, that he grew up speaking English and Gaelic, and learned Spanish in school. He learns the hard way that Kyle is lactose intolerant, and allergic to nuts. He learns funny little anecdotes about Kyle learning to draw before he learned how to walk, he learns that Kyle loves spicy food but doesn’t eat it often because the right spices don’t exist in space.

He learns a lot about Kyle, and it leads to Wally learning about himself as well.

He’d always known he wasn’t straight. He liked and dated girls, of course, he thought they were beautiful, but there was also a part of him that lingered a little too much during training. There was a part of him that looked at certain friends and said,  damn I’d like to kiss him. Dick had been the first, back when they’d still been young sidekicks just starting out, and it had continued on wards for a bit too. It had been reciprocated too; they’d messed around together a bit, but they’d ended it on good terms because Wally wasn’t ready to completely come out yet. He’d been happy for Dick, when he’d started dating Kori, then Babs, and then more and more people. After Dick had been Roy, for a little bit, because Roy was the cool, rebellious older boy, but it wasn’t long before that little crush faded away and Wally started looking at him like an older brother. He’d had that really embarrassing teenage crush on John Stewart for a while, the one that had made Hal burst a gut laughing at him for, before ruffling his hair and telling him under no uncertain terms that it wouldn’t be happening.

Well, Wally had known for a while that he liked men too, even if he hadn’t exactly come out to anyone but those he was closest too. His head was filled full of his dad’s hateful words, something he was working hard to shut out. Kyle though, he didn’t hide the fact that he was trans, or that he was pan - he’d grown up in California and now lived in New York, both of which had more of a thriving community than the likes of the small Midwestern Blue Valley Wally had lived in before moving to Central after getting his powers, and then Keystone after he became the Flash and living in Barry’s house was too much for him.

Kyle was - well, he was nice. A breath of fresh air, really. He was a fellow hero, a member of the main roster, so he knows Wally’s identity and understands the demands of being a superhero better than a civilian would. He’s his age, but didn’t grow up with him, and he  gets  what Wally is going through, standing in someone else’s shoes and being judged as less worthy compared to his predecessor. Before Wally knows it, he finds himself drifting closer and closer to Kyle, to the point where he’s heard older heroes whispering between them of another Flash-Green Lantern team up.

Apparently it brings back nostalgic emotions to see a Flash and Green Lantern dozing off in the rec room, lights dim and some silly movie or another playing in the background. Wally’s just glad he and Kyle have more control than Uncle Hal did, and haven’t been found in a cleaning closet somewhere.

Now, Wally is pretty sure he knows how Uncle Barry felt whenever Hal would stumble into the house at all hours of the night after a long mission in space to pass out in the bed next to him. He’s gotten used to the faint green glow that accompanies Kyle powering down, the faint hum of the Lantern uniform against his skin before it melts away to whatever civvies Kyle happened to be wearing before getting called out. There’s a soft warmth that comes with waking up in the morning to find Kyle sprawled out next to him, lit up by the soft golden light streaming in through the windows as he breathes, deep asleep. There’s a giddiness that comes with finding more and more of Kyle’s things slowly being added to his apartment; it starts with pajamas and extra clothes, but soon Wally is finding art supplies scattered around, or Kyle’s favourite butterscotch shampoo in the shower.

It’s how Wally realizes that he’s in love with his teammate.

He’s staring down at the innocently placed soap he remembers seeing before in Kyle’s shower when it hits him. Nowadays, Kyle spends more time at Wally’s apartment than anywhere else other than the Watchtower when he’s planet-side, and not out rebuilding the entire Green Lantern Corps on his own. Wally isn’t even sure when it started, that he started bringing more and more of his things to Wally’s small Keystone apartment. He thinks back to the sketchbooks and half-finished paintings scattered around the rooms, of the lactose free milk he didn’t think twice before buying when grocery shopping, of the space in his drawers made for Kyle’s clothes and the paint stained shirts in the laundry basket. He thinks about the lack of nut products in his apartment, of the boxes of tampons and pads he doesn't even blink over stocking up on anymore.

Wally moves so fast he’s dry instantly, bursting into his bedroom where Kyle lays among rumbled sheets. His white t-shirt had ridden up in his sleep, and the waistband of his track pants down, exposing a thin line of the packed core muscles that came with the training they all endured in the League. Somehow, his dark hair looks artfully tousled, inky against the sheets, and lashes just as dark are fanned across sun-browned skin and freckles.

He’s unfairly pretty.

“Kyle!”

Kyle jolts, ring flaring green as he stares around groggily, looking for a threat, “Wha-”

“Are we dating?” Wally blurts out, uncaring of his nakedness in the face of his realization.

Kyle blinks once, twice, looking fuzzy, before he groans, long and dramatic as his uniform dissolves into green sparkles and he drops back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. There’s a long moment of silence, before the Lantern snorts, and then bursts into breathless giggles.

Wally flounders, “I’m serious!”

Kyle slants a look at him from under his arm, brown eyes warm and almost honey gold in the morning light, “I’d hope we’re dating.” Kyle tells him, voice thick with sleepy amusement, “Otherwise I’ve  really been overstepping.”

Wally blushes, feeling a little silly, now that he’s thinking about it. They - they really  have been dating, haven’t they? “Oh.” Flustered, Wally rubs a hand down his face, hoping to brush away the burning in his cheeks.

Kyle snickers again, expression warm. “You’re adorable.”

Wally groans, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” He mutters, listening to Kyle dissolve into giggles again.

“Oh, definitely.” The Lantern teases, before sitting up and stretching with a yawn. “Well,” he drawls, amused, “now that I’m awake -” brown eyes rake across Wally’s body, and an eyebrow quirks, “- got a reason for this  visit ?” His voice takes on more of a purr, and Wally blinks in confusion.

Then he remembers.

“Oh.” Wally squeaks, red spreading rapidly across his  completely naked body. “I - shower -  soap - it’s just-” he cuts himself with an embarrassed groan. "I'm making this worse."

Kyle doubles over from the force of his laughter, holding his stomach as he wheezes, hand flapping. “Kidding -” he gasps, “- I’m just kidding.” The Lantern slides off the bed, still snickering, to press a lightning-quick kiss to his lips that, for Wally, lingers for so much longer. “Go have a shower, babe.” Kyle tells him warmly, “I’ll make some breakfast.”

[cantgetoutofmyheda]

Omg can you write a one shot where Lexa is paid by her college peers to write love letters to their gfs/ppl they want to date. So Finn asks her to write for Clarke and it becomes a constant. Until one day clarke goes up to her and says I know its you

OKAY. So this has been sitting in my asks for like a year. There will be a few (but short-ish) parts to this. And before anyone asks, this is not based off of “The Half of It” ... but here ya go.

---

Letters

PART 1

It was Polis Record’s fault. Lexa’s atrocious week was definitely Polis Record’s fault. Had Titus not been a complete asshat of a manager and dicked the schedule around, Lexa certainly wouldn’t be having this predicament. Had Lexa’s hours not have been cut back, she wouldn’t be where she was. Had Lexa not known that her next paycheck would be half of what it normally was, she wouldn’t be writing a fake love letter to the devastatingly beautiful girl in her Astronomy class. Had Finn Collins not offered her cash to do so, she wouldn’t be writing this letter on his behalf, even though she was the one that’s had an earth-shattering crush on the recipient ever since their Freshmen orientation, four long years ago.

Let’s rewind.

“Titus, are you kidding me?” Lexa huffed at the bald-headed man who was scurrying around the break room like a headless chicken. “You did what?”

“Lexa, listen,” he tried to calm her down. “The schedule will be back to normal before you know it. I had to hire her. There wasn’t another way around it.”

She was mad. No. More than mad, “There was. But you just didn’t have the balls to tell your mistress’ best friend that you already had a full roster of people on your fucking schedule.”

“Can you keep it down!” He hissed. “This is temporary. I’m sorry. I couldn’t dock my cousin, okay? The schedule will even itself back out. You’ll be back to selling these shitty, scratched up vinyls in no time. Ride it out for two weeks, it won’t kill you.”

What he didn’t realize was that two weeks of half-pay because of shitty scheduling could actually kill her. He just didn’t realize that. There was the pressure of doing well in school, that was one thing. But there was also the pressure of doing well enough to keep her GPA high enough to keep her partial scholarship. And then the pressure of her shitty part-time job at the local record store to help make early payments to her student loans so she wouldn’t have to worry about crippling herself into debt once she figured out what to do with a fucking degree in Geology.

“Two weeks,” she warned him as she started to storm out. “This better be fixed in two weeks, Titus.”

Spoiler alert: Two weeks had come and gone, and Lexa was still screwed off of her work schedule.

“C’mon,” Finn pleaded at Lexa’s side. He had managed to weasel his way into the vestibule of Lexa’s apartment building. “I took that writing class with you last year. I know you’re good. I just need one letter. Typed. That’s it.”

She was already on the verge of a massive outburst after her conversation with Titus. The dickwad that he was, managed to screw her hours up for another week, even though he promised he wouldn’t, “This is not a good time, Finn. Seriously.”

“$200.” He stood tall in front of her. “$200 in cash right now, and all you need to do is type up a page of words that will have her vaguely interested in the person who wrote it, and that’s it. $200 right now. If you do this, then I’ll never bother you for anything again.” He scratched the back of his neck, “Listen, I just need a good way in. I can take the rest from there, okay?”

$200 was enough to cover a good portion of what she would be missing out on for the week. $200 was enough to get by. $200 was enough to get her mind to start churning.

“$300 and it’s a deal,” she tried to match his height. She straightened her back and broadened her shoulders as far as she could.

He laughed at the request, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“You’re the one that needs me,” she reminded me.

He let out a huff and pulled another Benjamin out of his leather wallet and clumped it with the other two. “Fine,” he shook his head as he handed her the wad of cash.

Lexa nodded as she took the money. She buried the pang of guilt she felt into her pocket, alongside the earnings she just made and was ready to make way up the two flights of stairs when she felt Finn grab her arm.

“Hey,” he called out. “Wait a sec. I started a letter already, but didn’t get very far. You can just go off of this,” he handed her a folded piece of paper.

She opened it and read it aloud, “Have you ever felt like you couldn’t breathe? Like the weight of everything you’ve been carrying has amounted to this one moment in your life? Like there’s this burden placed so heavy on your chest that has left your lungs struggling for any ounce of air?”

Finn nodded as the words poured out of Lexa’s mouth. He was more than proud of what he thought was eloquently poetic. Lexa’s look of confusion went missed by him as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Pretty good, right?”

“Finn,” she deadpanned. “It sounds like you just described having the fucking Spanish Flu. I’m not using this. You sound like a serial killer.”

“What?” he yelped. “It’s poetic!”

“It’s a terrifying beginning to what’s supposed to be a love letter,” she deadpanned again. She shook her head as she finally made her way to the flight of stairs, “Give me a few days, I’ll come up with what we need.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine. But you better make it good.”

She made it good. She made it really fucking good.

Clarke ran her fingertips over the paper as she scanned the words again. She had no idea who had left it for her—she walked into the lecture hall a few minutes early, as she normally did, and saw an envelope pinned to the corkboard with “Clarke” scribbled on it. She looked around, wanted to see if anyone in particular was looking in her direction. It was the usual suspects that always got to class a little bit early. Monty, the one who was always quiet in class but loudest at the neighborhood bar during happy hour. Echo, the girl who always sat in the back row and snoozed as soon as the professor opened her mouth. Finn, the boy who always found a way to have an uncalled for argument with the professor. Lexa, the one who was always in the front row and tended to herself.

Not a single one of them was paying her a piece of mind, so she let her eyes scan the letter one last time before the room filled up.

Clarke,

I was sitting on the lawn behind the library catching up on reading for a class last week. I was skimming through Voltaire’s words:

“Sensual pleasure passes and vanishes, but the friendship between us, the mutual confidence, the delight of the heart, the enchantment of the soul, these things do not perish and can never be destroyed.”

This particular passage struck a chord with me, and it was mostly because when I looked up after reading it, I immediately saw you consoling who I’d assume to be a friend of yours. I’m not sure what had happened, but she looked like she was crying and you showed up with a blanket to sit on, a bowl of fresh fruit, and sat with her and listened intently while she spoke. It was life imitating art, right before my eyes.

Voltaire’s writing is mostly straight and to the point. It isn’t hard to decipher the messages he often tries to relay, but it was most certainly a breath of fresh air to finish that passage to find a parallel to present day. Your actions on that lawn helped me see things a little clearer.

I suppose I just wanted to thank you for that. SO, thank you for being the catalyst for making something in my brain click.

Before I close this letter off, I do have a question for you. And if you feel so inclined to indulge and answer it, you can drop it back into the envelope where you found this one and pin it back to the board.

Has anything happened to you recently that struck a chord? Something that stood out to you, but you haven’t had a chance to dive deeper into it? I’d like to know.

Enjoy your week, Clarke.

Upon tucking the printed note under her laptop, she took another look around the hall, which was now practically full. She moved her computer to the side and pulled a notepad out of her bag. The professor had started her lecture, but Clarke’s mind wandered from the images pulled up on the projector from the Spritzer space telescope as her pen started to move across the page.

Hello,

I believe you’re at an unfair advantage here. You know my name. You know what I look like. Yet I have absolutely no idea who you are. So if you write back to this, I’m hoping you’ll share some insight on the person behind the pen (or keyboard, in your instance).

I’m happy that the interaction you saw helped bring better insight into what you were working on. Coincidentally, the friend that I was with when you saw me is also reading a Voltaire piece for an assignment. I wonder if you’re in the same class?

She’s taking “Romance Studies” as an elective. I tried to convince her that there was no point harping on what was considered to be “romantic” through archaic literary pieces that are now long gone, and replaced with mediocre-at-best Netflix series about teenage love.

It always seemed that with the way things were going in our lifetime… that all “romance” really was, was when two people swiped right on Tinder.

With that said… I guess I can honestly say that your letter is what struck a chord with me. Especially after freshly coming out of that conversation with my friend.

I don’t want to be presumptuous. But it seems that this gesture of yours, whether it was meant to be platonic, or if it was meant to imply a sense of something more, is making me realize that maybe—just maybe—the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic after all.

-Clarke

She was happy with the end result of what was hurriedly committed to the page. Clarke quickly tore it from her notebook and tucked the loose piece of paper back into the envelope. She scanned her fellow students to see if anyone was watching her. She slunk further into her seat and wondered if the recipient was there, sitting in that very room. Unfortunately for her, the lecture that was being given on the Nebular Theory kept the attention of every other person in the hall, so she quickly reached for her computer to start typing notes on the theory’s premise of how every planet in the system was formed.

A tedious hour later, her fellow classmates started packing up and rushed towards the exit door. Clarke took her time shutting her computer down and tucking things away into her bag. She was suddenly aware that the person who wrote to her—the person she now wrote to—could be in the room watching her to see if she had a written response back.

She waited a few more minutes, and finally deemed it safe when the last few people in the room seemed to be chatting with one another or finishing up straightening their notes from the lecture. With a big exhale, she pinned the envelope back onto the board and made a swift exit.

Lexa felt a tap to her shoulder, which caused her to look up, “What do you want?”

“I think it worked. She put the envelope back!” the excitement in Finn’s face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay,” Lexa lowered her head to finish writing out her notes from the class. “Job’s done.”

“I’m gonna go get it so we can read it and figure out what to do next,” he giddily let out before darting out of Lexa’s peripheral.

She let out a sigh of distaste when he came back half a minute later and pulled a chair close to where she was sitting. “Finn, you said one letter. I did it. This is on you now. And if you don’t mind, I need to finish up here,” she raised her hand, showing she was still trying to get some of her notes done.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he propped his feet onto the table in front of them while he silently read Clarke’s reply. “Hmm, Voltaire?”

The author’s name caught Lexa’s attention. She suddenly looked up to where he was sitting, “What about him?”

“I don’t know. Clarke said something about him. That’s the bad dude from Harry Potter, right?” Finn brought his attention back to the letter. “What did our letter even say? You never even showed me.”

He handed Lexa the notebook page with loopy and wide writing on it. The edges were jagged, as if Clarke did the whole thing in haste.

“What do you want me to do with that?” Lexa eyed the piece of paper.

“Read it and let me know if you think she likes me,” Finn shrugged. “But also, why didn’t you put my number or something on it?”

“Because it’ll probably take more than one letter for her to even be open to the idea of you,” Lexa chided in her reply. She let her eyes quickly scan the girlish handwriting and folded the paper back up. “She’s definitely intrigued.”

Finn finally set his feet on the floor as he leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, “Okay, great! So what do we do now?”

“We,” Lexa pointed her pen between the two of them. “Do nothing. You can write another letter and see if she wants anything to do with you, Finn.”

“C’mon,” he nudged her shoulder. “I’ll pay ya for another one. Another $300. But we need an exit plan for when we move this from letters to texting or something.”

“Her reply literally just said that we’ve opened the idea to her that letters are romantic,” Lexa shook her head. “Your take on that was to immediately turn this to a texting conversation?”

He grabbed the letter from Lexa, “What? Where’d she said that? It doesn’t say that, Lexa.” He scratched his head.

Lexa let out a defeated sigh, “Finn. She literally said something like, ‘maybe the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic’ or something. Did we not just read the same piece of paper?”

“See, Lexa,” he smiled as he patted her shoulder. “This is why I need you. Just one or two more. Same price per letter. I just need a little more help and then I’ll be outta your hair. Promise.”

She took her palm to her forehead and rubbed her thumb into her temple. One more wouldn’t hurt. Mostly because the $300 definitely wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine,” she finally let out. “One more. Give me her letter back. I’ll have our reply ready for this same class next week.”

“Excellent,” he grinned as he handed the piece of paper over to her. “You’re a lifesaver, Lexa.”

She felt anything but that. But at least it meant she’d be able to get by for the next week or two, while Titus still screwed around with her hours at the record store.

[himbeaux-on-ice]

Can I just say that Habs “fans” who act like Carey Price’s contract is somehow patient zero of all this team’s problems drive me absolutely fucking insane? Seriously. Buckle up. This is about to be a rant.

Now. First things first. Is it ideal that the $10 million goalie is currently uh, not doing very good? Fucking NO! I am disappointed as shit with that and I don’t like seeing him struggle. I know he can be better. He has to be better. Obviously.

However. That being said.

Do I think it’s an incredibly stupid look to spend several tweets complaining about all the issues Habs defence have been having, and then also griping that they haven’t started Jake Allen enough for how he’s performing, only to then for some inexplicable reason state that the FIRST THING, the first thing that needs to be dealt with after the new coaching staff have had ONE GAME (and zero practices) to work on things, is somehow “well, the ten million dollar man in net is weighing them down, that contract has gotta go!”?

Yes! That’s stupid!!

I think that’s a very ice cold small-brain take, and not just because Price is my favourite of favourites for as long as I’ve been a hockey fan! I have reasons, dammit!! I put THOUGHT into this!!

Here, dear ppl of Habs twitter who will never read this, are some reasons why this narrative you’re concocting is dumb, and why management/coaching are unlikely to think of trying to ditch Price mid-season to fix the current problems:

1: Time. It has been one (1) game under Ducharme. He has been able to run zero (0) full practices on off days with the team. We just changed up a major piece on the Habs chess board — why don’t you give it a minute to see what fresh eyes and minds can do with this roster before you decide we are fucked? This season is fast-moving, sure, but there is time for us to ride out some little bumps here and still make a playoff spot in this Canadian division. Have patience. Do you remember what patience is? Dom is a new head coach, not a wish-granting fairy godmother. Chill. Do you remember chill?

(rest of this under a cut because I actually LIKE Habs Tumblr, and I want to be nice to you all by not making you scroll past all of it if you don’t want to)

2: Jake Allen exists. There are a couple of things I like for what this means for the Habs. Firstly, for basically the first time in his NHL career, we are not in a situation where if Carey Price is in a slump, we have to go “Ah, shit, so now our options are let his stats tank while he tries to get the groove back in net, OR throw whoever the poor backup is out there to get murdered while we plummet through the standings.... 😬” We don’t have that problem right now, because the backup is... actually good? Oh my god, the backup is actually good! Thank fuck! We’re not doomed. If I’m Ducharme, I put Allen in net for a few consecutive starts to put a solid backstop behind all my fun experiments I’m probably planning with the skating roster (to catch their slip-ups, while also giving Carey lots of time and rest with which to work hard on sorting out whatever his issue is along with the goalie coaches).

2b: Jake Allen exists and is competition. Hell, if I’m Ducharme, maybe I even play a little hardball and say “Look, Carey, I don’t want you to be an expensive benchwarmer, but if things don’t pick up soon I am going to start whoever is doing best and you will have to compete for that net.” Related to my last point, when was the last time Carey Price had to push himself to compete for net time against anything other than his own injuries, and wasn’t simply always the default starter? Has that EVER been a thing? Honestly as much as I love the idea of him being The Goalie for the Habs, I also kinda like this idea a lot because I think it could really push him to a higher standard of performance. Maybe that kind of high-pressure situation (given how much he thrives in the pressure-cooker of the playoffs) could be what he NEEDS in order to Be Carey Price again. Worst comes to worst, he doesn’t respond to that challenge, and I am very sad but the Habs have a good goalie in net anyway, because Hallelujah, Jake Allen exists! God, isn’t it nice to have Jake Allen? Bless him.

3: Money. Guys, this league is so broke right now. Seriously. Seriously. Nobody has any fucking money. The Habs probably have more money than most teams, and that does not help when it comes to offloading large contracts. Trades are a NIGHTMARE both because of the flat cap but also because travel is complicated (especially cross-border) but also nobody wants to trade within their division if possible because all your games are against them. Who in the name of fuck do you think is jumping at the idea of taking the $10 million per through 20-lots-and-lots-of-years-from-now contract of a goalie who is currently struggling, impressive past record aside? What kind of astral plane of fantasy hockey are you on to think there’s a trade out there for that within this season. Shut up. And no, don’t bring up the expansion draft, this post is a rebuttal SPECIFICALLY to the people who think that Price and his contract are the biggest problem that needs to be dealt with RIGHT NOW and first on the list of ways to immediately remedy the team’s struggles.

4: Spite. Specifically to piss you off, bud. You personally.

5: Knowing how to troubleshoot properly. Fellas, if my computer is running slowly and freezing up a lot, do I immediately decide the first step to fixing it is to crack open the chassis, remove the hard drive, and try to sell that hard drive to someone to see if I can enough money back to somehow get a better hard drive for less? No, dipshit. That’s not how troubleshooting a complex system works works. It’s the same with hockey teams. Ah, my star goalie is not performing great. This situation is deeply less than ideal. If you’re actually good at troubleshooting, the first thing you do is not “WELL. I GUESS WE’LL HAVE TO THROW THE WHOLE GOALIE OUT. HE’S TOAST.” The first thing you do, if you’re a smart coach, is you say “Okay, what are my defence doing in front of him? What are they doing to reduce the amount and quality of our opponents’ scoring chances? Oh. Oh, they’re taking a lot of penalties, and... oh, uh, some of this is very not great. Yikes.” And then you start your work by trying to make the defence actually work instead of running the same Pairs That Everyone Is Very Much Over And Tired Of, because your goalie is actually supposed to be your Last Line of Defence. And maybe during that time you give more starts to Goalie Who Is Absolutely Slaying It, so that when you start trying new D-pairs and they inevitably have some mistakes, it doesn’t immediately turn into an Oh God Holy Fuck moment every time, because that last line of defence backstopping them is solid. The reason you need to deal with defense first is because a) You know you have a reliable goalie (Allen) in your pocket right now if you need him. What you don’t have is a whole-ass proven and tested and practiced Backup D-Core you can swap into the roster in front of your goalies to make their lives easier. Fix your defense and it WILL improve your goalies, even marginally. Defrag the hard drive before you ask why it’s not working. and b) If you need to go looking for any new D-men to solve the issues, those are WAY easier and cheaper to find than top-tier goalies, and you always want to start any troubleshooting process with trying the simplest solutions first to hopefully save time and money. The better that D-core is, the less it fucks your team over if the goalie isn’t feeling themselves, because the D is going to stop more of those pucks before they ever even become the goalie’s problem. FIX. DEFENCE. FIRST. Then try to train your goalie back into top form. THEN explore your other options.

6: The vicious cycle. Guys. We literally do this once every year or second year. EVERY time Carey Price has a slump, this fanbase gets into a tizzy like the Bell Centre is burning down and he was the one with the matches. And what ALWAYS happens literally within the year, every single time? He gets his mojo back like he did last summer in the bubble and goes on a heater and everybody goes “JESUS PRICE!!!! 🙌” and is ready to name their firstborn kid after him. Until eventually that performance becomes unsustainable, and he becomes mortal again, and suddenly he’s The Real Problem With This Franchise once again. I know he’s the guy they chose to build the team around instead of a superstar forward, but oh my god folks. You’d think he was the only player on the team. Guys, I feel like fucking Sisyphus pushing a blue blanc et rouge boulder up Mont Royal once a year with this shit. This man’s entire career has been a constant seesaw narrative between “Carey Price is our saviour!” and “Carey Price should be exiled to Nome!!!!” from parts of this fanbase, I swear. Look, slumps suck, but for once we are actually lucky enough to be in a position where this team, for the first time in YEARS, does not solelylive or die by the inscrutable magical cycles of Carey Price’s goalie powers — because when he has to step back and work to get back into his groove, there is FINALLY a SECOND GUY who is GREAT. Honestly, given that the state of this team for so long has been “they will go as far as Carey Price can take them” and he has put in a pretty fucking decent job of it despite all of the team’s other struggles, I feel like it is owed it to the guy to be like “Okay, well, we have somebody else solid to fill the net right now, and a chance to really figure out our defence and special teams with this new coach. Why don’t you take a step back and work your ass off at trying to get back into the form I know you can still perform at, and we’ll go from there?”

Anyway. Some parts of this fanbase have been waiting for a fresh excuse to claim Price is overrated, washed-up, and to blame for all of this team’s flaws and ills ever since he signed that contract, if not since the start of his NHL career. Just unreal how nasty some of this fanbase is willing to be about a player who is ON. YOUR. TEAM.

Am I saying he is beyond critique of his play and can do no wrong and his contract is perfect? No! I want this team to have the best goaltending it can get, and I want them to kick ass and take names. The difference is, I still believe Carey Price is a part of that winning formula, and I also think Twitter is overflowing with idiots who just repeat what everybody else says. He’s still a better goalie than your ass would be if I stuck you out there to stop shots from Mark Schieffle, for crap’s sake.

“The first thing that has to go is Carey Price’s contract 🤪”. Shut the fuck up. You are actively making other people stupider by talking. Go eat sand. Good day.

[yelenasdog]

il un a visage gentil (prof!gwilym lee x prof! gn reader)

genre: fluff

summary: who knew the attractive english lit professor also happened to speak french? not his new coworker, that’s for sure.

words: 1.7k

warnings: reader embarassing herself a lil bit, that’s it :)

a/n: hi!! first of all, no pronouns are used as this is from readers pov, so anyone can read. second of all, so i typically don’t write for gwil, but i had this idea in french the other day when my french teacher (sweet old french man who deserves better LMAODSJO) was going over some assignment that for some reason had il un a visage gentil in it LOLOL. that being said, i obvi don’t speak fluent french and this is all fictional! love u, hope u enjoy!!

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

“Hello everyone, and welcome to your first day. I’m Dr Gwilym Lee, and I am the head of the English Literature Department here at Oxford University. Feel free to call me Gwil, it’s what all my students do.”

I slanted my eyes from my position at the door, gripping the frame just a tad tighter than I had been before hearing his voice. I continued to listen to the doctor talk as I made my way behind the last row of seats in the lecture room, trying not to make any noise. My heels were thankfully mute against the carpet, not drawing any attention towards me, the professor keeping complete focus on his students.

“One of the first things I wanted to kind of, um, touch on, is that I will be quite flexible. I understand that you have lives, as do I. As long as I can see an honest effort being put into my class, I will hold no repercussions for late work or being physically late to class.”

With that, he looked up to where I had just sat down, quirking a brow. The eye contact was momentary, only lasting what seemed to be a second, if that.

I cleared my throat, looking to my feet.

“We at the english department are quite proud of our status, ranking 4th in english programs overall in the UK. Now I won’t continue to bore you with the statistics, but-“

I made a scan of the room, seeing how only 1 or 2 pupils were actually listening, the rest either slumped over looking at their phones, or pretending to take notes on a laptop while really watching netflix. (More than one student was watching gossip girl, oddly enough.)

Considering it was only 5 minutes into the hour long lecture, I was confused, as he was holding my attention, at least, quite well.

After about 30 minutes, I realized that my own “first day lecture” was in 15 minutes, which assured that I most definitely had to leave. I was saddened by this (even though I had only even planned on staying in Gwil’s room for a small while.

I sighed quietly, picking myself up from the surprisingly comfortable seats and making my way towards the door. Just as I was about to go, I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head. I turned, realizing Gwilym to be the perp. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again, quickly walking out and down the hallway to my own room.

I made it in, hurrying down the many stairs, past where a few students were waiting.

“Hi, everyone, I’ll just be a few moments, just waiting for the rest of your new classmates to arrive.”

I smiled briefly, before slamming my office door audibly, chest heaving with my back against the shaded window. I closed my eyes, unaware of why I had been so panicked by the brief interaction, not to mention the butterflies it hatched in my stomach.

After giving myself some time to decompress, I exhaled, smoothing out the skirt of my dress and rotating. I placed a hand on the handle, preparing myself for the fresh faced freshman.

As I opened the door, I heard half a knock, before whoever was behind the door (poor soul) essentially fell on top of me.

Expecting to see a red faced pupil who had just made a very interesting first impression, I looked up, suddenly becoming the one with a warm and itchy wave of embarrassment making its way up my neck.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” He stood up, reaching out a hand. I hesitated before reaching forward and gripping tightly, allowing him to tug me up.

“It’s alright, Gwil, really.”

He opened his mouth (not that I was paying any mind to his lips), presumably to ask my name. Before he got the chance, I beat him to it, blurting out my full title, unfortunately in a quite awkward way.

The students that had gathered had mostly turned their attention elsewhere by now, only a few of them still watching the live disaster that was my interaction with the incredibly attractive man in front of me.

He spoke up as I tried to maneuver my way around him to the podium positioned in the front of the room where my laptop was waiting.

“Well, I had assumed you were a student who was trying to sneak off early, but I stand corrected, then.” He looked around my slowly filling space, a slight amusement hiding in his gaze.

“Yes, sorry, I had caught you at a bad time, I was hoping to introduce myself, you know, trying to make a good impression. Feels like the first day of school all over again.” I laughed, bringing a hand up to brush away a stray strand that had somehow managed to escape my bun.

“It’s alright, don’t stress about it. And trust me, I get it. New jobs are scary.”

I huffed, looking out at the sea of judgmental young people that I now would have to face after that fiasco. Lovely.

“You could say that again.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a short amount of time, the clock striking 2:30 being what woke me from my trance.

“That’s my queue.” I gave a small wave as he walked off, a smile spreading across his face at the motion.

I turned to my teaching assistant, fully believing he was out of earshot.

“Il un a visage gentil, eh?”

She only laughed, nodding her head and plugging in my macbook, allowing the screen to come alive with a flurry of colors in my powerpoint.

“Hi guys! Or should I say bonjour!” I paused, receiving a few chuckles in the crowd.

“I’m sorry for getting us started so late, I had a small mishap. I’m Dr Y/n Y/l/n, and I am your professor this year in the French undergraduate course, where you will have the opportunity to study medieval literature, modern day linguistics, and much more, which I will get into later on.

 We here at Oxford have the single largest French department in Britain, which we have come to have extreme pride in. We also have a french cultural center, where you will find a large selection of programmes and literature to choose from. If you haven’t yet checked it out yet,” I briefly looked up, seeing Gwilym still stood at the top of the stairs. He gave me another small smile, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, lost my place. Where was I?”

-

After class, I walked up to where the tall man had now moved to the side, allowing students to flood right by him.

“Gwil, hi!”

“Hi to yourself.”

I blushed, the feeling of fuzzy-ness once again flooding my entire system at just the brief statement. Odd. Extremely odd.

“That was very nice, I have a feeling this class will be quite popular in the coming years.”

I smiled and nodded my head. “Thank you, I appreciate it, truly. Although, I must say that I can tell everyone is racing to get a spot in Professor Gwilym Lee’s class 100% percent.”

He cocked his head, slimming his eyes.

“Really, you think so?”

We continued to walk down the long hallway, neither of us quite aware of where we happened to be going.

“Oh for sure, I can imagine you’re especially popular with a certain demographic, too.”

His confusion seemed to only grow, stormy blue eyes seemingly lost.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” His voice slightly raised an octave at the end, earning a chuckle from me.

“Look, all I’m saying is that with looks like that, I bet your roster was full in seconds.”

I paused, the flow of conversation stopping as I came to terms with what I had just accidentally said. Out loud. In front of my new coworker, who happens to be incredibly gorgeous. A wonderful first day I’m having.

We resumed walking, a blanket of complete silence falling upon us all the way until we reached the entrance to the facility.

The chilly December air hit my face immediately, as well as droplets of rain that were falling so hard it felt like small bullets were grazing my nose, which I could barely feel after just a few moments outside.

“Here.” Gwil muttered, pulling out a bright red umbrella and using it to shield us both from the angry pellets sent from above.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Then it was quiet again between us both, minus the sounds of chattering students and the rain hitting and then sliding off of our cover, coming in contact with the ground with a final splat.

“You know,” Gwilym began, always the one to break the silence.

I hummed, turning my head in his direction.

“I speak a little bit of French, as well. And I think you also have a nice face.” He nudged my elbow and laughed, while I closed my eyes and sighed, hanging my head.

“So there really isn’t any other way I could possibly embarrass myself right now, is there?”

He only shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, now that I think of it, there might be one more thing I can think of?”

“What would that be?”

“Saying no to a cup of coffee?”

It was like I froze over completely, my mind suddenly growing blank when I needed it mostt.

“With me?” I asked, the question more aimed towards myself, a miniscule act of reassurance and affirmation.

Gwilym smiled brightly as he shook his head, and I swear, I had never seen anything more amazing.

“Yes, Y/n, with you.”

I stuttered, embarrassed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, specifically at my lack of verbal skills.

“Yes, yes of course, that sounds amazing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He offered me an arm which I gladly took, and we started walking to the quaint campus cafe just across the street from our building.

It was the same cafe where (not that we knew it yet) the both of us would make many late night coffee runs together during midterms week, the stressful time growing to become one of our favorites as it was now filled with giggles and caffeine. 

Usually it would end up with one of us, that one of us usually being me, leaving a ring of coffee on the other’s ungraded assignments. Or even better, spilling an entire drink on the paper, only a “sorry!” written in Gwil’s rushed handwriting at the top of the curiously scented paper as explanation.

But as I said, we didn’t know that yet.

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

kinda gross but whatevs, like and rb if u did indeed enjoy it. mwah, go eat some protein, take an electronics break and drink some water. love u 

xx hj

[copias-thrall]

Uhhhh okay so,, papa II with his S/O never having had sex before and they’re kind of nervous?? But he comforts them,,? Please I have a need

I am here to fulfill that need, nonny. Fluffy Secondo coming right up!

You were officially Papa’s.

Not that there was ever a question—not since, as a fresh recruit, you’d witnessed him perform “Body and Blood” in his full skull paint and vestments—that one day he’d own you.

Most of your fellow Siblings seem to have a hard on for his younger brother—and a good amount are devoted to The Rat. But your heart (and loins) belong only to the man with the “bitter” reputation.

It had taken some subtle manipulation to get yourself onto his duty roster for his wing of the Abbey—and then some not-so-subtle bribes to get yourself into his chambers for chores—but it had all been worth it when one day he’d leaned back in his chair and asked you if you’d be willing to do some work after hours.

Papa had wined and dined you; ever the gentleman, he’d kept his hands to himself, but had let his mouth run free as he quietly talked about all the filthy things he’d like to do to you if you were his pet. Your body had felt every single promise he made. When he’d summoned you to his office the next day and slapped down his contract in the empty space in front of you, you’d realized he’d been testing you the entire time—eager, but wary of how you’d react to his … predilections.

He’d encouraged you to give the document a careful read through on your own time and to write down any questions or concerns you had. Pleased—but slightly trepidatious about your virgin status—you’d nodded before clutching the papers to you.

It was clear you were dismissed, but your hesitation must have shown. He’d quirked his eyebrow at you as if to say, “Yes?”

“It’s just, Papa, sir …”

“Mhm?”

You’d looked down at the contract in your sweaty grasp.

“It’s just that I—I’m a-a virgin.”

Papa had gone very still for a moment, then he’d licked his lips.

“And …?”

“Well, it’s just … how do I know what I really like, and what I only think I like?”

As if someone had put a coin in his slot, the man had relaxed back into his chair—the leather creaking—his hand coming up to rest under his chin and a finger to stroke his lips.

“Not to worry, pet. You’ll find there’s an option for negotiable kinks. We can go over all of it after you’ve reviewed it in full. Sí?”

Relief had flooded you. “Yes, Papa. Thank you, Papa.”

Bowing and shuffling awkwardly backwards out his door as if he were some royal, you’d left his office.

Over the next two days, you’d poured over the papers. There were lots you knew of; some you didn’t; and a few you immediately had a hard no to—but all-in-all, nothing in the contract put you off your Papa.

When summoned once again to his office, he’d poured you a glass of iced tea and combed through the packet with you, carefully explaining when you’d had any questions or concerns. You hadn’t expected it to, but the entire thing took hours, and when the two of you were satisfied, Papa had replaced the iced tea with two-finger’s worth of top-shelf scotch.

“I am pleased, pet. Enjoy this tonight—now that you’re mine, you imbibe how and when I say.”

You had shivered in anticipation, a reaction Papa hadn’t failed to notice, and he’d sent you a look full of promise.

***

The day has come—the one you and Papa have talked about extensively. Your first scene, and also your first time; it mostly has to do with Papa being in control of you than anything really intense (he’d promised you could work up to the really hardcore stuff).

“Are you nervous, pet? I want the truth.”

You gulp. “A-a little, Papa.”

“Hmm. Let’s see what we can do.”

Papa leads you into his bathroom suite and undresses you slowly while letting his giant tub fill up. He’s still in his dress shirt with his vest and slacks, and you watch as he rolls up his sleeves right before he adds some lavender into the water. With a deliberate pull to each finger, he removes his leather gloves, and you delight in the feel of his bare fingers on your skin as he methodically divests you of all your garments. Then, with a firm grip on your hand, he helps you into the bath.

“How is that? Not too hot?”

You ease down into a sitting position. “It’s perfect, Papa.”

He lights a few candles that have previously served their purpose. Then he kneels on the plush bath mat, and takes up your arm, his fingers kneading into your muscles.

“See this arm? This arm belongs to me.” Papa brings your arm up and kisses your hand. “This hand? It belongs to me.” He trails his fingertips from one shoulder to another before he starts kneading your other arm. “Ah! A matching set”

His one hand slides down your side, dipping into the water before it gives your ass a good squeeze.

“This ass is definitely mine.”

He lifts your chin up with his finger so you meet his eyes.

“Tell me, pet: do I seem like a man who is careless with his possessions?”

“Of course not, Papa!”

“So you trust me to take excellent care of you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Are you lying?”

“N-no, Papa!”

“Then relax, pet. Here.” His hands fly to your temples and start massaging there, “Now: listen to me. Unclench your jaw.” You do. “Untense your shoulders.” You let them drop. “Let your limbs meld into the tub, there you go.”

A few more commands and you really do feel like your body could become one with the spotless porcelain. Papa works his hands down your body—starting with your neck and ending with each foot—kneading your muscles until he’s satisfied that they’re jelly (you letting out a quiet gasp as he briefly teases between your legs).

By the time Papa finishes turning you into a sentient blob, the water is lukewarm bordering on cold.

“Better?”

You crack your heavy lids open at him. “Mmm … yes, Papa.”

He holds out a fluffy towel for you to step into. Careful not to slip as you get up, you leave the bathtub with a slosh of water. Papa immediately wraps the towel around you and starts rubbing you dry, and you laugh at his vigorous attentions.

“Tsk. Can’t have you catching a chill, now can we, hmm?”

He wraps you in a silk robe before pulling his gloves back on, and—upon a tilt of his head—you follow him out into his bedchambers. He helps you up onto the bed before crawling over you to rest on his side next to you.

He reaches for something he’d left on a pillow. He holds it out, and you see it’s a red, silk tie. Heart pumping, you watch as his free hand skims down your chest then pushes apart the ends of the robe, exposing your flushed skin.

“This is not so scary, is it, pet?” he hums as he runs the fabric in tight serpentines down your bare skin. The sensation of the slinky material has your flesh goosepimpling.

“No, Papa.”

He lifts up your one arm and circles the tie around your wrist a few times before pulling it free.

“And how did that feel?”

“Soft.”

He takes your wrist and leads your hand down to bulge now tenting his slacks.

“And this?”

You gently palm his erection, and your blood quickens.

“Well, pet … is it so scary?”

“No, Papa,” you practically whisper.

Your heart is pounding, but it’s now it’s from anticipation.

He leans down and kisses you gently on the lips.

“What’s your color?”

“Green, Sir.”

His solicitous look darkens into something more dangerous, and he gathers up more silk ties.

“All right. Let’s begin. Safeword?”