#song that would have appeared on south of nowhere if it was still airing

[witchblade]

it’s such shitty like made for tv movie credits type song but good

[jaskierswolf]

He Had It Coming

Also on AO3

Geraskier - Chicago inspired Fanfic. Rating: E. Word Count: 2165

Warnings: implied weapon kink, masturbation, general spiciness

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Geralt scowled as he peered up at the building in front of him. On the outside it just looked like an ordinary house but the rumours about town said something different. Brothels weren’t unusual in a town like this, but for some reason that Geralt couldn’t quite work out, this one was talked about in hushed tones, whispers in ears, and flushed faces. He hummed and tugged at the strap holding his scabbard in place on his back. His medallion was still on his chest but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of danger. 

He sighed and shook his head. The rumours said that a certain bard had taken up residence at this address. Geralt had been chasing Jaskier around the Continent for months, heading south from the mountains, weaving across the map getting ever closer to Cintra and to the looming threat of Nilfgaard. Geralt’s heart felt tight in his chest, worrying about the bard that he’d tossed aside. He had a remarkable talent for getting in trouble, but this time Geralt wasn’t around to protect him. 

With one last sigh he knocked on the door.

A lady answered, the door ajar, but even through the small gap Geralt could smell the scent of sweat and sex, barely masked by the familiar incense of a brothel. She had short dark hair cropped above her ears, dark skin with thick muscles, more than he would have expected from a whore or a madam. She had silky black bands wrapped around her biceps, a lacy black corset and her skirt, if you could call it that, was shredded. It wasn’t completely unusual for a whore but… there was a dangerous glint in her eyes that put Geralt on edge.

“Yes, witcher?”

Geralt frowned. “I’m looking for Jaskier.”

“Funny place to come looking for a flower,” she narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t close the door. 

“I’ve been told he’s here.”

“The interesting thing about buttercups, witcher, is that despite their pretty appearance… they’re toxic,” she hissed, dark brown eyes challenging and strong. 

“I know, I’ve come to apologise.”

She laughed and pushed the door open. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you, Geralt of Rivia. He said you’d come for him.”

Geralt hummed but moved inside. It was dark inside too, barely lit with candles. The air was thick with incense and he grimaced. He’d never enjoyed the stronger perfumes preferred by whores in places such as this. Now he was inside he could see why his sense had been alerted him to danger. Every one of the whores had daggers sheathed in holders on their thighs. They were all draped in lace and silk, some corseted some not, and high heels that could easily be used as a weapon in the right hands. 

Geralt swallowed, looking around the room for his colourful bard amongst all the black lace, but Jaskier was nowhere to be seen. 

“He’s getting ready for his performance. Take a seat near the back, witcher, and don’t touch my darlings, they bite.”

Geralt did as he was told, watching her as she glided through the room with enviable grace. The whores, if that was what they were, were of all different races and gender. He noted a pretty blond elf sat in the lap of a client on the opposite side of the room. He had fishnets covering his arms and long hair covered a sheer chiffon chemise, embroidered with flowers, his underclothes were tight and leather, barely covering the man’s cock as he moved sensually in the client’s lap. Geralt tore his gaze away, he wasn’t here for sex, he was here for Jaskier. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think of anything that could distract him from the heat pooling at his core. 

He was so deep in thought that didn’t notice Jaskier appearing on the stage, not until he started to talk. Geralt’s eyes snapped up, Jaskier was partially hidden in the dim light by a set of prison bars. He gripped the bars, one long leg stretched out above his head…

Geralt’s breath hitched. Jaskier was wearing long high heeled boots, and like the elf, he had fishnets covering his arms. Geralt had seen Jaskier shirtless countless times but this… this was something else. His forearms looked like they would rip the netting apart as he gripped the bars. Thick, dark chest hair disappeared into a silky black corset, tied at the front. Geralt adjusted his eyes so he could see better in the darkness of the brothel, and he was not disappointed. There were buttercups shimmering on the black fabric and the corset cinched in his waist. His hair had grown out, now just tickling his chin and he looked… he looked like a nightmare; Dark, dangerous…. perfect.  

“My witcher, Geralt and I had this double act,” Jaskier’s soothing tenor took command of the room in an instant. The background hustle and bustle faded to silence, and Geralt heard a steady rhythmic beat of heels, tapping against the floor. The performance had begun. There was a quiet soft chanting in the background, from the performers all around the room; he had it coming. 

Jaskier’s leg slid down the bars and he sauntered out from behind his cage, hips swaying, blue eyes lined with dark kohl. Geralt’s cursed under his breath as Jaskier’s eyes met his in across the room, and the bard winked, licking blood red lips that took Geralt’s breath away. 

My witcher

Geralt hardly deserved that title anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s witcher, he was alone… as he deserved to be. 

“And this sorceress, Yennefer, traveled round with us,” Jaskier’s blue eyes watched his audience carefully as he strutted around the stage. It was only then that Geralt noticed the holsters strapped around Jaskier’s thighs, twin daggers sharp and lethal, jewelled hilts glittering in the candle light. 

“Now, for the last contract together,” Jaskier tilted his head and smirked as two performers joined him on the stage, the blond elf and a pretty young girl with long raven hair, a silk ribbon tied around her neck. 

“We were summoned to join a terrible hunt. There were knights,” Jaskier put his hand on the blond’s shoulder, “dwarves,” one hand landed on Jaskier’s waist, “Reavers,” legs interlinked,”monsters,” the fake Yen put her hand on her hips “dragons,” the elf’s hand linked with Jaskier’s above his head, and the bard’s eyes closed, his head tilting back, bearing his neck… and it took every ounce of Geralt’s self control not to fight his way to the front of stage to claim Jaskier as his own. 

“sword fights, Hirikkas, mages, one right after the other,” Jaskier turned back and smirked at Geralt. 

Jaskier gently pushed the two dancers away and strolled casually to the edge of the stage, hands sliding down the inside of his thighs as he dropped seductively, shimmying back up again, fingers toying with the hilt of a dagger. Geralt couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away, this was Jaskier; his bard. There was no use fighting the arousal anymore, he was hard in his pants, and his growled as he palmed himself through his trousers, never taking his eyes off Jaskier.

“So this one night before the hunt we were sitting around the campfire, the three of us, drinking, having a few laughs, until it was time for bed, so.. I settle down on my bedroll,” Jaskier slowly ran his hand through his hair, lips parted, he pulled one dagger from its holster flipping it expertly in his hand. “When I woke up, I went to Yen’s tent…”

He crossed the stage, the flat of the dagger pressed against his cheek carelessly, the elf and the raven haired beauty were in shadows behind him but Geralt could see they were close, his heart dropped. He knew what was coming… knew by his own memories and the ice in the bard’s eyes. 

“And there’s Yennefer and Geralt, in each other’s arms, fucking around!” Jaskier’s voice was like thunder; harsh and unforgiving. 

Geralt winced, looking away from the stage, guilt surging through him. He’d known Jaskier loved him, the bard hadn’t been subtle, and yet… he hadn’t allowed himself the chance to be happy with Jaskier, choosing the icy embrace of the Djinn wish instead of listening to his heart. 

The dagger in Jaskier’s hands brushed the bard’s throat in a clear threat. “Well, I was in such a state of shock, I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing,” the dagger returned to its holster and Jaskier turned around, as a dancer crossed his path, when he faced Geralt once more his fists were clenched. “It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.”

Red ribbons fell from Jaskier’s hands, a sinister grin on his face. The chanting got louder and Jaskier joined the song. “They had it coming!” He growled as he sang, and fuck it shouldn’t have been so hot. Geralt knew he should feel bad but all he wanted was to drag the bard from the stage and fuck him until neither of them could remember their own names. 

The dance routine was like fire in his blood, hands were all over Jaskier’s body, in his hair, on his arse, hips, thighs… It wasn’t fair. It should be Geralt, but he’d missed his window. All he could do now was stroke his own cock to the sight of his bard dressed like sin, confident, calculating, deadly. He bit his own hand as he came, the candles in the brothel extinguishing as Jaskier returned to his ‘cell’. 

“Fuck,” Geralt growled as he wiped his hand on his trousers, grimacing at the mess. This was not why he’d come to the house… how could he face Jaskier now?

“Oh dear, witcher…” Jaskier’s voice whispered, light and teasing, in his ear. He shivered and closed his eyes. 

“Jaskier.”

“Why are you here, Geralt? In case you hadn’t noticed… you aren’t exactly welcome.”

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Not dead either,” he groused. 

“Hmm, true… but that’s hardly a good story,” Jaskier chuckled, his hands brushing along Geralt’s shoulders before he straddled Geralt’s lap. “You never answered my question, witcher.”

Geralt swallowed, unprepared for the lapful of bard. He’d expected Jaskier to keep his distance, but this was more torturous, to have what he wanted so tantalisingly close, and yet out of reach. “I came for you.”

Jaskier laughed. “I can see that, Geralt, but why are you here?”

Geralt snorted. “To apologise, I, I miss you.”

“Go on then,” Jaskier cooed, his hands wrapping around Geralt’s neck. “apologise.”

Geralt tried, he really did, but Jaskier was rocking against him, soft moans falling from his lips. Geralt groaned and buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, hands gripping the bards arse. He could already feel himself getting hard again as Jaskier moved so delightfully in his lap. “Jask,” he hissed. 

“Yes, darling?”

“I need you,” he panted “I need you in my life… but right now, fuck. Have you got a room?”

Jaskier laughed and brushed his lips along Geralt’s jaw. “I do, do you deserve an invitation?”

Geralt moaned and shook his head. “No, gods, I fucked up, Jask. I don’t deserve you, want you though, need you.” 

Jaskier’s lips ghosted over his, never quite kissing him. He smirked and pulled away with a tilt of his head, sliding from Geralt’s lap and extending a hand. “Come along, witcher. We will talk about this properly in the morning, I want a full apology or else we’re done. Is that clear?”

Geralt nodded as he was pulled from his seat.

“But, I have been dreaming about this since I was eighteen, so I’m allowing myself one final night of self-indulgence,” he winked. “then it’s judgement day, witcher.”

“One night?”

Jaskier laughed, fingers wrapping around one of the daggers strapped to his thighs. “We’ll see, darling, depends how good your apology is,” the teasing glimmer fell from his eyes. “I loved you, you know that?”

Geralt nodded glumly. “I knew yeah.”

“Good, I wanted you to know,” Jaskier shook his head. “bit masochistic of me, but I needed you to know someone loved you, without destiny or magic, without any expectations.”

Geralt hummed, unable to say the words that were stuck in his throat. So instead he pulled his bard into a kiss, pouring his love into it, hoping Jaskier would hear the words hidden behind his actions. Jaskier seemed startled but soon kissed back, moaning as the kiss deepened, pulling Geralt towards the stairs without letting them break apart. A warmth spread in Geralt’s chest. Jaskier had said he loved Geralt, but he knew now that he still did. It wasn’t too late, it should have been but someone somewhere thought that Geralt deserved a second chance, and it would try his hardest not to fuck it up this time.

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Tag list (18+): @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos @moonysourenza @00qtee @honeysuckletook @elliestormfound @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral  @kittynannygaming @stinastar @fontegagrilledcheese @baka-yu @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @wherethewordsare

[malghra]

I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you

Darklina Week Day 4: Fairy Tales: Darklina Red Riding Hood / Company of Wolves AU

Title from Talyor Swift's So it goes, Rating: M

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and Ana Kuya was worried about her, so she decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. On her way there, Alina meets a stranger...

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and the staff at Duke Keramsov's household were worried about her, so it was decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. The fastest way to get there was through the forest, but Ana Kuya had warned Alina that the woods were dangerous and that she should never stray from the path.

She'd nodded eagerly, mostly to avoid one of Ana Kuya's lectures on acts of kindness and the importance of community, but behind her back Alina had sulked and pouted. It was one of the first sunny days of the year and she'd wanted to spend it in the meadow with Mal. But now she'd have to spend her day struggling through the forest with a heavy basket.

She took her red shawl from the hook on the door, wrapping it around her shoulders, and decided to go and find Mal anyway. He would go with her if she asked.

They were almost outside the front gate, when they heard Ana Kuya call out to them. "Malyen Oretsev, where do you think you're going?"

They exchanged a look and Alina bit her lip. Should they try to make a run for it? Unfortunately, Ana Kuya was closer than they'd thought.

Mal turned around and answered her question innocently. "I'm going with Alina to bring this basket to Old Baghra."

"And did I tell you to do this?" she asked in exasperation. "You need to stay here."

"But you said the woods aren't safe!" Alina objected. "Mal should come with me, to protect me!"

That earned her an ear boxing, and Mal was sent away to help the young men as they started repairs on the house after the long winter.

By the time Alina entered the forest, Ana Kuya's warnings had already slipped to the back of her mind.

Winter had passed and now that spring was reigning, the woods had never looked more beautiful. The trees were blooming, flower springing up along the path, and the moss and ferns covering the forest floor and scattered rocks were the green of emeralds, drops of dew that had not yet disappeared making them sparkle like the gems they resembled in the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

She took in the enchantment of it all with wide eyes and quickly forgot about the dangers that might be lurking. The trees and brushes were alive with animals awaking after the long lull of winter and the song of birds was filling both the forest and Alina's heart with joy. She hadn't gotten far when she could no longer resist joining them in their singing.

She sang as one would only sing when they are alone, so as was bound to happen, she soon discovered she was not alone at all. The man appeared from a gap between the trees some three feet ahead of her, stopping her in her tracks.

He stood there looking at her, arms loosely crossed over his chest and his head cocked to the left. He was tall and slender, with a shock of dark hair and dressed in black wool and leathers. Alina closed her mouth, realizing she was staring at him. "Good day to you, sir," she called out.

"And good day to you, milaya," he answered as he started strolling over to her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she tried to remember what Ana Kuya had said about strange men.

"Please, zolotse, do not stop your singing on my behalf, I was quite enjoying it," he told her, holding her gaze.

His words pleased her, but she could feel heat flushing her cheeks. He blinked slowly, licking his lips and Alina's heart sped up inside her chest.

"May I walk with you for a spell?" he asked, his slate grey eyes open and kind.

Despite herself, she nodded and clutched the basket she was carrying a little closer to her body.

They walked in silence for a while, until he asked, "What's your name, milashka?"

"Alina," she answered breathlessly.

"Alina," he repeated, as if trying to taste it on his tongue, and the way his lips curled around her name sent a shiver down her spine.

"I am Aleksander," he added with a smile which didn't really look like a smile all that much, even if she couldn't decide why.

She glanced over at his face as they walked. He had a sharp and smug look about him, a bit dour even perhaps, she mused, but when he met her eyes or offered her that odd smile, something fluttered deep inside her stomach.

"What do you have inside that basket of yours?" Aleksander asked.

"Food and kvas for Old Baghra. She lives near the bridge three miles south of the creek," she answered him.

For a brief moment, Alina could have sworn that a shadow passed over his face, but then he exclaimed,"But you're taking the long way!" his eyes wide and innocent.

"Of course not," she countered with a smile. "The fastest way is through the woods."

"Yes," he agreed, "It is. Through the woods, but you are following the path."

"Ana Kuya told me not to stray from the path," she mumbled, hating how silly she must sound to him.

He offered her a half-smile. "Ah, you're a good girl, aren't you? I bet you do every little thing your mother tells you to do, now don't you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, her face flushing with anger this time, and he barked out a laugh.

"Ana Kuya is not my mother!" she spat at him. "I'm an orphan!"

"Ah, I see," he muttered matter-of-factly, and she was oddly grateful for the lack of pity in his voice and eyes.

They walked in silence, until Aleksander muttered her name again, and Alina automatically glanced up at him.

"Why exactly did Ana Kuya tell you not to stray from the path?" he asked her, head cocked to the side again.

"I..." she opened and closed her mouth. "She said it was dangerous," she told him, picking up her pace.

He easily kept up with her. "But why?" he wanted to know.

She bit her lip. She wasn't about to admit that she didn't know why. "It's better if we stay on the path."

He raised an eyebrow. "We? You can stay on the path if you like, lapushka, but I'll bet you I can get there faster than you can."

Her hands tightened on the handle of the basket. She nodded.

"Very well," he said. "Of course, I'll need a prize if I win the bet, wouldn't you agree?"

He held her gaze, but Alina didn't look away.

"What kind of prize?" she breathed, her voice betraying her.

"How about a kiss?" he asked.

Her heart started hammering again, closing up her throat and making it impossible to speak as her eyes dropped to his full lips. She glanced up to meet his eyes and nodded.

"Let me take your basket," he offered.

She handed it to him and then watched him disappear between the trees. She began walking faster, determined to win the bet. A kiss, she thought as her feet carried her down the path. She'd never been kissed before, but she tried to imagine it. She wondered if his lips would feel as soft as they looked.

Perhaps she wouldn't mind losing the bet. Perhaps she wouldn't mind being kissed by this odd but exciting stranger. She realized she'd slowed down again and looked around, taking in her surroundings. To her left, there was a small clearing between the trees which was filled with blue flowers.

Perhaps she wouldn't mind making sure that he won the bet. Perhaps it would be for the best if she didn't take any chances. She abandoned the path and walked into the clearing to pick some flowers and weave them into a crown. That would give him enough of a headstart to get there first.

Alina ended up lingering there for a longer time than she'd intended, singing under her breath and picking all of the prettiest flowers, but eventually she'd made her way to Old Baghra's cottage. It was already getting dark and the wind filled the evening with a menacing chill, but Alina didn't shiver, she had her shawl to keep her warm.

There was no sign of the stranger called Aleksander, so she knocked on the door and called out: "Baghra, it's Alina!"

No answer came.

"Baghra," she repeated a little louder than the first time. She tried knocking on the door again and slowly, it creaked open. As soon as she stepped inside, the warm and dusty, musky air inside filled her nostrils, making her sneeze and cough. A clattering noise came from the far side of the room.

Old Baghra was nowhere to be seen, but perched on the bed in the corner of the hut was her dark stranger.

Suddenly he was on his feet and the door clicked shut. She turned around to find him standing close to her, his eyes glowing in the dusk. It was quiet inside, except for the rattling still coming from the corner of the room.

"What big eyes you have," she whispered, clutching the ends of her shawl around her shoulders.

"All the better to see you with, Alina," he replied.

She was about to turn around to examine the annoying clunking noise she kept hearing, when a chorus of howls rose up all around the hut. She hissed, startled by the sound.

"Those are my brothers," the wolf told her.

She turned to look out the window, but it was too dark to see. "It's getting really cold outside," she whispered. He was standing right behind her, so close she could feel the heat rolling off his body.

She whirled around, clutching his forearms to steady herself. "What big arms you have," she muttered.

He leaned in until his nose was almost touching hers. "All the better to hold you with," he said.

She averted her eyes, her breath catching in her throat, and she licked her lips as her eyes fell on his mouth. She remembered she'd promised him a kiss. She angled her face up until she could press her lips to his.

Outside the wolves started howling again. It sounds like a song, she thought, a joyous song.

His lips parted under her attention and she pulled his soft bottom lip between her own. She felt something wet and warm nudge her lip.

"Your prize," she explained as she pulled away.

He smiled that odd smile, his teeth gleaming in the dark.

"What big teeth you have," she whispered.

His smile grew wider, showing even more of his teeth. "All the better to eat you with, lapushka."

In the corner where the bed stood, the clamouring resumed.

"Did you eat Old Baghra?" Alina asked.

He nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows.

She didn't know how to feel about that. "She was old and ugly and smelly. I bet she didn't taste very nice," she piped up.

"Not really, no," he admitted, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. "But you are young and pretty and you smell like flowers. I bet you'd taste sweet."

She giggled and objected, "I'm not a piece of meat."

He chuckled softly. "Show me, Alinushka."

She unwrapped her shawl and let it drop to the floor. She could feel his eyes on her as her fingers unlaced the bodice of her dress. He sucked in a sharp breath as it slid down her body and pooled at her feet. After that she removed her chemise and let it join the heap at her feet.

His eyes followed her as she walked to the bed and lay down on it, waiting for him to follow.

He started undressing and she bit her lip as her mesmerized eyes drank in his body. But when his last piece of clothing hit the floor, the man was gone and an enormous black wolf with glowing red eyes was standing there instead.

The wolf leapt up on the bed and even though Alina's heart was pounding inside her chest, she found that she was not afraid. The wolf lay down next to her, placing its huge head in her lap, and whined softly.

She patted its ears and neck and the wolf nuzzled at her belly and her maidenhair. Suddenly, instead of black fur, she was clasping thick strands of dark hair between her fingers. The wolf was a man again.

He pushed her thighs apart and pressed his lips to her most intimate place. His warm, wet tongue nudged her lower lips, slipping in between them.

"Yes, you taste sweet, lapushka," Aleksander told her in a rough voice. His eyes were dark and ravenous, but they didn't scare her.

"Kiss me," she begged him, so he did.

Alina had been warned to stay away from dark strangers, and she had been told that only wicked girls let dangerous men take their precious maidenheads, but she gave hers up willingly and called her dark wolf husband. The blood staining the sheets was as bright as her pretty red shawl, but it didn't disturb her as she slept peacefully under a starless sky, safely wrapped up in the embrace of his tender darkness.

[mirasolis]

My Star, Your Light

Punz x Reader

Tangled AU

Part One

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This is just you and Punz thrown into the world of Tangled, as requested by @thequeenofuwu . We are both Punz simps, I know it.

This is going to be in several parts, and I will link each part when I finish them under here.

Part 1 Part 2

Enjoy!

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This, is the story of how I was killed. But don’t worry, it’s a happy story, and truth be told, it’s not even mine. This is the story of a girl I met, named (Y/N). It all starts with the stars.

Years ago, a piece of the stars fell from the skies, and from it sprouted a magical, silver flower. Now this flower had the ability to give you your greatest heart’s desire, if you knew what to to say; or rather, if you knew what to sing. People had searched for the flower for centuries with goals of becoming rich or powerful.

But then one day, a man named Dream had stumbled upon it and decided to keep it hidden from the world so he could one day use it. He made it keep him alive, while he grew with power and became immortal, but he had no purpose for it yet.

Even more centuries passed, and a kingdom grew. It was bright and prosperous and happy. All except for the beloved King Phil and Queen Samantha, who had longed for a child of their own to have. Now, around this time, people get pretty desperate, and royal scholars had found research about the star flower, and decided that the whole kingdom was to search for this magic flower. The kingdom loved their rulers and respected them that they searched for days on end.

Now, back with the immortal Dream. He still had no proper way to use the power of the star flower, and continuously hid it. But by chance, he left it exposed to the naked eye when he heard that people were searching for it. When the people found the flower, they rejoiced, for their king and queen would smile once more. The monarchs conceived their first child, a beautiful baby girl. I’ll give you one guess. Yep, that’s (Y/N). To celebrate her birth, the kingdom released silver lanterns in the sky to represent the stars from which the flower had come from, all while shooting stars passed by. Later that year, the king and queen gave (Y/N) her younger brothers, Wilbur and Techno.

For a while, the kingdom was happy. But all that ended when (Y/N) was almost two years old.

Dream had plotted with his crew, men who went by the names George, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, and Callahan. They stormed the castle, sneaked in, and stole away the princess. The kingdom’s soldiers and people searched across the lands, but she was nowhere to be found. Deep within the woods, a magical barrier disguised the home of Dream and his crew from sight. Within that, there was a tower from which you could only enter through the window and a rope. There, the princess was hidden away, with her rapidly growing (H/C) hair coloured with silver streaks. There, (Y/N) was raised, never seeing the outside world again.

Dream, posing as her brother, was one day tending to (Y/N)’s hair when she asked a question. He hummed in response. “Why can’t I go outside?”

“Well (Y/N), the world outside is a dangerous place. I don’t want you to get hurt or used for horrible means. Keeping you here means you can be safe,” Dream responded.

(Y/N) nodded silently, humming a gentle tune.

But the king and queen never stopped hoping that their child would come back. And the barriers cutting (Y/N) from the rest of the world could not hide it all. Every year, they continued the tradition of releasing the star lanterns every year. They hoped that this could serve as a signal so that one day, their princess would return.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

17 years later…

A young girl snuck around, looking for her companion, a small multicoloured sheep named Puffy. Dream had given her the sheep not too long ago and they already bonded nicely. They were currently playing some hide and seek.

“Oh Puffy!! Where are you?” (Y/N) called out in a singsong tune. The sheep was currently hiding along the flower bed that was on the window sill of the tower entrance. (Y/N) looked around with wide eyes. “Well, I guess she’s back inside…

“…NOT!”

(Y/N) manoeuvered her hair to wrap around Puffy and pulled her from her hiding place, dangling her in the air. She laughed as she grabbed Puffy and held her in her arms, snuggling into her wool.

“Oh Puffy, I know you want to go outside, but I can’t bring you there. We just have to wait ‘til Dream gets back so you can get some grass. Besides, we’ve got plenty to do in here!”

(Y/N) danced around, her growing as long as the tower was tall, and tall it was. She bounced from activity to activity, bringing Puffy along for the ride. She finally slowed down when she gathered her paints and illustrated a beautiful depiction of her gazing at the stars.

“I wonder what they’re like…maybe Dream will let me see them this year…”

Meanwhile…

Three men were jumping along the tops of the castle, looking for the right building to infiltrate. One wore a mask coloured with red, yellow, and black, and was called Ponk. The next one wore a significant amount of purple clothing, such as his purple coat and shoes, and was appropriately called Purpled. The last man wore a white plain shirt with leather cuffs covering his forearms and keeping the sleeves in place, and over that he wore a very light grey vest on top. He had blonde hair and he went by the name Punz.

The three of them were a team of mercenaries and they were on their latest job, stealing the tiara of the first princess. While Purpled and Ponk were making sure they had found the Crown Room, Punz was holding onto a castle tower and looking at the view.

“Guys you gotta look at this view!” He exclaimed.

“Dude, we don’t care about the view, just get over here and grab the crown!” Purpled urged.

Ponk scoffed. “Dude, you can find another view like this when we get the money!”

Punz brushed them off and dropped down with the two men lowering him down an escape rope. He stepped down quietly, gazing at the beautiful crown adorned with jewels in front of him. Just as he had his hands on it, a guard sneezed. As common courtesy goes, Punz just naturally said bless you, grabbed the rope, then signalled Ponk and Purpled to pull him up. About halfway to the ceiling the guards turned around and looked up to face Punz who was waving the crown around triumphantly, smirking.

In a hurry, the guards organized themselves and searched for the mercenaries while they were long gone, running into the forest, away from the main city.

With (Y/N)…

(Y/N) could hear the calls of her brother asking her to let down her hair, as the tale goes. She bounded for the window, excitedly letting her hair down while looking at Puffy.

“Puffy! This is it! I’m going to ask Dream today!” She declared as she pulled Dream up to the tower room. As he entered, he pulled off his cloak and took off his mask, revealing some wounds on him. Dream set down his items, leaving a nice patch of grass for Puffy by the window.

Dream sat down in a chair, while (Y/N) rushed around to make everything comfortable for him. She hummed a song, healed Dream quick and got straight to the point.

“So, Dream, I was wondering…I turn 18 tomorrow, I become an adult and I was wondering…if I could see the special stars!!”

Dream looked in her direction in alarm. He was thinking to himself. His plan would soon come into fruition, but if she left now, it would all go south.

“Oh, (Y/N), I think you mean the regular stars,” Dream tried to sway her mind.

“But Dream, these stars are special! The patterns of these stars are not constant. These move in every which way every year, and they only appear on my birthday Dream! I want, no, need to see them up close, and understand what they are!”

“Oh please! (Y/N), you’re too fragile for the outside world! I keep you here because its to keep you safe! It’s a scary world out there! I do this to protect you, you’d be taken advantage of! And imagine what would happen if they found out what your hair could do! (Y/N), please promise me to never ask about leaving this tower again? You must understand!”

(Y/N) contemplated her choices in her mind before she agreed. “Okay…”

Dream picked up his cloak and headed for the window to leave. “I’ll be in the village talking with George and Sapnap. I’ll see you in a bit.”

As (Y/N) let her brother down to do business, she looked at the world below longingly.

In another part of the forest…

Punz, Purpled, and Ponk were running through the forest still, hopping over logs and lakes. Punz stopped to catch a breath when he looked at a wanted poster of him and began to panic.

“No no no no no. I can’t believe this! They drew my face wrong!” He showed the poster to his partners, and they saw that Punz’ nose was severely misshapen and his hair was too long.

“Dude, who cares?!” Purpled questioned.

Ponk urged the two of them along until they came upon a short cliff they had to climb. Punz turned around to face them and told them, “Okay, you guys launch me up there, and I can pull you up.”

Purpled and Ponk shook their heads. “Give the crown first,” Ponk demanded while gesturing to the bag that held the crown.

“Ouch, that kinda hurts. You guys don’t trust me? After all our escapades as fellow mercs?” Punz asked.

“The satchel. Now,” Purpled ordered.

Punz sighed, resigning the bag to them. He climbed the rock with their help, reaching the top.

“Now pull us up Punz,” Purpled requested.

Punz laughed. “Sorry, can’t carry any more!” He flashed the satchel before slinging it around his body and running off while hearing his partners’ screams.

Punz kept running, and the castle guard was on his tail. Even worse, they were accompanied by one of the Crown Princes, Technoblade. Punz grimaced and recalled Techno’s history as a renowned fighter, leading the kingdom’s army and winning every battle. He urged his legs to work harder, to run faster.

Punz hopped through a fallen tree’s branches, cutting off most of the palace guard. Technoblade made it through and continued giving chase to the white-clad mercenary.

“We have him now, Carl!” Techno declared to his faithful horse.

Punz kept running, grabbing a forlorn vine and swinging around a tree to knock Technoblade off his horse and taking his place. Punz grabbed the reigns and tries to ride Carl away from the guard, but the horse tries bucking him off. They go back and forth, between trying to ride forward and grabbing the crown, not noticing that they were heading for a cliff.

The satchel flew away from the fighting pair’s grasp and landed on a single branch on a tree dangling sideways on the cliff’s edge. They wasted no time in reaching for the bag, not knowing the tree was breaking until it was too late. They fell off the edge, the crown ending up in Punz’ hands.

After that nasty fall, Punz woke up and sighs in relief when he sees the crown is still in his possession. He hears the distant neighs of a familiar horse, and looks for a place to hide. He tries feeling for a hole big enough for him to fit it, when his hand passes through a tree, a green glow around the part where his hand entered. Taking a risk, he threw himself into the trees and ended up in a dark cave just as Carl passed by.

Punz let out a tense breath and walked along the cave’s path until he came into a clearing. A tall, majestic tower loomed over him, casting a shadow over the land. Behind it, he could see a few houses. But the tower piqued his interest more. Maybe there were more valuables inside. He smiled and got to work climbing the tower using the sturdy vines that lined its walls.

After a tedious while of climbing (thankfully, no one had spotted him), he burst through the window doors and entered the tower’s main room. He sighed, opened the satchel, and took a breath, looking at the crown. “Alone at last.”

Then he was knocked out. Simple as that.

(Y/N) held the cast iron frying pan in her hands, retracting it from its position from when it knocked out the intruding Punz. She shrieks and dashes away from Punz’ unconscious body, slowly creeping up on it to make sure it was safe. She checked to make sure he wasn’t dangerous, flipping away a piece of hair that covered his eyes. (Y/N) leaned in closer when he suddenly opened an eye. In a panic, (Y/N) smacked him in the head again, not considering the possibility of a concussion.

(Y/N) looked for a place to hide the man while saying to herself and to Puffy, “I knocked him out! All on my own! Holy! If this isn’t enough to convince Dream that I can be let out of here for one day, then I don’t know what will!!”

She ended up stuffing him in an empty closet, being successful after a few tries. She looked at the satchel the mysterious man dropped, paying attention to the small shine emanating from it. Curious, she opened the pouch, revealing a piece of metal embedded with several precious jewels. She looked at Puffy, trying it on like a bracelet. Puffy’s wool shook with her head in denial. She peeked through one of the jewels, but that didn’t seem to be the purpose. Finally, (Y/N) tried putting the piece on her head. It looked like it fit perfectly. Then Puffy shook her head again. Then a noise sounded from below.

The girl heard her brother’s calls and she grew excited. As per usual, she let down her hair, and pulled Dream up. (Y/N) was very eager to tell Dream about her surprise.

“Dream! Oh you won’t believe what I have to show you!! It’s a big surprise!” (Y/N) bragged.

“Oh? Well I bet mine is bigger than yours!” Dream chimed.

“Doubt it!”

“Well, I am going to be making you your favourite dinner tonight!”

“Well, Dream? There’s something I want to tell you…” (Y/N) began to segway the conversation into her being able to leave the tower.

“(Y/N), I hate leaving you after fights. Especially when I’ve been in the right the entire time,” Dream vocalized.

“Okay, so I was thinking about what you said earlier today…” (Y/N) began to speak, but was interrupted by Dream.

“I hope you’re still not set on seeing those stars.”

“I’ve told you! They aren’t stars!” (Y/N) insisted. “I’m leading up to that!”

“I thought we were gonna drop the issue (Y/N),” Dream said sternly.

“No, Dream! I’m just saying you think that I’m not strong enough to take care of myself.”

“I know you’re not strong enough, take it from me.”

“Would you just-“

“We are done.”

“Why can’t you just-“

“I SAID WE ARE DONE.”

(Y/N) shrunk away from her brother, never hearing Dream’s voice so loudly before.

“I…all I wanted to tell you is that, I know what I want for my birthday now…”

Dream, fed up with me, asked coldly, “What.”

“Umm, the paints that dissolve with water? And perhaps a canvas? No bigger than my torso.”

“You know that it’ll be a long trip? And I’ll need to take someone with me?”

“I just thought it would be better than, than the ‘stars’.”

“Will you be fine (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine right here.”

“…Okay. I’ll be back soon.” As Dream prepared to leave for the trip, he looked back at (Y/N) one more time. “Love you, sis.”

“Of course, brother.”

As Dream descended from the tower, he thought to himself. He needed to carry out his plan fast. He rushed to his house to discuss with George, his right hand man. They set off, not for paints, but for items needed to extract (Y/N)’s power from her.

(Y/N) wallowed in her pity in the tower, then remembered the whole ass human in her closet. Puffy hid behind (Y/N)’s legs while she opened the closet doors.

The man just slumped out. Like a limp noodle. It made her jump, but ultimately decided to tie him up in a chair with her hair while hiding in the shadows.

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slytherin-hufflepuff

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 4:

I Wanna Be Your Dog

Our Song

Fly Over States

“I’ll be back, I’m gonna go get some coffee. And whatever Lo drinks.” Finn smiles and gives Leo a sweet kiss. He was wearing a hoodie and sweats. Also his glasses, which Leo thought made him look very sexy. He walks towards the door of his room and waves a little as he leaves. Leo was sitting on the bed with his back to the headboard, freshly showered waiting for Logan to get out of the shower so they could talk about tonight with the team dinner. He was just chilling in his boxer briefs with fish on them and his glasses while he skimmed through one of Finn’s books.

Logan's music suddenly got louder as the bathroom door opened and some steam came with it. I Wanna Be Your Dog is still playing in the background as Logan shuffles over to Leo removing the book from his hands and straddling his lap. Logan is wearing boxers as well but plain black. Leo rested his hands on Logan's thighs and smiled at him.

“Hi” Leo smiles at him and Logan can’t help but smile back, but it soon slips from his face. “Hey, what's wrong?” Leo bends his legs bringing Logan closer to him.

“Leo… I’m sorry, I never should have said those things to you. Before we left, I just- I don’t know how to” He takes a frustrated breath and feels Leo cup his cheek, leaning into it. “I don’t know how to talk about my feelings very well, it's something Finn has been a victim of for years, I loved him from the first day I met him. I had the same panic with you…” Looking up at Leo who is smiling at him in this soft supportive way made Logan’s heart leap into his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey it's okay.” Leo leans forward and kisses Logan's forehead and then pressed his own to Logans. “I’m okay, you didn’t scare me off. I’m still here, I came to find you because I really really like you. Like a lot.” He looks Logan in the eyes and sees so many emotions float around in those sweet peas, he couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him.

Logan’s breath hitches as Leo kisses him so softly, kissing back he wraps his arms around Leo’s neck. He wants to be as close to him as possible, the song in the background made him feel hot all of a sudden. He wants Leo.

“Leo.” Leo pulls away and looks at him worried. “Fuck me.”

Logan watches Leo’s pupils dilate and a blush appear on his cheeks and chest. Leo’s hands move to his waist and pull him into a toe curling kiss. Logan's hands end up in Leo’s hair gripping so he can’t pull away, slowly starting to rock back and forth on Leo’s hips, pulling groans from both of them.

Leo reaches down to grip Logan's ass and squeeze as he licks into his mouth when Logan gasps. They pull away as Leo clumsily reaches to the side table he knows has lube on it while Logan starts to littler his neck in hickeys, darkening old ones and adding new ones. Leo feels Logan press his fingers into a dark on and it makes a spike of heat jolt in Leo's groin.

“Again.” Logan complied and pressed the sensitive bruise while grinding on Leo’s slowly hardening cock. Logan was already fully hard and whimpering with every thrust. They pull away for a second to pull Logan’s boxers off, Leo pouring lube on his fingers and looking Logan in the eyes as he slowly pushes his middle finger into him. Watching Logan's eyes go distant.

The prep was easy with Logan, he relaxes easily and will let Leo know when he is ready.

“Okay, I’m ready.” He slaps Leo’s hand away and crawls off him yanking Leo’s boxers before straddling him again.

“You want it like this? Aren’t your legs sore from the game yesterday?” Leo grabs his hips and stops him from just slamming himself down on Leo, even if that's what Leo wanted. Logan was more important.

“Leo, I’m fine. Now let me ride you!” Leo puts his hands up in surrender as Logan takes control and sinks down on Leo, rolling his neck from one side to the other. Relaxing for a moment, he starts pushing himself up and letting himself down with gusto. Leo’s hands rest on his thighs while Logan's rest on his shoulders. Leo gets Logan's attention by moving his right hand to Leo’s neck.

“Tighter.” Leo smiles a little deliriously when Logan’s grip tightens on the side of his neck, he's very glad he doesn’t have to explain to Logan not to crush his windpipe. Leo grips Logan tighter and helps him move fast. The feeling of Logan’s hand on his neck turns Leo on so much that he has to take control. He stops Logan. “ I’m gonna lay you down, okay?” Logan nods as Leo maneuvers them around so Logan’s legs are on his shoulders and his hands are on either side of Logan's head. Bracketing him in.

“Oh fuck!” Logan grips Leo’s arms as he starts punching sounds out of him, his pace is expert. Hard and fast. Logan tries to look away because Leo’s icy blues are so intense it pushes him further to the edge but Leo grips his chin and makes him look him in the eyes as he respectfully rails him into the bed.

Logan moves his hand back to Leo’s throat and feels Leo’s hips stutter as he tightens his grip. He feels himself sinking into the blissful feelings that take over his mind every once in a while. He is engulfed by them like a wave of pleasure dragging him out to sea.

Leo, keeps his steady pace feeling himself getting close and watching as Logan becomes a mess of please in French and English. Leo has never heard Logan speak French but he's glad he has reduced him down to this puddle. He notices Logan has gone into what Clay calls, ‘subspace’ which Leo has never been in but Clay has told him so much about it that he thinks he knows what it feels like, kinda. He knows there is a ‘subdrop’ after that everyone is different with. So a learning experience if you will.

Once they both fall over the edge, Logan thrashing around and begging to go again while Leo bites down on Logan’s shoulder to keep himself quiet, something that has been drilled into his brain. Leo goes to pull out but Logan wraps his arms and legs around Leo tight enough he can’t.

Leo wiggles his hands under Logan and holds him just as tight, causing him to whimper and bury his face into Leo’s neck.

“Huh, what a way to come home.” Leo looks up to see Finn on the other side of the bed looking down at them with a soft smile, setting the coffees down on the side table he climbs onto the bed and petting Logan's hair. “Did he go all fuzzy towards the end?” Leo nods, still holding Logan tight. “Okay, this is usually what helps him, what you are doing is great but won’t help him out of his fuzzy state. If you spoon him, it gives him space in front of him to focus on something that isn’t you and lets you hold him so he knows you aren’t going anywhere.” Finn whispers something to Logan that makes him let go of Leo and allow him to pull out and spoon him, still holding him tight. “Okay, now if you stroke his arms or pet his head it helps him come back to his senses, when he starts to wiggle around loosen your grip so he can turn into your chest. He likes to listen to your heartbeat. He’s soft right now, cherish it, trust me it doesn’t happen often. I’ll grab some stuff to clean up.” Finn kisses both of their foreheads and goes to grab a washcloth.

Finn cleans them up and does as he says, when Logan starts squirming Leo loosens his grip and lets him turn around. Him and Finn talk about tonight.

Once Logan comes back to earth and they both get dressed and drink their coffees. Leo leaves shortly after to be able to change clothes and grab Clay before going to the dinner.

He walks in the air bnb and is bombarded with questions.

“What happened?”

“Did you guys get together?”

“Did you fuck?”

“Did you eat?”

“Did they try to eat you!?” Clay grabs his head and moves it from side to side as he laughs looking at all the hickey’s covering Leo’s neck. “God, it's like they tried to suck the ink out of your neck tats.” Leo looks at himself in the mirror and sees the bruises covering the Egyptian beetle with wings on his neck are now purple in places. “They even got your hands!” Clayton takes a picture of the back of Leo’s neck and shows him that his creation of man hands on the back of his neck are splotchy with bruises. He snorts.

“Send that to me, this is kind of funny. Mama would get a kick out of this.” They chat as they get ready for dinner. Finn said it was mostly a sweatpants and t-shirt type of meal but Leo wanted to wear his boots for jeans, boots, black shirt and ball cap. Belt also joined the party. Clayton was wearing basically the same thing except he was wearing Leo’s black sweatshirt from last night because it's cold and they don’t have winter jackets. Making sure Leo still had his phone, they got an Uber to Pascal’s house. When they arrived they noticed all the range rovers and raised an eyebrow.

“I thought they were rich? Shouldn’t they have better cars?” Clayton mumbles to Leo as they walk to the door, pineapple in hand. They stopped and grabbed one because in the south pineapples are given when going to a new house as a thank you for hospitality.

“Maybe they just like Range Rovers.” Leo shrugs and knocks on the door. The door swings open after a few moments and Logan throws himself at Leo again! Leo caught him with no problem. “Hi, did you miss me or something?” Leo walks inside holding Logan and Clay following behind. They make their way into the living room where the rest of the team is. A couple of people laugh at Logan and Leo. Leo sets Logan down and waves at everyone. Pascal comes over to them and hugs Leo out of nowhere.

“What’s with the pineapple?” Sirius walks over to them and is chewing on some gum, tilting his head in confusion like a dog.

“You don’t give pineapples here?” Sirius shakes his head. “Oh well, in the south it's a sign of hospitality and a thank you.” Nodding Sirius narrows his eyes a little, sharing a look with Pascal they nod and put a hand on each of Leo’s shoulders.

“Leo lets go and have a chat.” Leading him away into an office they sit him down in a chair, standing in front of him. It gave Leo a weird porn vibe. “So, I don’t know if you know this, but Logan is like a brother to me.” Sirius says.

“And a son to me. So we want you to know that if anything happens to him, we know how to fight, and so does he.” Leo furrows his brow in confusion. “We just want you to know that Logan is sensitive with his emotions, it’s hard to get things out of him and when we left Louisiana he was a mess and we know it was you. So, do it again and we will make sure you never see him again.”

“Okay, I promise I won’t do anything to hurt him. I didn’t even mean to the first time.” He swallows down the nerves he suddenly has, he didn’t know he hurt Logan and that's why Logan snapped at him. He was gonna ask him about it.

Pascal and Sirius let him out of the room and take him back to the team where everyone has started eating. He looked around and couldn’t find Logan, but he found Finn walking over to him and kissing his temple.

“Hi” Finn smiles and leans into him as he eats his burger. Holding it up a little in a way of asking Leo if he wants a bite. “Beef?” Finn nods and Leo shakes his head no thanks. Logan and Clayton walk into the room a few minutes later, Finn is being held by Leo from behind as they chat with Kuny and Sergei. Logan walks over to them and takes Finn’s burger from his hands and eats the last bite. The noise of protest makes him laugh.

Clayton walks over and Leo and him start talking so fast and their accents get thick enough that no one can really understand them. Leo feels a tug on his pant leg and looks down, a small girl with curly dark hair is smiling up at him. Pascal’s kid for sure. He lets go of Finn and squats down to her level.

“Hi, I’m Katie! Do you like my song?” She smiles a big toothy grin and Leo focuses on the music playing from the Bluetooth speaker trying to jump out of her hands from the vibrations of the song, Our Song by Taylor Swift, back when Taylor Swift was good. He smiles at her.

“I do like your song.” Her eyes got bright with excitement, she started slightly bouncing.

“Yeah! She has a funny voice like you!” Clayton squats next to Leo and smiles.

“You think our voices are funny?” She nods. Clayton changes his accent to sound scarily like Remus’s northern Wisconsin accent. “Would you rather me talk like this?” She laughs.

“Voulez-vous que je parle comme ça?” Katie gasps and blinks at him; she smiles and then sprints off. Leo smiles and stands up, turning around to his boys where a red

Finn and a shocked Logan stand.

“You speak French?!” They both say at the same time.

“I speak French!”

“I hate when he speaks French!” They look at each other and then back at Leo.

He just laughs and shrugs.

A few hours and a few drinks later, Logan is trying to get Leo to drink wine while Finn is filming and Clayton is laughing while sipping on his and Leo’s beers.

“Noooooo I don’t like wine!” Leo pouts as Logan puts his glass to Leo’s lips and Leo takes a sip and cringes. When Logan finally pulls away Clayton hands him his beer and they vortex the rest of it. After finishing his 7th beer he shakes his head a little and lets out a breath.

Clayton and Leo hear the music of angels coming for a few chairs down. TikTok.

They look down at the table and a person who looks like a younger version of Sirius is sitting by himself with a glass of wine and some nuts. ‘Shawty got a big ole booty’ playing from his phone. The two idiots share a look and leave Finn and Logan for this other person. Sitting on either side of him.

“Let us see! Let us see!” Clayton and Leo lean over Reg to look at the video of a man in very short shorts doing this trend. “Omg we should do it! But I don’t have any shorts!”

“Me either! But we could just do it in our underwear…. actually maybe not because it’s cold outside.” They frown.

“Who are you?”

“Oh bestie, we are your new best friends!” Smiling Leo pats him on the head while Clayton wraps arm around his neck and whoops. After trading tiktoks like Pokémon cards they become close in just a few hours. Saying popular phrases to each other that no one understood but them. Influencing Reg to chug the rest of his wine.

They were up on the next beer pong game, Finn and Logan vs Clayton and Reg. Leo was ref. Clayton was great and Reg sucked but they still cheered him on. Sirius was in the background smiling because it was nice to see Reg coming out of his shell.

There was a point in time where Leo gave Finn his phone because he and Reg decided it was a good idea to wrestle and have Kuny be the ref. Reg lost. But Finn saw that Leo’s phone didn’t have a password… he couldn’t help but look. Finn and Logan were sitting together in the corner of the couch crouching over Leo’s phone. He has a lot of pictures.

He has many of him doing stupid shit, like walking on plane wings. Scared the shit out of Logan when he first saw it. Getting tattoos, holding random wild animals, cliff diving, riding bulls and cute selfies with his mom.

What they weren’t expecting was tons of pictures of Leo in sexual positions in different types of lingerie. Stretched out in the splits or with one leg up. Many of him sitting on his heels with his head tipped back showing off the tattoo of the lizard wrapped around his thigh that had a cowboy hat on.

They notice that most of these pictures are taken by someone else, and maybe then send a couple to themselves… in the groupchat from when they were in Louisiana. They also changed Leo’s Lock Screen to a picture they took, arms around each other, cheek to cheek with light blushes on their face from the alcohol and the pictures. Smiling so hard. His Home Screen changed to a picture of them smooching, Finn's hand on Logan’s cheek, soft and sweet.

During the rest of the party Reg refused to drink the beer or get drunk so Leo drank for him. Leo and Clay ended up getting back to the air bnb somehow with three new groupchats: Lions, Trio, and Finlo is Gay.

The next morning Leo looks at his phone as he goes to text Finn if they can get a ride in the groupchat with Finn, Logan, Clayton and himself. He notices the changed backgrounds and just sits there staring at his phone, heart speeding up because he feels so much lov- emotion towards them that he can't help but smile and hold his phone to his chest for a moment before completing his task. They show up to Finn’s apartment with their bags on their shoulders in sweats and t-shirts ready to fly home, completely unphased by all they drank that night. Finn was a different story, looking and feeling like shit he reluctantly agreed to take the two to the airport.

“Are we bringing Logan?” Leo is looking around expecting Logan to pop out somewhere.

“We can pick him up, he lives with Dumo.” Finn grabs his keys and coffee and walks out the door with the idiots following him.

“Whose Dumo? I thought he lived with you.” Leo and Clay both get into the back seat, bags one their lap.

“We were at Dumo’s last night, Logan billets with him. Don’t ask me why but… it’s a good fit for him. Dumo treats him like his own son. Did the same for Sirius.” Finn takes a drink of his coffee as they cruise down the streets. Leo is quiet for a moment, obviously thinking about something. “What’s on your mind?” Finn is glancing at him from the rearview window.

“Did I hurt Logan last time? Like before you guys left did I… do something?” Leo looks out the window for a second, Finn makes eye contact with Clay for a moment and he shrugs.

“Leo, Logan said you two talked yesterday morning.”

“We did… but I got a shovel talk from Sirius and Pascal that made me question it. They told me I hurt him and I don’t know what I did but I’m gonna apologize anyway. I never meant to.” He is watching the buildings and other cars pass by as they drive. The rest of the ride is silent until Logan hops in the car.

“Hello!” He turns around and smiles at Leo, then turns to give Finn a kiss on the cheek. “What time is your flight?”

“In about 3 hours” Clayton answers before Leo can. Leo reaches forward and takes Logan’s hand in his and squeezes it. Smiling stupidly, he just held his hand. Tightly.

“I think we should bring Reg with us this summer.” Clayton nods agreeing.

“Where are you going?” Logan fiddles with the radio until they get to a working station where Fly Over State by Jason Aldean starts to play.

“We travel all over the country for rodeos”

“We drive instead of fly so we can take Peanut and Leroy with us! It’s so fun. We start in Louisiana, then move to Texas, then Alabama, Georgia, Florida, Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, just all over! I love it, lots of fields and animals, the food is amazing anywhere we go and! And! We get drunk almost every night! It’s so fun! We meet new people everywhere and travel with our tattoo artist. He is the only person I trust to tattoo me.” Clayton nods in agreement as he stalks someone on Instagram, looked like one of the girls from the bar the other night. “ I can’t wait, but I’ll really miss y’all.” Leo kisses Logan’s hand and smiles.

They get to the airport and Clay and Leo get out with their backpacks and a man in a suit greets them and takes their bags. Leo turns back to the car and kisses Logan and Finn goodbye.

“I’m sorry Logan, for hurting you.”

“Leo, you never hurt me.” Logan pushes Leo’s hair out of his face and smiles. Logan doesn’t know where this came from but he hopes Leo doesn’t blame himself for Logan’s mistake, he thought they were okay after the talk and fuck the other morning.

“Leo?” He looks up to Finn who is holding Logan’s hand that Leo was holding on the drive over. “Do you want to be our boyfriend?”

“... really?” Leo is looking at them completely stunned.

“Yes really!” Logan laughs a little.

“I- of course! Are you fucking kidding me!? Why would I ever say no!?” The man in the suit taps Leo’s shoulder and Leo knows this means n he has to go.

“Call us when you Land!”

“I will!” Leo is dragged into the building.

Stupid smile and all.

Finn pulls away after Leo and Clay are led inside, squeezing Logan's hand.

“You need to talk to Sirius and Dumo, they blamed Leo for you being all sad the last few months when they gave him the good ole shovel talk.” Flicking on his turn signal

“I will, Clayton gave me a shovel talk too… Why did you get away scoff free?”

“Everyone loves me.”

[flowercrown-bard]

To give without knowing (11/?)

word count: ~2k

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The waves were lapping at the shore, filling the air with whispers and murmurs. At least that's what Jaskier said, when he pulled Geralt towards the beach, holding onto his hand tightly as if it wasn’t world shattering. Geralt heard nothing but the normal sound of the waves breaking and water sloshing about. It didn't matter. He still nodded and hummed in reply and Jaskier beamed at him as if he had just unlocked the secret to happiness.

Geralt was sure that he had.

When Jaskier had asked him to go to the coast, Geralt's first instinct had been to say no. He couldn't fight sea monsters, as he knew next to nothing about them, and rarely ever did any of the creatures that he could make coin with appear at the coast. There was no coin to be made there.

So Geralt had had no reason to go to the coast. No reason other than the hopeful look in Jaskier's eyes as he had asked. It had been reason enough.

As they had travelled, Jaskier's excitement had increased with each day, and so had Geralt's anxiousness. He had never been to the coast. He didn't know what to expect. Sure, Jaskier was the one who had chosen where exactly to go, talking about it as if he had planned to take Geralt there for a while, but that meant that Geralt didn't know what he could do to make this as good for Jaskier as possible. He didn't know what places would be interesting enough for Jaskier to enjoy. He didn’t know what to do when there were no contracts.

He didn't know how not to disappoint Jaskier.

Watching Jaskier now as he let go of Geralt’s hand, kicked off his shoes and waded into the water uncaring of how it drenched his breeches, the tension in Geralt melted away and was replaced by that beautiful soft thing burning in his chest.

"Come on in!" Jaskier called out to him, turning to face Geralt fully. The evening sun illuminated Jaskier from behind, making him look almost ethereal, with the soft red shine around him.

Geralt shook his head in amusement. "What is it with you and always wanting to get me into the water?"

The tips of Jaskier's ears were red, but that could just be from the bleeding light of the dying sun.

"Can't a simple man just enjoy the simple pleasures of life? Like having fun with his dearest friend?" Oh but Jaskier was anything but a simple man. He was... Geralt couldn't even begin to describe everything that Jaskier was. Not what he was on his own and even less what he was to Geralt. Jaskier was smiles and song and softness. He was the feeling of not being alone. He was sitting around a campfire and having something other to look at than the dancing flames. He was a stones that never met Geralt’s skin. He was everything. He was Jaskier.

And Geralt… He was just Geralt. He was not made to enjoy life's simple pleasures. It went against his very nature.

But Jaskier was turning towards him as if he was so much more than that. Or as if everything he was was already enough. He held out a hand to Geralt expectantly, though they were too far away to touch and Geralt found himself walking towards the water as if being beckoned by a siren. Except no siren could hold such power over a witcher as Jaskier did over Geralt.

The sand’s texture became different beneath Geralt's boots as he neared the water's edge. He kept his eyes on Jaskier as if he could disappear between the waves if he looked away for even a second.

A splash tore Geralt out of his thoughts and his eyes away from Jaskier. The disgusting feeling of his socks getting wet made him let out a string of curses. Geralt had been soaked in mud, blood and worse. That didn't mean that he liked the squelching of his feet moving inside his wet boots.

A snort of laughter made Geralt shoot a dirty look at Jaskier.

"You know," Jaskier said in between laughs, mirth twinkling in his eyes, "people normally don't wear shoes when they go in the water."

Geralt shot him an unimpressed glare. "People also normally don't wear all of their other clothes."

Having smelled worse than this, Geralt still didn't like the smell of the sea, of fish and salt and things that were so foreign to him that he couldn't identify them. They were irritating. They overruled the smell of horse and campfire and the wood of Jaskier’s lute that never seemed to leave Jaskier. Geralt could do well without having that sea-smell cling to his clothes for days. It was bad enough that it would linger on Jaskier’s.

"My, Geralt! Are you that eager to get me out of my clothes?" Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows in an overly exaggerated manner, clearly joking.

Geralt cracked a thin smile before he turned away, praying that Jaskier took that as some sort of brooding response instead of for what it was. Geralt's throat had grown thick and tight and an unexpected heat rose beneath his collar. Suddenly, throwing himself into the cold water didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

He took a step out of the water and pulled his boots off. He hesitated and threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Jaskier who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

It wasn't – Jaskier wasn’t looking at Geralt like that. Not in the way he looked at beautiful people. Not in the way Geralt looked at Jaskier.

Jaskier had seen Geralt without a shirt countless times. It had meant nothing. He had even touched his bare torso more times than Geralt could remember, but it felt different taking off his shirt to clean himself or have Jaskier look at his wounds. This right now, it was... Geralt didn't know what it was. All he knew that for some reason that bright smile and outstretched hand of Jaskier's that made Geralt wish that he was nothing but a simple man made Geralt feel more vulnerable than when Jaskier stitched up his wounds.

With an unreasonably fast beating heart, Geralt shrugged off his shirt and tossed it up the beach so that he wouldn't be able to take his decision back.

The sharp intake of breath from Jaskier would have gotten lost in the noise of the waves for anyone but Geralt.

For a second he wanted nothing more than to run to where he his shirt lay, put it back on and hide the tapestry of scars marrying his body and his inhuman proportions. Jaskier looked radiant in the sun, his chemise was plastered to his chest from where the water had splashed up and he was – he was just so painfully beautiful. So unlike Geralt. Jaskier shouldn’t smile like that, he shouldn’t blush this prettily as did when he took in Geralt now. He shouldn’t beckon him forth again, making Geralt think for even just a heartbeat that Jaskier would want him near.

And yet he didn’t stop looking at Geralt like that, didn’t stop planting that impossible fantasy in his mind. As if Geralt wasn’t a witcher. As he was just a simple man.

No, not like that. Jaskier knew what he was, he saw him. It wasn’t that Jaskier could forget or ignore it. What he did was so much more wondrous. He saw Geralt, the witcher, the scarred and shunned man. And he called him his friend.

Geralt was greedy. He wanted more, gods, how he wanted more, but having Jaskier as his friend was the most precious thing he could imagine. It was more than he could have ever thought he could deserve. It was still impossible that he deserved it, but Jaskier gave him this easy friendship regardless.

As Geralt breached the distance between them, Jaskier splashed water at him, he laughed as if Geralt was funny and floated on his back on the water, trusting that Geralt wouldn’t let him drift off too far. He made bad jokes about roaches that only Geralt would be able to understand. Jaskier tried to dunk Geralt in indignation, when he teased that Jaskier was almost like a fish in the water himself. It wasn't meant as an insult. Jaskier was lively and playful and pretty in a special way. But Geralt wasn't a poet. He did not know how to not make such things not sound like an instult. Still, Jaskier looked at Geralt as if he wanted to be nowhere else than right where he was, with no one but him.

And once the sun had disappeared fully behind the horizon and Jaskier began to shiver, he let Geralt coax him out of the water and leaned against him as they sat on the beach. He was wearing Geralt’s dry shirt that was too big and not nearly pretty enough for him, and yet it looked so right. It kept Jaskier warm. As did Geralt’s arm that was slung around him and rubbed circles into his back in hopes to get him to warm up. At least that was what Geralt would say if Jaskier asked why he was doing this.

Jaskier didn’t ask.

The moment was serene. Quiet. Intimate in a way that made Geralt’s throat tighten and his heart clench.

If Geralt had been a poet, he might have called it romantic even. But he wasn’t a poet and Jaskier certainly wouldn’t call it that either. He was too preoccupied watching the stars and listening to the song of the sea while Geralt looked at Jaskier and listened to the drumming of his heartbeat.

Jaskier dug his toes into the sand, heedless of the way it stuck to his wet skin. His hair was drying slowly and curled at the ends. He looked nothing like the composed and immaculately dressed bard he showed to most of the world. The perfumes he had put on earlier had been washed away and replaced with the smell of salt and the sea and happiness.

Geralt found he didn’t mind the smell of the coast as much as he had thought. Not when it clung to Jaskier. Not when it came with the memory of Jaskier’s laugh and his shining eyes.

Though he knew it was foolish, he wanted to stay in this moment forever, however impossible that was.

At the very least, they had a couple more days they could spend exactly like this before they would have to get back into the real world, onto the Path where Jaskier didn’t need to wear Geralt’s shirt anymore because there would be no water to jump into.

Autumn was almost upon them and if they hadn’t travelled so far south, they wouldn’t be able to have what they have had this day, what they would have the next day and the day after.

Or at least, that was what Geralt thought, what he wished for. How could he have known that Jaskier hadn’t brought him here to enjoy some time alone at the sea?

Geralt was a fool for believing that their time together at the coast meant as much to Jaskier as it did to Geralt. He should have known that Jaskier had come here for a different reason. He really should have seen it coming.  

That didn’t lessen the hurt of his heart breaking when a couple of days later, Geralt met the real reason why Jaskier had wanted to come here – when he met her.

---

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[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Afterward

So, this is just a place for me to toss in some other Hellsing stuff I wanted to talk about outside the reading of Hellsing itself.

Okay so first off, I wanted to document this cool trivia I noticed about Rip van Winkle, the werewolf(?) with the musket that fires magic bullets.   Her weapon is based on the 19th Century German opera Der Freischütz. The opera is based on a  story published by Johann August Apel in 1811, and this writing was based on German folklore.    The legend involves a marksman who makes a contract with the devil and receives seven magic bullets.   Six will hit whatever the marksman wants, but the seventh is at the sole discretion of the devil himself.   In Hellsing, the Major speaks to Rip about her own musket and reminds her that the opera ends with Zamiel, the devil, coming to claim his due.  This is intended to foreshadow Alucard counterattack on the H.M.S. Eagle, where he plows through Rip’s defenses and kills her in gruesome fashion.

So I went back and counted all the times Rip van Winkle shoots her musket, just to see if there was any special significant to it.    The first was when the old Nazi officers complain to the Major, and Rip shoots the Colonel’s cane before he can strike the Major with it.     At least, I’m pretty sure that was the idea here.  The cane breaks and everyone looks around and Zorin points to the lady with the gun to indicate who just did that.   So that’s one bullet.

After assuming control of the H.M.S. Eagle, Rip van Winkle meets with the Eagle’s first officer, who betrayed the crew to Millennium in exchange for vampire powers.    She then betrays him and his fellow traitors, killing them all with a single shot from her musket.    This is where we first find out what her ability is.   So that’s two.

The British Navy tries to take back the ship by sending a helicopter full of SEALs, but Rip destroys the entire team with another shot from her musket.   So that’s three shots fired.

While Hellsing prepares their own response, the Navy tries again, this time sending a fighter plane to sink the Eagle with missiles, but Rip shoots down the missiles and the plane with one bullet.   Four.

This is where I started to wonder if there was a particular pattern to Rip’s use of the musket.  I’m pretty sure she just uses one bullet and can fire it as many times as she pleases, but she was literally singing songs from the opera and it seemed kind of superfluous to have her foil two separate attack by the Navy.  The first one showed us that conventional forces wouldn’t get the job done, so the second one only makes sense if Kouta Hirano was just trying to add to the count.

Then Alucard arrives aboard a modified SR-71 Blackbird.   At 85,000 ft in the air, he’s out of range, but then he nosedives onto the deck of the ship.    Rip fires again to destroy the Blackbird before it crashes into them.    Five.

Alucard survives the crash and wipes out all of Rip’s soldiers while she has a panic attack.   Cornered, she finally gathers her wits and attacks Alucard.  Her bullet hurts him, but he eventually catches it in his teeth, neutralizing her weapon and leaving her at his mercy.  That’s shot number six.

I was hoping this shot would be the seventh, since the seventh bullet in Der Freischütz belongs to the devil, and Alucard caught this one in his teeth, but no.   Then I remembered that the musket gets fired one last time...

... in London, when Alucard releases the familiars of all the victims he’s consumed over the centuries, including Rip Van Winkle.  She fires the musket once more, but this time it’s Alucard directing the shot into the helicopters of the Ninth Crusade.   Shot number seven is at the discretion of the devil himself, and “Dracula” is a diminutive of “Dracul”, a Romanian word for “devil”.   Neat stuff.

Okay, so now let’s talk about Seras, because that’s kind of my jam.   What’s the deal with this line?  “Her existence is somewhat of a marvel.  You could say it’s somewhat of a joke.  Perhaps she herself has not even noticed yet!!”

That’s the Major discussing Sir Integra and Seras in Volume 5.   He stresses that neither is to be underestimates, and I think he makes a good case for Integra, but with Seras he never actually comes to the point.   So what’s up with that? 

Of course, there’s the truth we saw in the final battle.  Once she finally drank blood of her own volition, Seras became a full-on vampire and one of the most powerful warriors on the field.   She destroyed the Captain quite handily, and he was the strongest guy Millennium had.   But this seems a tad obvious?   Why not just spell it out for Zorin.  “Hey, our intel says she’s weaker than expected because she won’t drink blood, but that could change at a moment’s notice, and she’s still strong enough to take down a lot of our soldiers, so proceed with caution.” 

I’m not saying the Major is wrong.   He told Zorin not to engage, and he made the right call.    I’m just wondering what the “joke” is exactly.  

I think it might be one of two things.   By the end of Hellsing, Seras demonstrates a similar level of ability to Alucard.  Sunlight appears to have no effect on her, she can summon familiars like Alucard, and regenerate her wounds with great alacrity.   I’m pretty sure she’d be about as hard to kill as Alucard himself, which Integra said was a product of Hellsing “enhancements”, rather than natural vampire power.   Except Seras was never “enhanced”, she seems to have just inherited these ��super-vampire” powers from Alucard when he turned her.   The Major and Doctor may have anticipated this, and the “joke” was that Seras could completely upset the balance of their plans, except she’s too squeamish to drink the blood that would make this possible.  

Or, the joke might be that Alucard turned Seras at all.   He just sort of did this out of nowhere, and I’m pretty sure no one saw that coming.   Millennium and Walter had been keeping tabs on Hellsing for decades, and not much changed until Alucard decided to add Seras to the group.   The vampires in Millennium’s Last Battalion were all produced through the Doctor’s artificial vampire research, which was based upon intense study of Mina Harker, the last person Alucard turned into a vampire before he met Seras.   

So from that standpoint, Seras represents a superior version of Mina, who represents the ideal that the Doctor was trying to achieve.  At best, his finest artificial vampires could only be as strong as Mina Harker, and Seras got that way in one night by a twist of fate.  

I guess there’s no way to be sure what the Major meant.  I checked the OVA subs and dubs and they basically repeat the same line, so there’s nothing for me to triangulate there.  And maybe it only refers to Seras being a joke in the sense that she was mostly comic relief up to that point.   Even that badass moment she had against Jan Valentine’s ghouls probably didn’t impress anyone at the Millennium office.   

Finally, I checked out Hellsing: The Dawn, and it really wasn’t worth the trouble.   I couldn’t find any official English release, so I sort of gave up on it, but I finally ran across it last week and decided to check it out.   

Basically, it’s only six chapters, and very little actually gets done in those six chapters.   I’m not sure if Kouta Hirano is just running super late on the thing, of if he abandoned it completely, but my guess is he got this far in and decided there really wasn’t any point in continuing.   

Let me break it down for you.

Chapter 1: Walter is sent to the Major’s facility in Warsaw, to destroy the vampire research.   He jumps out of a plane with Alucard’s coffin.

Chapter 2: The Doctor reports on his progress to the Major, and they briefly discuss “She” aka Mina Harker.  From what I gather, Mina is still alive/undead in 1944.   Then Walter crashes into their facility and declares his intentions to kill them all.

Chapter 3: The Major is impressed with Walter’s power and offers him a place in his command.  Walter refuses and the Major leaves him to die at the hands of the Captain.

Chapter 4: Walter fights the Captain, and Alucard finally emerges from his coffin in Girlycard form.

Chapter 5: Walter and Alucard fight the Captain, who now stands revealed as a werewolf.   The Major somehow recognizes Alucard on sight and takes an interest in observing the battle.

Chapter 6: Alucard leaves to go hunt down the Captain’s superiors, leaving Walter to fight alone.  Alucard then encounters Rip van Winkle and defeats her with ease.    He seems like he’s about to kill her when some menacing figures approach from the shadows...

In other words, not a whole lot actually happens that we couldn’t have guessed from the original Hellsing manga.    At the rate he was going, it would have taken Hirano maybe 30 or 40 chapters to actually get to anything truly juicy, and I’m not sure the audience would have wanted to wait around for that.    The main problem is that we already know how this ends.   None of the good guys or bad guys die, because they all show up in Hellsing 55 years later.  The Major will lose badly enough that he has to evacuate the whole operation to Brazil, and that interests me because somehow he has to lose this battle, but not so badly that he can’t escape.  

What disappoints me is that there’s really only three things of interest about this part of the Hellsing mythos: Walter’s decision to betray England, Alucard’s relationship with Walter, and the Major’s relocation from Euope to South America.    The Dawn appears to gloss over all of these.   The Major asks Walter to switch sides in their very first encounter.   Walter refuses, but we know he’ll say yes later, so there doesn’t feel like there’s any conflict to this.  So far, Walter comes off like a little shithead, so if he changes his mind at the end of this story it’ll seem completely capricious.   I’d like to think the Major could say something persuasive to convince him, or Alucard could piss Walter off enough to push him into the Major’s arms, but none of that seems to be happening.  

The Girlycard form is taken completely for granted.   Al shows up and Walter immediately takes offense.  He knows Alucard doesn’t normally look like this and he sees no reason for this new look.   Al just says the same thing he says about it in 1999, that form and appearance mean nothing to him.   Well if it doesn’t mean anything to Alucard or Walter, what’s the point?

The way I always imagined it, the Girlycard form had a lot of emotional baggage for Walter.   I figured he met Alucard in this form, and they spent some time together hunting down the Major.    Walter fell in love with Girlycard, even though he should have known better, and when Alucard finally abandoned the form, he knew that there was no way his feelings would ever be returned.   And this would build resentment within Walter, making him more interested in joining the Major.  

Instead, none of that seems to be happening.    This is just one big long fight in one building.   Hirano already threw his biggest gun at Walter, so there’s no buildup to the Captain.   Alucard won’t fight the Captain, but it’s unclear what else he’s supposed to do instead.  There might be a good story in all of this, but these first six chapters don’t encourage me.    Also, they keep jumping over to check in on Arthur Hellsing in London.   I don’t think this guy is Integra’s father, but maybe her grandfather had the same first name?    He looks cool, but he has nothing to do.   He’s like thousands of miles removed from the action, so anything he says or does just comes back to him talking about how tough and cool Walter is.   So yeah, I think The Dawn is a huge waste of time, and maybe Kouta Hirano reached the same conclusion.  

And... yeah, that’s all I’ve got.   In May, I’ll be liveblogging another comic.   Will it be as successful?   Only time will tell...

[hummingbee-o0o]

Late autumn’s chills ripen into winter, and Geralt and Jaskier part ways as they do every year. It’s near Ard Carraigh, as most years, with Geralt bound for Kaer Morhen and Jaskier for Oxenfurt and its Academy. War is brewing close to their path, and Geralt is reluctant to let Jaskier go, but he knows he must, and so he does, with Jaskier smiling at him, blue-eyed and bright as they talk about reuniting in the spring.

Jaskier’s songs follow Geralt wherever he goes, bringing him news of the bard, and three days after their parting he hides a smile in his ale when he hears a fellow tavern patron excitedly talk about getting to listen to the famous Jaskier in a small village nearby.

A day after that, Geralt hears that same village mentioned again, only this time it’s because the war has devoured it. Witcher hearts beat slower than human ones do, but Geralt’s stops entirely when he hears the news, cold water filling his chest, before his heart hammers back to life, rabbit-quick and terrified. Within minutes, he’s gone from the town, pushing Roach like he never did in his life, and she gallops faster than the wind, because she too knows they are racing desperately for something precious.

Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier...!

Geralt grits his teeth, feels sick to the marrow in his bones. War is a cold, mindless thing swarming and stretching where people’s greed pushes it. It won’t know to spare a tousle-haired bard with a soft heart and sharp teeth and cornflower-blue eyes.

As Roach’s hooves fly over the ground and a bitter taste of smoke begins to weave into the air, Geralt’s heart hammers and he barters with Fate.

If I find him alive and well, I will never let him go. If I find him alive and well, I will take him to Kaer Morhen for the winter. We will go to the Coast in the spring. We will spend all summer there. I will do whatever he wants. I will never let him out of my sight again. If I find him alive and well, I will tell him-- I will tell him--

I will tell him.

The treeline falls away as the ground slopes to reveal what’s left of a village surrounded by now-charred fields. Grey smoke hangs in the air, stifling everything into that flat, ill-tasting silence which only comes after death.

Geralt grips Roach’s reins, tries to force his muscles to move to nudge her forward, and can’t. He stays, perched on the edge of a hill, and his body feels like a stone, because he can’t. He has to, but he can’t. Because the thought that Jaskier might be among the dead--

But Jaskier might be there alive and needing help.

So Geralt does urge Roach forward and they descend the hill into smoke and ash and death.

It’s quiet at first, the smoke blanketing the sounds, a conquest flag speared into the ground listless in the still air, but as he enters the village, the sounds pour out and explode. He dismounts, stays close to her, makes himself smaller, as unthreatening as he possibly can for the horrified people around him.

Wails of survivors -- mostly women and children, and even those are few -- flicker like air heated by the embers in the dying ruins. Geralt holds Roach’s reins tight, wanders in aimless daze, breathes in smoke and blood and the pungent smell of grief as he glances over the bodies, quick, quick, because he has to look, but he can’t, he can’t...

“Jaskier!” screams Geralt. “Jaskier!”

His own voice echoes back at him, broken and high-pitched with fear. A man, one of the few left alive, screams nearby, his voice split raw over the body of someone he knew, and it fills Geralt’s blood until he pulls Roach away, away, anywhere. The smoke still hangs heavy.

“Jaskier...!” he says into nowhere.

He might not even be here, he thinks, gritting his teeth. He might have left before the siege began. He might--

“Geralt?”

He turns, and Jaskier is there, right there, unbelievable and impossible and real and always there.

“Jaskier,” rasps Geralt, reaches out to pull him close by a fistful of doublet until their foreheads knock together and he can grip Jaskier’s head with one hand and hold him close, close... “Jaskier.”

Over his shoulder, Roach nuzzles their heads. Jaskier’s eyes slip closed, just for a moment, his hands going up to Geralt’s shoulders, and he breathes. When Geralt breathes with him, the smoke still tastes bitter on his palate, but the air no longer ranks with his own fear, and he can feel the ground beneath his feet again.

“Geralt,” says Jaskier. “How...” he tails off as the unthinkable happens and words fail him; Geralt gathers him closer and steels himself to carry on speaking for the both of them.

He sinks his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, the silky strands the softest thing in this landscape of charred houses and death.

“I heard you were here,” he growls, pressing their foreheads even closer together, only to tilt his head a moment later to press his lips to the nearest part of Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier’s eyelashes, soft as his hair, flutter closed as he shakes his head -- or maybe pushes closer into Geralt’s touch.

“I left. Just yesterday.”

“Why... why are you here, then?” asks Geralt, even though the answer hangs in the wetness of Jaskier’s eyelashes, in the grime on his hands, in the redness of his eyes.

“I thought I could... help,” Jaskier says, voice small and lost and twisting Geralt’s heart.

Because of course he did. He’d got handy with the stitches and the herbs by Geralt’s side, and he never can pass by a crying child without crouching down and making a flower magically appear from behind their ear. Geralt looks at his soot-streaked face, at the leather purse hanging visibly empty by his hip. He’s probably given all his coin away already.

Geralt looks at Roach, thinks about the potions and the bandages in her saddle bags, looks at the dead and at the families mourning them and bleeding.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s help, then.”

Jaskier buries his face in Geralt’s neck, and Geralt pushes his nose into that soft hair and breathes, breathes, breathes... and remembers his deal with Fate. He grits his teeth. He would never dare to go back on it, lest it take Jaskier away. Deeper still, he knows he doesn’t want to go back on it. Not now that he’s finally decided. Pushed through the stupid, heavy, rock-hard thing inside him.

“I love you,” he whispers into Jaskier’s hair. “I love you,” he says again, louder, because Jaskier deserves to hear.

And as Jaskier lifts his head and looks at him with eyes blue like a piece of sky peering through the smoke, Geralt thinks bitterly that Jaskier deserves so much more than this moment amidst death and despair. And Geralt will give it to him.

He will take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, wrap him in furs and say the words again while fire blazes in the hearth and warms the bedroom in a fortress far from the dangers of the world. And on the first day of spring they will head south-west and not stop until they reach the Coast, and Geralt will say it again there, with seawater lapping over their feet and a breeze mussing Jaskier’s hair, his cheeks dark with the sun.

He will. They have the time. But right now is precious too, with Jaskier’s kiss tasting like tears and happiness and the willingness to wait for it. Right now, he holds Jaskier close, selfishly stealing one more moment of relief and happiness for himself, before he turns to do what little he can for those who haven’t had such luck.

Jaskier kisses him again; the briefest flash of a smile glitters like sunlight in the waves as he pulls away, and Geralt thinks soon, soon. Come springtime. They will head for the Coast.

But right now, they are here.

“I love you too,” says Jaskier and turns to reach for Roach’s saddlebags. “Now let’s... let’s... do what we can.”

They do.

[synechd0che]

Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 14: Masquerade

There are Roses That Come Without Seeking (AO3 Link)

@officialtolkiensecretsanta​

Pairing: Curufin/Finrod

Rating: E

Word Count: 2700

Summary:

Finrod throws a masquerade ball for Nargothrond’s Midwinter celebration

Note:

Obligate warning since they’re technically half-cousins

Second obligate warning for what I guess one could call identity porn, as they are initially unaware of the identity of the other. One could argue it borders on dub-con, hence the tag "chose not to use warnings" rather than my standard "none apply." It's worth noting that the sex is consensual, though Curufin is surprised to realize his partner is Finrod.

Title from Heart of my Own by Basia Bulat. I think it kind of characterized Curufin and Finrod's complex thoughts about each other.

Curufin slouched idly under a pillar, holding a flute of sparkling wine.  From here, though he could see the masked partygoers spinning across the tiled floor, he was presently content to watch the bubbles rise in his glass and let the music wash through him.  He was not averse to a good party, and even he would admit that Finrod's Midwinter festivities were second only to those of Tirion in their splendor, but networking in this anonymous throng would be impossible.    

Celegorm had slipped away some time ago, ostensibly to avail himself of the trestle tables along the mezzanine, but Curufin could see his grey wolf mask in the crowd, and his hands around the waist of some mouthful of a starling.  His son was nowhere to be seen either, though he had spoken that afternoon of meeting some of the other smiths for a foray to the Midwinter night markets in the lower town.  Curufin adjusted his own mask, a likeness of a red fox; with no other opportunities for diversion, he supposed he would accept another flute of wine from the next server and dance as he might with the next willing suitor.  

As fate would have it, the suitor appeared before the wine.  As much as Curufin prided himself on his keen senses, he did not notice the elf behind him until his voice came warm and low in his ear.  

"Peace, mellon, I mean you no harm," said the strange nér, holding out a steadying hand.  "I wish only to ask you for a dance, if I may."  

Curufin gave his suitor an appraising look.  His kingfisher mask, beaded in sapphire and crowned with a spray of primary feathers, covered his entire face.  Ever crafty, Curufin searched for a marker to identify the stranger, but even his hair was covered, tucked under the hood of his cloak, richly embroidered with the suggestion of speckled wings.  Curufin could see only the sparkle of his eyes, perhaps the suggestion of a smile through the parted beak of his mask.  

The suitor held out his hand expectantly.  Curufin, deciding that a quick turn across the floor was preferable to an evening spent sulking, swallowed his thimbleful of wine, palmed his glass off on the nearest server, and accepted.  His partner was perhaps a hair taller, his bearing dignified, and Curufin consented to let him lead and to be swept forward in the crush of dancers.    

The song the musicians were playing was fast-footed and breathless.  The dulcimers threw sound up into the vaulted ceilings, whose milky glass tiling passed the music about playfully before releasing it as a canorous drone that Curufin felt in his breastbone.  The style required each dancer be passed among strangers before returning to their partner, which precluded any length of conversation.  It did offer Curufin, from his vantage point in the arms of a tall nís costumed as a boreal lion, an excellent view of the stranger's lean legs.  

The music shifted to a slower courting tune, a season staple from Tirion.  On cue, the stranger pulled Curufin into the cage of his arms.  Someone had produced an ocarina, whose tune hung and wove through the air.    

After some time, the nér asked "Tell me, why is someone who dances with such grace relegated to a post under an archway?"  

Curufin laughed at that, showing a bit of canine.  "As useful as state functions are, I tire easily of mindless babble."  

"I do hope you aren't bored by a fête of my own design," his partner said with mock recrimination.  

"You are a lord on the planning committee?" Curufin said, trying to place him by voice among the number of nobles he had worked with in the weeks prior.  "I cannot say I recognize you, and you do not have the hands of a craftsman."  

"One could say I was party to the proceedings," he replied. "But here's what I really would like to know:  In your estimation of me, what sort of hands do I have?" His partner asked, beak close to his ear.  He smelled of something dark, and citrusy.  

Curufin flushed slightly – perhaps from the wine, from the proximity of his partner, or from his subtle insinuations.  He looked down to their hands interlaced.  "I suppose you have the hands of someone who has held a sword - though not recently - and you have the calluses of one who writes frequently and at length, so I conclude you are more competent than some of the nuisances and fops I deal with."    

"Spoken like a true smith," laughed the nér.  "What hand have you played in the Midwinter planning?"  

Curufin felt a stirring of pride.  "The instrument strings I made on commission for the musicians' guild.  My team was one of three overseeing the new crystal tableware.   My mask is stitched with carnelian and vermillion glass beads that I hand-drew." He paused contemplatively, adding "And I took more requests than I can count for petty baubles and costume trinkets for the rich and distinguished."  Curufin's eyes idled in their arc across his partner's body upon the rings on his fingers.  

"I suppose I am not the only one with competent hands tonight," murmured his partner.  "My compliments, for you must truly possess a rare – skillset."  Curufin was suddenly glad for his mask, and for his dark skin.    

The crowd was beginning to settle down; the old guard drifted away, though the dancing would continue until the wee hours of the morning as the servers were replaced and given leave to partake in the festivities.  Curufin decided to test the waters.  "I can already see parties splintering away toward the refreshment tables and a chance to rest their dancing slippers – or toward the quiet of the labyrinthine corridors of the keep, and indulgences of another sort."  

"As captivating as this conversation is," the other nér said, "can I interest you in continuing it somewhere more private?"  His eyes glinted behind his mask, intent obvious and just shy of predation.  

Curufin took a breath.  "I would not be averse to – a moment of indulgence."  He could have sworn the beak of his partner's mask snapped shut in quiet satisfaction.  

It was all they could do to exit the hall with a graceful demeanor and not that of hot-blooded youths just past their majority.  That evaporated as soon as they were far enough down the main corridor to be out of eyeshot, and Curufin yanked the nér down a side hallway and into a shallow alcove.    

Curufin went straight for his throat, pressing kisses to the soft crease between neck and jaw.  His hands fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt, sliding on the rich brocade.  In return, a hand cupped him between his legs, and another covered his mouth to silence his moan.  "I don't think I need to remind you," said the other nér, "that even down this hall, hidden as we are, they can still hear you if you cry out."  

It was true – Curufin could dimly hear the strains of music that floated out of the ballroom, the chatter of late-comers and the click of boots down the main corridor.  He was aware that at any moment, they could be discovered.  He was also aware of the aching hardness in his breeches.  "Undress me," he commanded.  

His partner was happy to oblige, boxing him up against the corridor wall, running his hands appreciatively down Curufin's body.  As he cast aside his outer shirt, he paused briefly to thumb aside the open neckline of his underclothes.  "Now that's an interesting tattoo," he remarked, "In a style I've seen but rarely.  It reminds me of the work of the Laiquendi... The only other I know who adopted that style is my kinsman, third-born of Fëanor.  Though, you are not he, with your dark hair - though you share the same haughty bearing."  

Curufin tensed slightly.  "Will that be a problem?" He asked.  Even now, there were some who were averse to the presence of kinslayers in Nargothrond.  

"No," the other nér responded, straightening the neckline of Curufin's smallclothes.  His exploration drifted south, and Curufin gasped when his clever fingers slipped inside his breeches to twist at his cock.  "And truthfully, I am eager to see to what use we can put that proud mouth of yours."

Itching to plunder that sweet-talking mouth, Curufin reached to untie his partner's mask.  "Kiss me and find out," he began to say, but in a dizzying rush found his face pressed against the mosaic tiling of the wall.  One hand trapped was trapped by the other nér, and with the other he braced himself against collapse.  The length of the nér's body was taut against his back; even fully dressed, Curufin could feel the strength in his core, in the arms that held him captive.  

"Isn't anonymity the point of the festival?" Quipped his partner, rutting against him.  Curufin let his breathing settle, contemplating the mosaic pattern of the wall, sea greens and blues mimicking waves on the ocean.  In the shuffle, the other nér’s hair had slipped from inside his hood.  It lay over Curufin’s shoulder.  Golden.  

“When you said you were party to the planning-“ began Curufin, before that clever hand found its way back in his breeches, thumbing across his foreskin.  His desire was undeniable now, almost painful.  He gasped again when the other nér struck up a measured rhythm.  

Curufin’s eyes drift to the hand that held him against the wall.  Now at eye level, he could see the pair of rings on the index finger.  Citrine and gold, unmistakable craftsmanship.  He remembered those twin rings, and for whom he had made them.  

He spoke again, voice hoarse but strong.  "I fashioned a number of Midwinter pieces, including ones for the King.  Tell me, from which smith did you procure them?"

Even though Finrod had mandated that guests come in disguise, the King himself had been easy to identify during the ball by the sparkle of the Nauglamír around his neck.  Even his costume had been ostentatious, a full mask in the moon-faced likeness of a barn owl, a train of snow-white feathers to match.  Curufin had seen him, during the ball, he had seen – a nér in a full mask, identified implicitly by a bit of jewelry.  Yet now...

"Will that be a problem?" Finrod mimicked sardonically.  He gave another cruel tug to Curufin's cock, light enough to grant small relief, hard enough to leave him wanting.

"No, I don't suppose there will be," Curufin replied.

"Good... good," Finrod said.  He forced Curufin to his knees.  The flagstones were cold beneath him.  He made to touch himself, but Finrod knocked his hand away with a slippered foot.  "Not yet; I think you can wait a bit longer."

Finrod kept one hand tangled in his braids, and used the other to undo his lacings.  Curufin moved to tilt his mask up, but Finrod pushed it back down over his eyes.  "Better leave that on, hmm?" He mused, freeing his length from his trousers.  "I think we're reasonably alone here, but if you wish to chance the whole of Nargothrond knowing how eager you are to fall to your knees, that's your choice."  

"The real question is," Curufin ground out from his position between Finrod's knees, "If you're here getting your cock sucked, who's running the kingdom?"  

Finrod waved his free hand carelessly.  "My man-at-arms, Edrahil.  I begged a few hours of freedom by swapping disguises.  He's a good sort, makes a decent False King, though I feel bad for leaving him covered in more suitors than the poor fellow know what to do with."  

Curufin rolled his eyes.  "What a task that must be, entertaining an entourage of willing morsels; I can see why you were desperate to escape."  

"Let it never be said," laughed Finrod, "that I scorn bedding those of abrasive character in favor of those tame confections seeking to curry favor with a king."  

Curufin responded by taking Finrod to the root and hollowing his cheeks.  The surge of sensation forced Finrod's head back against the wall.  With the chill of the tile seeping into his skull, he mused "Only you could suck a cock like you were delivering a divine punishment."    

"If you come on my mask, I will bite your manhood clean off."

"Peace; Eru, you're precious.  Someday I think we should replace that stick up your ass with something else, hmm?  Pity I don't have any oil."

Nose pressed against golden curls, Curufin snorted.  He swallowed once, deliberately, knowing before it happened how Finrod's eyes would fall shut, how his the muscles of his thighs would tense, how he would reflexively force Curufin further down his length.  

Finrod worked his hands deeper into Curufin's braids, thoroughly undoing hours of Celebrimor's careful work.  He thrust once, experimentally, into the wet heat of Curufin's mouth, and looked down as if to ask for permission.  Curufin gave his assent by way of grabbing him about the hips and pulling him forward into another stuttering thrust.  He seemed to get the cue then, manhandling Curufin a little as he pushed him back down onto his cock.  

Curufin had little control over these proceedings, and certainly in other circumstances Finrod would have been a more accommodating bedfellow, but as it happened he simply braced his right arm against the wall and his left upon Curufin's shoulder, and drove himself into the waiting warmth like a man seeking shelter from a storm.

The music still filtered into the corridor, mixing with the soft sounds Finrod made and couldn't contain as he rose toward his peak.  Finrod hadn't undressed - just let himself out of his laces - but Curufin was aware of his own disheveled state, cock hanging out the front of his trousers, shamefully hard, dripping for anyone to see.  The scene was mostly obscured by Finrod's cloak, but beyond the orange silk lining Curufin could the flicker of shadows arching down the corridor from the ignorant passersby in the main hall.  At that moment, he couldn't even bring himself to care.  

The only warning Finrod gave was the tighting of his grip and the way his breath halted as he doubled over.  He thrust once more, nearly choking Curufin, who swallowed around his girth, and stilled.  Finrod sighed, pulling free.  

"Touch yourself," he commanded as he tucked himself back into his laces.  "No, on your knees," he amended as Curufin made to rise, "I want to see you at your king's feet."

Any other day, Curufin would have had something cutting to say, but he wanted so desperately to come that he held his tongue - for possibly the first and last time of his life - and fisted his neglected cock in his hand.  "I won't last much longer," he murmured.

Finrod said nothing, just ran his fingers through the braids that were unspooling themselves down Curufin's back.  Curufin turned his face into the crease of Finrod's hip as he came, muffling the hoarse cry he couldn't bite back.  His seed spattered onto the flagstones, and the blue silk of Finrod's dancing slippers.  

He was allowed a moment's rest before Finrod drew him back to his feet, helped him lace his clothes, corrected the angle of his mask.  

"What about your slippers?" Curufin asked in a moment of contrition.  

"I am the King," Finrod said.  "I will simply walk back to my chambers.  And the people will simply ignore my slippers."  He paused for a moment, and then unhooked his cloak from about his shoulders.  Throwing it over Curufin, he said "You, on the other hand, might benefit from discretion."

"This doesn't even match," protested Curufin, "And – and people will know I got it from you."

Finrod removed his mask, pressing the only kiss of the evening to Curufin's lips before swiftly replacing it.  "No," he corrected, "if anything, they'll think you got it from Edrahil."  He disappeared down the corridor and into the faint music.

Note:

I signed up for the masquerade prompt with one pairing in mind and one pairing only. I think Curufin and Finrod are the rare-pair of people fascinated by unhealthy relationships and games of cat and mouse. Based on my reading and interpretation of the Silmarillion, I always kind of thought of the relationship between Finrod and Curufin and Celegorm as a game of wits, with grudging respect paid while trying to pull the rug out from underneath the other party. Of course, this is a game that Finrod eventually loses.

A note to characterization: Finrod may seem overly dominant here, and while I think he generally has a sunny disposition, he has a strong spine and won't pass up a chance to knock his cousin down a peg or two. I hope it was obvious that Finrod seems to catch onto Curufin's identity even before they leave the ballroom.

I chose the kingfisher as Finrod's disguise for a number of reasons. It's glamorous plumage disguise its prowess as a hunter, as it is capable of diving into the water without casting a ripple. However, most die young from starvation and cold winters, so one wouldn't say they were an apex predator by any means. I was fascinated by the idea of Finrod, always beautiful, sometimes deadly, choosing something like the Kingfisher, perhaps as a morbid sort of joke with regards to his foresight of his own death. I suppose their greatest dissimilarity in character is that the kingfisher has a rather ordinary song.

The reasoning behind Curufin and his fox mask, I assume, is self-evident.

The bit about the music in the ballroom is as accurate a description as I can give as a musician. Glass does in fact distort sound as it reflects it. There are two non-music halls one can play in (in my experience): ones that consume your sound and make for a surreally lonesome viewing and playing experience, and ones that bounce too much sound back like a series of echoes. Personally, the latter was the vibe I was going for in this fic, the creation of a droning tone without a droning instrument. Not an important detail but I'm a nerd.

Also I think Curufin absolutely knows how to make instrument strings, he probably does it on principle for Maglor. Personally, he's not that interested in music, but he absolutely is petty enough to learn a skill simply to do it better than the rest of Tirion.

[patandpran]

The New Routine

I wrote this a few days ago and I am not sure where it came from. I am still going to credit @yangkoogan @earthfluuke @gaysarawat and even @brightwin (Jelly’s song is so fantastic - go listen!!) for putting these two as a pairing in my head.

I fondly refer to this one as ‘the one where they don’t realize until too late that they’re already dating’.

The gang was down to two. Phuak had left on his education exchange and Tine was attached to the hip with Sarawat or at cheerleading practice. This left Ohm and Fong without much direction, neither of them had ever been at the helm of making social plans so they often found themselves half heartedly doing the same things they had done with Phuak and Tine around: going to bad restaurants, bar hopping and playing too many hours of videos games.

All Fong knew was that he still wanted to spend time with Ohm but something felt off about how they were spending their time together. It didn’t exactly feel wrong as it didn’t necessarily matter what they were doing, it just seemed like they were going through the motions of how they used to spend time with Phuak and Tine instead of making their own way. Fong hoped that this reality wouldn’t get in the way of them continuing to spend time together as there was something very grounding about spending time with Ohm that kept Fong sane.

One day, Ohm showed up on Fong’s doorstep with what appeared to be a picnic basket and a flicker of adventure in his eyes.

“Ready?” Ohm asked and Fong was rendered speechless. Upon noticing this, a flicker of apprehension crossed Ohm’s face before he continued, “I decided we needed to mix it up. Do something spontaneous.”

“S-sure.” Fong’s confusion suddenly turned into amusement but he held back his chuckles by biting his lip. “Where are we going exactly?”

“Adventure means mystery.” Ohm exclaimed, pulling out a pair of car keys and dangling them in front of Fong’s eyes. “We are going to drive until we feel like we need to stop.”

“Need to stop?” Fong questioned. “Do you mean like we’ll sort of just listen to our hearts and see when our intuition tells us to we’re where we need to be?”

Ohm nodded so earnestly in response that it almost broke Fong’s heart. He instantly recognized that his friend was going out of his comfort zone to try something new to redefine their new normal without their other two friends - to prove that they could make a new way of things without Tine and Phuak’s influence.

“Exactly.” Ohm answered. “So get your ass into gear and let’s hit the road.”

Fong slipped on a pair of shoes and was out the door in a matter of seconds. He had no idea what the day ahead held in store but the fact that Ohm was going out of his way to plan something different made Fong excited and nervous at the same time. It was so unlike their norm that it made Fong’s head reel with anticipation. He wondered what had inspired Ohm’s whirlwind suggestion for an adventure but decided not to overthink it too much lest he ruin the experience by over analyzing his friends intentions.

“Ready.” Fong shared as he locked his dorm room behind him and smiled at Ohm.

“Let’s do this.” Ohm declared excitedly before grabbing Fong’s hand and taking off in a run toward the parking garage.

The whole scene must have looked so ridiculous to an outsider but Fong was already having so much fun with Ohm that he didn’t care if they looked completely insane. They got to the car and Ohm let Fong’s hand go before opening the passenger door for his friend.

The action made Fong smirk as he climbed into the car and put on his seatbelt. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

Ohm laughed lightly at the response before placing the basket into the trunk and slipping into the driver’s seat. He rested his hands on the steering wheel after starting the ignition. He backed up and pulled on the main road of their university before asking, “Okay - so, North or South?”

“You seriously have no idea where we’re going?” Fong asked in surprise. “I figured the spontaneity thing was an act and you had a meticulous plan in place.”

“That would be how you would plan it.” Ohm responded and while it could have seen as an accusation if anyone else had said it, Fong knew that Fong meant no judgement with his words. He was just stating the facts because he knew Fong so well. “I, however, am choosing to surrender today’s destiny to the universe and see where fate takes us.”

“I feel like you have been reading too many self-help books. Or actually, knowing you, it was a self-help reddit chain.” Fong shook his head in amusement before chewing on his lip in contemplation. “Let’s go… somewhere with water.”

“You can’t be that specific!” Ohm cried out in protest. “North or South? We’ll see if water is what happens. And yes, maybe I have been down a few ‘make your own way’ threads on the internet lately but, hey, I’m choosing to make this a reality through action!”

“Okay… North!” Fong answered loudly, matching Ohm’s slightly manic energy. He knew his friend was excited about the prospect of paving their own way so he would lean into that as much as possible. This was already the most exciting thing they had done in months and they had barely even left campus yet.

“North it is.” Ohm agreed and turned onto the ramp that led North and merged onto the highway.

They settled into a comfortable silence for a while, unsure of how they were going to decide when exactly the right moment was to stop but both Ohm and Fong were simply enjoying their shared time together, especially with no specific criteria on their plans for the day aside from a picnic and a drive.

“I… made a playlist.” Ohm announced about ten minutes into their drive and looked surprisingly embarrassed by the admission.

Ohm had never shown much interest in music so Fong was pleasantly amused by the fact that his friend had gone out of his way to curate a playlist for their mini road trip. It made Fong realize that Ohm had actually put a lot of thought into their plans for the day despite wanting it to see like a ‘spontaneous’ proposition.

“Put it on.” Fong encouraged his friend and Ohm quickly connected his phone to the car’s speaker system.

As the first song began, Ohm turned his attention back to the road and started humming along with the first song which happened to be one by Scrubb. Fong watched Ohm start to bob his head along with the music through his peripheral vision and the sight made something in his chest ache and wish he had seen more of this side of Ohm before. This unguarded, completely in the moment and open to whatever possibility came their way version of his best friend fascinated Fong and he couldn’t wait to see where it took them.

The next song on the playlist was by CtrlS and Fong couldn’t help but be shocked. Ohm had never been particularly on board with the Tine and Sarawat situation, mostly because Ohm was so protective of Tine. Fong had been forced to do some major convincing to get Ohm to tolerate Sarawat’s presence so he was shocked to hear a song by Sarawat’s band on the playlist.

“Don’t even start.” Ohm blurted out before Fong could call his friend out on his hypocrisy. Ohm continued over Fong’s laughter, “Just because I like his music does not mean I like him.”

Fong rolled his eyes at how stubborn Ohm was. He knew that it came from a place of fierce protectiveness for his friend and it made Fong realize just how much Ohm cared for the people around him, despite how much he tried to downplay the emotions that he let others see.

“Fair enough.” Fong responded before spotting what looked like a green space of off the highway. “Hey! What if we stop here?”

“See? Told you it would just happen.” Ohm’s eyes lit up immediately and all the negativity that came with Sarawat being brought up melted from his expression.

Fong couldn’t help but feel a wave of fondness flow over him as he watched his friend relax into his usual positive demeanour. He turned off of the highway and found a parking spot near their destination. He hoped there was some sort of body of water to wade into considering the sun was beating down so intensely that his forehead had a fresh layer of sweat on it despite the car’s air conditioning.

“Here.” Ohm reached over after he shut off the car and pressed a handkerchief to Fong’s forehead before Fong even registered what was happening. Fong’s breath hitched at the close proximity and suddenly noticed the array of colours that were housed in Ohm’s eyes.

Ohm pulled away the handkerchief  and gave Fong a funny look, “Do I have something on my face?”

“N-no.” Fong’s cheeks burned at the question. “Thanks for that. Let’s try to find the water.”

Ohm pocketed the handkerchief before he shrugged and jumped out of the car. Fong collected himself and got out of the car as Ohm grabbed the basket from the trunk. Fong spotted the water in the distance and he raced toward, whether to escape the conflicted feeling he was experiencing or just because he loved the water so much, he wasn’t sure.

Fong heard Ohm trying to keep up with him as he reached the shoreline. Fong was thankful for the breeze as it helped calm down the blush that was presently on his face. He needed the momentary distance to recover from whatever the hell was going on between him and Ohm. The foreign feeling had popped out of nowhere and he felt himself struggling to navigate it.

“Are you going to go in?” Ohm asked and threw an arm over Fong’s shoulder.

The contact that usually felt platonic and casual suddenly was charged with something that Fong couldn’t quite place but he didn’t dare to separate himself from Ohm in fear that Ohm might read it as Fong being uncomfortable with the choice of outing.

“I don’t think so. I’m happy to just dip my feet in.” Fong murmured and looked toward his friend. The sun was dancing across Ohm’s face and Fong was taken aback by how serene the image was. His mouth felt dry and he was struggling to put words together but finally he managed to blurt out, “Should we find a spot to eat something?”

“That sounds great.” Ohm nodded firmly and moved his hand to grasp Fong’s again as if the gesture was something they did on a regular basis instead of it being a new occurrence. Fong was surprised to find himself relaxing into it and even finding comfort in the connection.

Ohm led them to a grassy spot in the shade of a tree and let go of Fong’s hand before opening up the basket. Fong watched as Ohm pulled out a blanket and draped it across the ground. A fleeting thought of just how romantic the whole scene was appeared in Fong’s mind and he was back to square one with a new layer of sweat spreading across his forehead, this time inspired by how nervous he suddenly felt. He obviously was overthinking this whole thing and Ohm was just trying to do something fun and different for his friend without thinking about the specific parameters of how date-like the whole setup was.

“I didn’t know exactly what you would like in terms of sandwiches so I made a tuna salad one and a peanut butter and jelly.” Ohm explained as he pulled out a few containers as he sat down on the blanket. “I also have a bunch of fruit and some drinks if you want one.”

Fong had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning widely at how adorable the whole situation was. Ohm looked at Fong expectantly and patted the empty space beside him on the blanket as an invitation for Fong to join him. Fong sat down and answered, “I think I’ll go for the peanut butter and jelly.”

“I figured that would be the case.” Ohm shared, seemingly pleased with himself as he handed Fong the container with the sandwich.

Fong opened up it up and began to munch of his sandwich as Ohm opened up the rest of the containers, humming absentmindedly as he went about the work. Ohm reached into the basket again and pulled out a container which appeared to be filled with lemonade.

“I’m so tired of those chewie drinks we have all the time.” Ohm shared, “So I made some lemonade from scratch!”

Fong was quite overwhelmed with the time and effort that Ohm had put into all of this - he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to make up for this the next time they went out together. Without thinking, he muttered, “I don’t think I’ve put this much effort into an outing even if it was for an actual date.”

Ohm suddenly froze and Fong immediately realized the implications of what he just said. Fong began to flounder for how to possibly retract the words or somehow play it off as a joke but the silence that stretched between he and Ohm made Fong feel like he was drowning. It wasn’t exactly awkward, it was just… heavy.

Shockingly, Fong didn’t find himself particularly afraid of the weight behind his words, he was more worried that he had made Ohm overthink his actions as much as Fong overthought his own. Ohm was the definition of carefree so the fact that he seemed to be absorbed in thought meant that he was seriously considering the words that Fong’s filter hadn’t quite caught.

“I…” Ohm began to speak and stopped himself before starting up again after he looked directly into Fong’s eyes, his gaze quite serious. “Would it be okay if it was an actual date?”

Fong felt his heart leap into his throat at the question. He knew that something had shifted between them since they started to spend time just the two of them but he had never been brave enough to admit that their relationship had started to lean toward something more than just friendship. It was somewhat of a relief for Fong to realize what had changed and in a moment of blind courage, he reached across and took Ohm’s hand in his.

“Yah.” Fong assured Ohm who looked as if he was terrified to hear how Fong was about to respond. “I think that would be more than okay. It’ll be like our new… routine.”

“How can you still be so rational at a time like this?” Ohm burst out laughing, throwing his head back before collecting himself. “But that’s what I think this works so well…”

Ohm squeezed Fong’s hand reassuringly and Fong’s mind was flooded with possibilities of what was next for them. He sighed deeply and Ohm pulled him closer so that Fong’s head could rest on Ohm’s shoulder. When the close proximity had made him panic before, it now made Fong completely relax into…

Their new normal. Their new routine.

Because sometimes you just have to try something new to uncover something that was already there.

[harley-sunday]

Final Approach [01]

Summary: Something’s different at Sandspit Airport when you return after some much needed time off. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader (f)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 3352

AN: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and I think I’m finally ok with putting it out there. You can blame my endless love for NGC’s ‘Air Crash Investigation’ (no crash involved here though!) and having worked in aviation for this. That it involves Chris Evans is somehow a given for me because he just seems to ‘fit’ the story.   For the observant reader - yes I already posted this a week ago, but I didn’t like the direction it was taking and so I changed some things around. You might want to reread :) 

Masterlist

You stifle a yawn just as Deb appears at your table with the Cobb salad you ordered a couple of minutes earlier, earning you a kind smile from the older woman before she says something that you don’t quite catch. Like pretty much always, Mike, the bartender, has turned the music up way too loud and so you point to your ear before you shake your head to let Deb know you didn't get any of what she said.

"You work too hard," she says, her voice raised just enough for it to reach you over the outro of Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run', the look on her face nothing short of judgmental, her arms now crossed in front of her chest for good measure. When your parents moved back to the mainland a little over ten years ago, Deb promised them to take good care of you and so you’re used to this by now.

There's a lull in the music then, in which you assure her you're fine even though you know she doesn't believe you. You sit upright to appear more awake but the scowl doesn’t disappear and you know there’s nothing you can do to convince her otherwise. She’s right, of course she is, but you can’t let her know that, now can you? “Must be because I just had a couple of weeks off,” you try in a last ditch effort, “too much sleep, I guess.”

The way she nods lets you know she doesn't really believe you but that she'll let it go for now. It's at that moment Mike turns up the volume even more for Chumbawamba's 'Tubthumping' to let everyone know happy hour is about to begin. A loud cheer erupts inside Don Cherry’s Bar and so all you can do is smile in a way that you hope tells her there’s nothing to worry about.

Deb just winks and mouths, "Enjoy your meal!" She never could stay angry for too long.

Like every Friday night the bar is slowly filling up, most if not all of the patrons Prince Rupert locals who have known each other, and thus by default you, since pretty much the day they were born. The high table you're sat at is closest to the door and so all throughout your meal a chorus of, "Hey, how are ya?" and, "Good, how about yourself?" echoes around you as more and more people make their way inside.

There’s chatter all around you but you eat in silence, eager to finish your meal and head home. No happy hour for you tonight, you still need to unpack and get some laundry done before you get back to work on Monday.  

As if on cue Deb brings your bill the moment you push the plate away from you, because that’s how well she knows you. You hand her your card and while you wait for her to return it you grab your jacket off the back of your chair and put it on, pulling the zipper all the way up because you know it’s going to be cold outside. They’ve predicted some snow over the weekend, which is unusual on the island, but there has been a chill in the air that tells you the forecast might be right.

Deb hands you your card and the receipt back with a smile and tells you to enjoy your weekend.

You’re about to tell her you will, but she’s already rushing off to another table and so instead you wave to Mike who winks at you from behind the bar. You greet a few other people on your way out and nod to the guy who’s holding the door open for you, who you recognize as someone you went to Kindergarten with.

It’s dark outside even though it’s still early, but that’s how it is this time of year. You hurry towards your car, hands deep in your pockets and shoulders up high, trying as much as possible to shield yourself from the cold. It’s not much better inside though and you’re quick to start the car so you can at least get the heater going. It takes you a few tries to get the engine running, but your car is old and always acts up when the temperatures drop below forty degrees and so you are not too worried.

That is until you’re almost halfway home and all of a sudden there’s a weird shudder that runs through your car before the ‘check engine’ light comes on. Before you even have a chance to react everything shuts off and you come to a complete standstill on the middle of the road. 

“Fuck.” 

Sixth Avenue isn’t a particularly busy street, day or night, and there are street lights on either side, but you still turn on your hazard lights, relieved to see they at least still work. With a sigh you get out and kick the front tire for good measure before you realize you’re going to have to push your car off the road until it can get towed. Leaning back in you put it in neutral and grab a hold of the steering wheel before you try to push it to get it moving. 

It won’t budge.

Fine. It’s fine. You’ll just leave it here for now and call Burt to come pick it up. His tow trucking service’s only a few miles away so it shouldn’t take too long. You take your phone out of your back pocket and push the home button only to see the screen light up with a battery warning. Of course. Unlocking your phone proves to be too much and so that dies on you too then. 

It takes everything you have not to scream in frustration and so you aren’t really paying attention to what’s going on around you.

“You ok?” 

The voice comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of you and so you can’t help but curse, “Jesus!”

“I’m sorry,” he takes a step back, hands up to show you he means no harm, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if you were alright and if you need any help.“

“Well, you scared the shit out of me,” you say even though, in all honesty, you’re glad there’s someone kind enough to come up to you. You take him in and realize you don’t know him, which is weird, because over here there really are no strangers. It’s hard to get a good look at his face though, because he’s wearing a baseball cap that’s pulled low over his eyes, the logo on it not one you recognize. It’s then you notice a dog sitting next to him, patiently waiting for whatever comes next. 

You’re about to ask him if he’s new here but then he interrupts your thoughts, “But you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. You motion towards your car then, “This thing though, not so much. And my phone’s dead, so you know, double the fun.”

He chuckles, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I think it’s the battery. I mean, you get an iPhone and you would think that by now they would have figured out how to make the battery last longer than one day, but no-“

“I was talking about the car,” he interrupts you and laughs, “but if you want to talk shit about Apple products for a little longer, please, be my guest.”

You smile and shrug, “It’s an old car, who knows what’s wrong with it? Maybe you could have a look?”

He puts his hands in his pockets and kicks the gravel at his feet, not looking at you now, “I’m not really that great with cars.”

You snort, “So much for helping a lady out.” 

“Hey,” he crosses his arms in a defensive manner, but smiles anyway, “at least I have a cell phone that’s fully charged, thank you very much.”

You throw him a wink, “That’s the one thing you have going for you at this moment.”

“Listen, why don’t I call someone for you and I’ll wait here until they arrive?”

“That’s really not necessary,” you hold up your hands when you see his eyebrows knit together in confusion, “I mean the call, yes, please, but really, you don’t have to wait here with me. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Let me at least call first to see how long it’ll take.” 

“Fine.” You give him Burt’s number and listen as he tells him where you’re at and what’s going on while you take a step closer to pet his dog, his tail wagging when you scratch him behind his ears. You can’t hear what’s being said on the other end, but he ends the call with a “Thank you,” shortly after.

‘He’ll be here in five,”

“See,” you nod, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Well, if you’re sure,”

“I am.” It’s not that you don’t want him to stay, it’s just that you don’t want to hold him here on a Friday night, you’re sure he’s got other things to do. You smile at him, “Thanks for your help though.”

He lets out a low whistle that has his dog jump to its feet, “No worries.”  

You’re quietly singing along to the song that’s been stuck in your head since the moment you got up this morning when a flicker of light on your left draws your attention. A quick glance over your shoulder and out of the window has you smiling, the reflection of the sun in the water of Mathers Lake bouncing around beautifully, like a welcome back sign from Louise Island. All around the lake there are flecks of orange and yellow, surrounded by fir trees that stay a dark shade of lush green all-year round.

Seeing Mathers Lake lets you know you’re almost at your destination and so you hit the switch to transmit the call to let Joanne know you’re on your way, “Sandspit Tower, this is PASCO seven five, fifteen miles out south, requesting inbound.”

“PASCO seven five, report over channel three for runway one left.”

You’re about to respond, almost absentmindedly, like you’ve done a hundred times before, but then you realize something’s off. It takes you a moment to realize what it is. Because unless Joanne’s voice suddenly dropped a few octaves, there’s someone else in the tower. Panic hits you almost instantly, knowing Joanne would never give up her seat out of free will. Hell, she tends to joke she’ll be at Sandspit until the days she- Oh shit.

“PASCO seven five?” The unfamiliar voice returns. “Report over channel three for runway one left.”

“Who the hell are you and what did you do to Joanne?” It comes out more like an accusation and less like the question you intended it to be, but you’re freaking out just a little bit because why isn’t Jo answering your call? Jesus, you were only gone four weeks.

“PASCO seven five, please confirm.”

There’s a lot more authority in his voice and it sets you on edge almost immediately. This can’t be a good sign. Right? You let out a frustrated sigh with the mic still open before you respond, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, reporting over channel three for runway one left.” Then, as an afterthought, “You still owe me an explanation though.”

“PASCO seven five,” there’s a hint of irritation seeping through now, “do I need to remind you of protocol?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you, but also because you know he’s right. You’ve broken just about every aviation protocol there is, but things like that never really mattered at Sandspit Airport, not until now anyway. Apparently whoever took over from Joanne is a stickler for the rules. Cursing quietly, you switch to channel three even though he’ll still be the one taking your call because Sandspit Airport isn’t big enough for Tower and Ground to be separate departments. And because you’re still a little upset and want to stick it to him, you put on the voice you only ever use at Bella Coola airport, where the woman working at ATC is an absolute bitch, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, requesting inbound on runway one left, if it so pleases you.” Then in a sing-song voice, “Thank you.”

The reply comes almost immediately and is as unfazed as it was before, “PASCO seven five, enter right for runway.”

Shaking your head ever so slightly you try to regain your focus - you have an airplane to land, after all. You’ll figure out what happened to Jo once you’re on the ground, you decide, before you sit up in your seat and relay the latest information, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, entering right for runway. Seven miles out.”

You’ve just started the checklist needed before you can start your descent when his voice returns, a little kinder now, “Joanne retired two weeks ago, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Any concern for protocol has disappeared, knowing full well things aren’t as strict once you’re on Ground frequency. At least that doesn’t seem to have changed.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you shake your head even though no one can see you, “no, she did not.”

“I’m sorry.”

Realizing how defeated you must have sounded, you clear your throat before you continue, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, four miles out, please stand by.” You end the call and try to clear your head, knowing you need to focus on the task at hand. No matter how small the plane, taking off and landing are where most fatal errors happen and so there’s no room for distraction. But the checklist isn’t long and everything is as it should be and so you call back not much later, “Sandspit Ground, ready for final approach, please advise.”

“PASCO seven five, confirmed on runway one left.”

Even though Joanne won’t be there to greet you, you can’t help but smile when you see the Sandspit Air Traffic Control Tower in front of you, the two runways of the small airport looking as pristine as ever, no doubt thanks to Joe’s commitment to the place and his new sweeper. “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, ready for touchdown on runway one left.”

“PASCO seven five, landing confirmed. Please taxi via Delta over to parking nineteen, one-niner.”

You scoff, pretty sure you heard the hint of a snicker coming through over the radio, “All the way in the back? Really?”

“Protocol, PASCO seven five," he replies almost instantly, but he doesn't sound all that serious.

“Fine,” you mutter before repeating, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, parking one-niner, taxi via Delta confirmed.” You lean forward in your seat a little as you fly past the tower, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious new air traffic controller. No such luck of course, because the mirrored windows only show the reflection of your plane. 

Almost there, you think to yourself then, as you take a deep breath that you hold in until you feel your wheels hit the tarmac and you get to add another successful flight to your record. Superstitious? Maybe. But you’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Nice landing, PASCO seven five,” he compliments once you’ve touched down. “Dave will be your valet for today. Please standby.”

“At least Dave’s still here,” you joke quietly. “PASCO seven five, standing by.”

Your smile only grows wider when you see Dave guiding you onto your parking spot, because like Jo he’s been at Sandspit for as long as you can remember. Once you’re in the right place you kill your engine and wait for the propeller to slow down somewhat before you open your door and jump down onto the tarmac, “Hi Dave!”

“Hey kid, how have you been?” He gently slaps your shoulder, always considering you one of the guys albeit being a little less rough with you. Which you appreciate. “How was your holiday?”

“Good, good,” you reply while you take off your sunglasses and put them in the pocket of your jacket.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was nice to be away for a while,” you admit easily.

Dave nods understandingly, “Sort of like a fresh start, eh?”

‘I guess it was,” you agree, although you don’t really want to talk about it. Not now. And so you change the subject rather abruptly, “But what’s this I hear about Jo retiring?”

“Well, you know she was long overdue anyway,” Dave explains as he opens your cargo door, “and then Roger had some troubles with his heart a couple of weeks back, right after you left, and I guess she decided enough was enough, ya know?”

“Hmm,” you respond absentmindedly, trying to figure out if you have time to go see Joanne and Roger soon, a little disappointed when you realize it won’t be for at least another couple of weeks. “Roger’s ok now, though?”

“Sure is,” he says with a wink, “they’re tough, those two.”

“Just like you,” you offer kindly, even though you absolutely mean it. Dave is one of the most dedicated ground crew out there and always ready to give you a hand even though you’ve told him many times already you’re more than capable to handle your own. Something Dave somehow never seems to remember.

“Oh stop it,” he grins, as he reaches into the cargo hold and grabs the first bag of mail, “you’re making me blush.”

“So…” you draw out, “who’s the guy replacing Jo?” You take the bag from him and place it on the back of his truck, “Sucker for protocol or what?”

“He’s not that bad,” Dave offers, “came in right after Jo left, from somewhere on the east coast I think. We still busy teaching him how things work around here.” He laughs then, “Don’t worry, kid, Joe and I will have him whipped into shape for you in no time.”

“Ah, thanks Dave,” you reply as you take another bag from him, “I knew I could count on you.”

“You know I got your back, kid.” He turns to you then and nods to his truck, “Let’s get some coffee before we load you up for your trip back, eh?”

Enjoying a cup of freshly brewed coffee you listen to Dave as he brings you up to date to the latest news and gossip at Sandspit Airport. Turns out none of the crew particularly liked the guy they sent in to replace you while you were on holiday, and once you learn it’s Chad Dave’s talking about you can’t help but agree. The guy’s a dick.  

“Alright, kid,” Dave grunts as he gets up out of his chair after putting his now empty cup down on the table, “let’s get you loaded.”

There’s just one mail bag to take with you this time and some empty crates you know have to go back to Vancouver Airport eventually, and so loading only takes a couple of minutes. Before you know it you’re back in your seat, calling the tower once you’ve filled out the departure forms, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, at parking nineteen, one-niner, ready for departure.”

There’s no immediate reply but you decide to give him a couple of minutes, after all you’re not really in a rush. Plus, you figure, he might be occupied with some of the sightseeing planes that always circle the island in the afternoon and so you busy yourself with the weather forecast instead.

He comes on not much later, sounding a little out of breath as though he has been running, “PASCO seven five, hold short for runway two right via Charlie.”

You decide to ignore the probability of having caught him on a bathroom break and instead confirm, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, holding short for runway two right via Charlie.” As you line up at the runway you glance at the tower again, but of course there’s nothing to see from the ground and so you shrug and call him instead, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, ready for takeoff.”

“PASCO seven five, fly straight out until advised, runway two right, cleared for takeoff.”

“Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, taking off, flying straight out.” You open the throttle and build up speed as you move along the runway until finally there’s liftoff and you’re steadily climbing higher and higher. Some people ask if it never gets old, flying from one small airport to the other, the flights only three and a half hours at most, but you always assure them that even after seven years you still get as excited to get airborne as you did the first time.

“PASCO seven five,” he says, his breathing back to normal, “turn at your discretion.”

“Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, will turn at my discretion.” Then, because there’s no need to blame him for Jo’s departure and it’s always nice to be on good terms with ATC, “See you on Thursday.”

“Safe travels,” he responds and you swear you hear a hint of a smile.

“Sandspit Tower,” you scold, already starting to laugh at your own joke, “do I need to remind you of protocol?”

[mdzsgildedfate]

Gilded Fate - Chapter 4

Reincarnation AU [Chapter 4/?] Characters: Xue Yang, Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, Original Characters. Pairings: Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi

In all the world, there were very few cultivators that had achieved immortality. There was BaoShan SanRen, of course, who’d long since disappeared from the world after vowing to never take another disciple. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, too, found their home together away from other cultivators. Wen Ning and Song Lan were technically immortal as Fierce Corpses, but most people believed them to be nothing more than myth and legend.

The other immortals, the only ones who hadn’t secluded themselves away, were Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, and Ouyang Zizhen. As good friends since childhood, the four cultivators had come together to build a joint sect on the south face of a mountain between LanLing and Gusu. The small village at the base of the mountain was one the larger sects paid no attention to, so when the renowned four immortal cultivators established their school there, the villagers flocked to their doors in hopes of being taken on as disciples.

At almost five hundred years old, the boys had long forgotten thoughts of encountering souls from their lives before immortality. All their attention was funnelled into their school, working hard to combine the principles from each of their clans into a single cohesive curriculum. Despite the first generation of disciples being an embarrassing train wreck of trial and error, they managed to produce a handful of decent and respectable cultivators.

The second generation was well into their studies when a long forgotten ghost appeared at their doorstep. Wen Ning had travelled to their mountain, bringing along with him a girl no older than 8 or 9 years old. After a heartfelt reunion between Lan Sizhui and his estranged relative, Ning had explained that he suspected the little girl to be the reincarnation of his older sister, Wen Qing. He begged them to take her in and teach her cultivation, hoping to give her a better life than the one she’d led in Wen Ruohan’s debt.

They agreed and Wen Ning left, saying if he stayed he’d be too much of an influence, either by his own feelings or his existence as a fierce corpse. So Wen Qing became Li JiaYi and was indoctrinated into BaLanSu Shi. Sizhui watched over her studies personally, feeling his own memories of Qinq resurface as she grew into the spitting image of her past self. By the time she was fourteen, her skills were well known in the cultivation world. With JiaYi representing the BaLanSu sect, they grew to be a gentry clan alongside Jin, Lan, Nie, and Jiang.

The world seemed bright and the future seemed promising until JiaYi became plagued with insomnia. The other disciples could find her up at odd hours of the night, practicing with her sword in the courtyard or poring over books in the library. After she fell asleep on her feet during a night-hunt and nearly lost her head to a measuring snake, Sizhui began playing Clarity for her twice a week before bed. For a while, it seemed to help.

When her soul finally awakened, the four immortals were unprepared. Soul awakening was rare and usually only heard of in small, insignificant instances. A farmer remembering a life where he fought in a war and so his sword skills improved slightly. A handmaid remembering a life in a kitchen and suddenly preparing complex dishes with ease. Nothing to the degree of what happened with Li JiaYi.

On the day Ouyang Zizhen was meant to marry, JiaYi stormed into the banquet hall and went on a sleep-deprived tangent about the crimes the gentry clans had committed against the Wen clan. When Zizhen tried to calm her down, she snapped and killed half the wedding guests, including Zizhen’s bride, before disappearing. If the slaughter of prominent clan members, some of which were clan heirs, wasn’t enough to bring the BaLanSu clan to an end, Wen Qing continued her siege of revenge in the city below.

The entire population of Da Su was decimated indiscriminately and reanimated as an army of walking corpses. The destruction was enough to bring Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian out of seclusion to intervene. With their help, the walking corpses were destroyed, but in the end it was Wen Ning who subdued Qing long enough for Sizhui to finish her off. In the aftermath, the JinLan Yang sect was abolished and Zizhen removed himself from the cultivation world to a life of solitude.

Centuries could lessen the guilt and pain of what happened with Wen Qinq, but it was something Sizhui had never been able to dispel from his mind. He encountered more and more reincarnated souls; some he knew, most were strangers, but he dedicated himself to each and everyone in repentance for his failure to Li JiaYi.

~X~

When Jin Ling revealed the contents of his conversation with Xinyi the night before, Sizhui and Jingyi felt a wave of dread wash over them. Experiencing the symptoms of awakening for so long was utterly unheard of, and for someone like Xue Yang to persist for so long without losing his mind- It felt impossible to believe.

“A-Yuan. This is your area of expertise.” Jin Ling said, breaking the long silence that had fallen between them. “How do we proceed?”

Sizhui shook his head slowly. “I… I’m not sure…”

“He seems perfectly fine.” Jingyi said, eyes glued to the floor. “He shows no signs of awakening. He shows up for class on time, he does his work well, he has friends- I don’t.... I don’t see how this is possible.”

“Last semester.” Sizhui chewed his lip anxiously. “My class last semester was earlier than yours, A-Yi. He was almost always late, and missed class so frequently I had to fail him. I thought he just didn’t care about the class, since he’s only majoring in anthropology because of the Wang Collection.”

“The what?” Jin Ling interjected, getting brushed off immediately.

“I can’t believe I dismissed such an obvious sign.”

“That still doesn’t explain how he’s coping so well.” Jingyi was pacing around the room now, chewing on his thumbnail. “Do we even need to do anything right now?”

Sizhui was silent for a moment, considering their options and the position they were in before speaking. “Since he seems fine for now… let’s try to hold out until we leave Leng Shuang. We can’t seal him without arousing suspicion, and guiding his awakening would just be a burden on Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen.”

The others nodded in agreement and set the conversation to rest for now, heading out to rejoin the group of students Song Lan had led out to the clearing near the temple. While Jin Ling headed off on his own again, Sizhui and Jingyi were left alone to keep an eye on Xinyi, watching out for any symptoms they may have missed before. In their absence, the students had already constructed a dozen or so poorly-made kites and were getting ready to send them up as targets.

Song Lan guided the students to line up in groups of five, with everyone else waiting impatiently behind them, and showed them how to hold their bows. The first group fired off their first arrows and missed their kites completely. Going through four more arrows each, only two kites were brought down. The second group consisted of Xinyi, Chen, QianHua, and MingYue, which of course made their turn an unspoken competition. Chen shot all five arrows into the air with no luck. QianHua nicked his kite on his fourth try, but it stayed suspended in the air mockingly. MingYue brought her’s down on the second try, and Xinyi shot his down with the first arrow.

After retrieving their kites, MingYue turned to intercept Xinyi with a smile. “Nice shooting-”

“No.” Xinyi picked up his kite and turned away from her without so much as a sideways glance.

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, crumpling her kite slightly. “We’re here for four more days, are you really going to ignore me the whole time?”

“We?” He asked, back still turned to her. “Didn’t you come here with your twin? You’re not part of my class, I don’t have to pay attention to you.”

“He’s not my twin, he’s…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are the matching robes a couple outfit? My bad.” Xinyi rolled his eyes, shooting Chen and QianHua an exasperated look as he rejoined them.

“Hardly!” MingYue’s grip on her kite tightened, tearing through the paper. She took a deep breath and loosened her grip, forcing a small smile. “Look. I may not be part of your class, but we’re here together regardless. Can’t we just be civil with each other?”

“I’ll be civil with you.” QianHua stepped in, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Her smile tightened, hiding an air of disgust. “A-Xin, I-”

Xinyi spun back to face her now, throwing his kite to the ground and stepping close to her. “First of all, don’t fucking call me that. Ever. Again. Second of all, there’s twenty other people here for you to bother. Just because your freak boyfriend keeps ditching you, doesn’t make you my fucking babysitting job. Just piss off!”

Without another word, he turned back and stormed off into the trees. Chen and QianHua exchanged startled looks and ran after him, ignoring Sizhui and Jingyi calling after them. Once they caught up to him, QianHua swung an arm around his neck, walking alongside him on the path back to the temple.

“Man. What fucked up shit did a girl that hot have to pull to make you blow her off like that?”

Xinyi pushed his arm off, but slowed his pace for the two to keep up with him. “She just gets under my skin. She’s irritating. And I don’t get why she’s suddenly trying to reconnect with me. I haven’t heard from her in two fucking years, and now suddenly she shows up here out of nowhere and wants to be my friend?”

QianHua nodded thoughtfully, humming obnoxiously. “Sounds like fate to me. You guys must have been lovers in a past life, destined to be together.”

Xinyi scoffed. “The only thing she’s in love with is my family’s artifacts. I’m certain that’s the only reason she dated me. I’d sooner marry Chen than consider giving her another chance.”

“Hmm… Chen’s pretty in these robes, but is he really wife material?”

“I’d make the best wife. Don’t be jealous A-Qian.” Chen replied, grabbing Xinyi’s hand. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the only one of us that knows how to cook.”

Xinyi broke out in laughter and pulled Chen close. “See? Perfect! I never have to look at MingYue again.”

“Wait! I forgot about his cooking, I want Chen for my wife!” QianHua grabbed Chen’s other hand and tried to pull him away from Xinyi.

“Hey! Hands off my wife, how dare you disgrace her like that!” Xinyi pulled Chen behind him and snatched up a stick from the side of the trail, brandishing it at QianHua. “Your whole clan should pay for her dishonour!”

Chen broke down to his knees, laughing so hard tears welled up in his eyes. The two launched into a dramatic sword fight, chasing each other up and down the trail, jumping off of rocks and spinning around trees. QianHua got two good strikes in, which just urged Xinyi to fight harder. He found another stick and held them both up at his foe.

“Yin QianHua! I never like to exaggerate when I’m talking.” Xinyi smirked and lunged forward, swinging both swords down at QianHua. “If I say I’m gonna kill someone’s entire clan, I’ll actually kill their entire clan. I won’t even leave a dog behind!”

QianHua blocked the first two blows, but missed the third as he burst out laughing. “A-Xin!”

Xinyi pushed QianHua to his knees with his foot and pointed his sticks at him.

“A-Xin!” QianHua kept laughing, even with the ‘swords’ at his throat. “A-Xin, you should be careful wielding two swords like that.”

Xinyi paused, breaking character to toss a bemused glance at Chen, who only shrugged in return.

“You don’t know the term ‘Ryoutoutsukai’?” QianHua dropped his stick and wiped tears from his eyes with his sleeve. “I didn’t realize you were so serious about marrying Chen.”

Xinyi was about to question the man further, but their nonsense was finally cut short by a pointed throat-clearing. Three sets of eyes shot up to see Lan Jingyi and Song Lan staring them down disapprovingly. QianHua and Chen both bolted to their feet, brushing dust and leaves off their robes.

“If you three have no interest in participating with the group, I can find you a better activity.” Jingyi said sternly, holding a hand out to signal them back towards the temple.

Once they returned, the three were sat down in the courtyard and left to stew in their nerves while Jingyi disappeared inside the temple. When he returned, each of them were given thick, blank notebooks, a couple dozen scrolls, inkwells, and brushes.

“These scrolls contain the 3,000 principles of the Lan clan. Transcribe them.”

~X~

It was nearly ten in the morning by the time Jin Ling made his way back to the pond. Despite having spent hours the night before exploring every inch of the surrounding area, things looked different during the day and he was bound to notice something he hadn’t seen before. He circled the pond a few times, trying to see if there was any spot where the water was clearer. When nothing new revealed itself, he decided to pull the compass back out and turn his attention to the forest.

As he followed his previous route, Jin Ling checked the talismans and sigils he’d left. Everything was still in place, untouched and unchanged. It almost seemed like a waste of sigil papers. Heaving a sigh, he ripped them down to hang up elsewhere later on. Reaching his last set of papers, he took out the compass and watched as the needle spun and jerked around, finally stopping to point up the hill in front of him.

He packed the papers away in his sleeves and started the climb. After ten or fifteen minutes, Jin Ling found the remnants of an old beaten path and began to follow it, leaving a sigil behind on one of the trees. The spiritual energy in the air had increased, giving him a small feeling of hope that he was close to finding what he was looking for. With the sensation growing stronger, Jin Ling wondered how Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen hadn’t been able to pick up on this.

During his first night at the temple, Jin Ling had questioned the two about it, but neither one seemed aware and had reassured him that if anything malicious resided in their mountains, they would have slain it right away. Not wanting to insult their cultivation, he’d dropped the subject, but continued to investigate on his own. Having Sizhui and Jingyi’s students at the temple provided a distraction for the priests and an excuse to ditch MingYue, not wanting to endanger her unnecessarily until he knew what exactly he was tracking.

Having followed the path for half an hour, Jin Ling slumped down against a tree to rest, deciding to stop for lunch before deciding whether or not to turn around and follow the path the other way. He’d barely taken a sip of water before a rustling in the trees had him springing back to his feet. He drew his sword and froze, straining his ears at the sound. The woods were quiet for a moment, but then the rustling came again. A twig snapping, leaves being disturbed, the clumsy sound of footsteps. Jin Ling walked forward slowly, approaching the noise with his sword pointed out.

From behind a thicket of vines, an ambling figure stumbled forward. It’s skin was nearly black, leathery, and it’s movements were stiff and jerky. It’s clothes were dirty and ripped and it’s eyes had no pupils. Jin Ling recognized the thing immediately as a walking corpse. It’s spiritual energy was low and posed no threat to Jin Ling, but it’s presence brought an unbelievable sense of foreboding. How many millenia had passed since Jin Ling had last seen a walking corpse? How many millenia had passed since he’d last seen anything beyond low level restless spirits?

Jin Ling lunged forward and slayed the thing with ease. A quick search of the corpse revealed no clues as to how it had transformed. Something about the modern world had quelled corpse transformation- if there was one here now it could only mean someone with cultivation abilities had reanimated it intentionally. In the past, Jin Ling had only encountered a handful of situations like this. One turned out to be an immortal who’d turned to necromancy, driven mad by her long life in solitude. Most instances were descendants of forgotten cultivator families who’d tried practicing with incomplete lessons passed down through the generations.

Although there had also been a couple instances of reincarnated cultivators who’d lived traumatic lives, died gruesomely, and awakened too suddenly. Considering the current circumstances, Jin Ling had a hunch as to which scenario he was probably dealing with. Packing away the corpse inside a qiankun pouch, the cultivator carried on in the direction the thing had come from. He tracked it’s path for a few hundred yards before it seemed to disappear. No other corpses appeared, so he decided to finish for the day and head back to the temple. Having wasted most of the day backtracking all around the mountain, he was looking forward to eating dinner and having a drink with Sizhui and Jingyi.

When he got back, Jin Ling was surprised to find only three boys sitting in the courtyard, as opposed to the gaggle of twenty-or-so children he was bracing himself for. Song Lan, Sizhui, and Jingyi were nowhere to be found. At a loss for anything else, Jin Ling walked up behind one of the boys and looked down at the notebook that was slowly being filled. He quirked an eyebrow.

“How’d you piss Jingyi off that bad?” He asked, startling Chen so badly he practically leapt over his table, spilling his inkwell onto the ground.

“Wh-where’d you come from?” Chen scrambled back, pushing his glasses back into place, smudging one of the lenses in the process.

“From behind you. Obviously.” Jin Ling retorted, turning to Xinyi. “This was Jingyi, right? What’d you do?”

Xinyi shrugged indignantly. “That girl you brought with you was pissing me off and she wouldn’t leave me alone, so I left.”

“Hmph. Whatever. Where’s Jingyi now? And Sizhui? Where is everyone?”

“Eating inside.” QianHua replied, slumping over his table.

Jin Ling narrowed his eyes. “What, did they forget about you? Get up. Don’t transcribe anymore of that bullshit.”

The three boys shot up, chirping out thank you’s and trailed after Jin Ling like baby ducks, following him into the temple to where everyone else was eating. He shooed them in and directed them to sit down before joining Sizhui and Jingyi. The latter gave him an annoyed look, immediately berating him for bringing the three back in.

“Jin Ling! Don’t interfere with the way I discipline my students! Did they even finish transcribing the principles? How can you undermine me like this-?”

“A-Yi, eat your dinner.” Jin Ling cut him off, shoving a piece of lotus root into his mouth. “There’s 3,000 Lan principles and you had them using brushes. They wouldn’t have finished even if they worked nonstop for the next four days.”

Jingyi frowned, mumbling through the root. “That’s still not for you to decide…”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Jin Ling snapped back. “Song Daozhang. Why has Xiao Daozhang not joined us for a meal yet?”

Song Lan looked over, tearing his eyes from where Xinyi and his two friends sat in the corner. “He’s here tonight, he just left to make more tea.”

~X~

After seeming to only see Xiao Xingchen when he was alone, Xinyi was relieved to finally see the man at dinner, confirming he hadn’t hallucinated him. However, it didn’t make him any less of an enigma. Xiao Xingchen hadn’t spoken at all the entire meal. Even when one of the professors or Jin Ling addressed him directly, he’d only smile or nod. With how easily Xingchen spoke to Xinyi, it seemed strange that he wouldn’t speak to the men he actually knew. The curiosity ate at him, but there was no way to even get near him with Song Lan there, and at the end of dinner, Xingchen quickly disappeared again.

Xinyi shrugged and decided to worry about it later. After staring at those scrolls for over two hours, his brain was too fried to do anything but go to bed. Accompanied by Chen and QianHua, Xinyi dragged his feet back to their shared room. They stripped out of their robes in silence and slipped into their beds, too tired to even complain about Jingyi’s arcane punishment. The only break in silence came from QianHua just as they were dozing off.

“Hey….”

“What.”

“After that battle today... you’re not even going to sleep next to your wife?” QianHua whispered, stifling laughter.

Xinyi snorted and grabbed whatever piece of clothing was nearest to him and chucked it at him. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

Do not kill within Cloud Recesses.

Do not fight without permission.

Do not go out at night.

Do not make noise.

Do not walk too fast.

Do not laugh for no reason.

Do not sit with a disgraceful pose.

The words echoed over and over again. Ghostly white figures walked past him in a line, one after another. As the whispers grew distant and muddled, the figures faced him and moved in closer. The one directly in front of him was a middle-aged woman, her face lined with worries. Her soft eyes were upturned with sorrow and tears spilled over her cheeks.

“How could you kill me so easily?”

Her voice was filled with heavy sobs. Tears spilled out faster and stained her pale face.

“You didn’t even spare my daughter, who was only four years old.”

A man took her place, his features much harsher and filled with anger.

“How disgraceful you are, cutting up my corpse for him.”

A young boy around his age spoke next.

“My body was never found. I was read no burial rights. No one burned paper money for me at a shrine. Why do you get to live again while I’m trapped in restlessness?”

He turned away desperately, trying to escape the ghosts coming towards him.

“You were still laughing as you carved the flesh from my bones.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands.

“You turned me into a corpse and made me kill my own brother.”

“I was on my way to my wedding-”

“You killed my children in their beds-”

“You were still laughing-”

“Was it fun?”

The whispers disappeared and, slowly, he opened his eyes. Only one ghostly figure remained. A man who shined like moonlight, with pale skin like porcelain, who’s only flaw was white bandage wrapped around his eyes.

“Was it fun?”

Two red blotches appeared on the bandages where his eyes would be.

“Of course it was. It’s always fun for you.”

The red bled down his cheeks.

“Killing people… it’s just a game to you.”

His throat opened up and added to the red pouring from his eyes, blooming down the front his white robes.

“Was my death… fun?”

Xinyi opened his eyes. The room was still dark. Chen and QianHua were still asleep beside him. He sat up and kicked the blankets off of him, his weary gaze settling on the crouched silhouette in the corner. Was that Chen’s backpack and clothes piled up? He squinted, leaning forward into a kneeling position. The silhouette mirrored his actions and leaned forward. His heart lurched and he jumped to his feet, his fingers turning cold. The silhouette stood up and took a step forward.

It’s long, black hair was disheveled, the knot at the top half falling out of it’s ribbon. It’s clothes were loose and sloppily held together. It’s eyes were blank slates, no pupils to indicate what Xinyi already knew- that it was looking directly at him. He looked down at Chen and QianHua for a split second, and when he looked back, the man was gone. Not waiting for it to come back, he opened the door and slipped out into the hall.

“Xue Yang!”

The figure reappeared in the hallway, spitting the words out with one finger pointed up accusingly. Fear shot through Xinyi’s body like electricity and sent him flying down the corridor, paying no attention to which way he was going, not stopping until he nearly collided with the closed door of the artifact room. He yanked the door open, stepped into the room, and slammed it shut. On his hands and knees, Xinyi crawled across the floor and made himself as small as possible in the far corner of the room.

Just as his heart rate was finally returning to normal, the door began to slide open. He held his breath, hoping the ghost somehow wouldn’t find him if he didn’t move or make any noise. But the man that appeared in the doorway wasn’t disheveled or dressed in rags. He was dressed in a plain, white night robe and his hair was neatly combed down his back. Xiao Xingchen stood across from Xinyi, his eyes finding him in the dark immediately.

“Appreciating the art?”

Xinyi let out a heavy breath of relief. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Xingchen smiled. “I was already awake.”

The light from Xingchen’s lamp illuminated the room as he came inside and closed the door behind him. He crossed the room and knelt in front of Xinyi, placing the lamp on the floor beside them.

“Nightmare?”

Xinyi nodded slowly. “How’d you guess?”

“It’s the middle of the night.” Xingchen replied, his smile widening. “And you’re hiding in the only room in the temple full of swords.”

He looked over at the wall of swords beside him, having not even noticed them until now, and broke out laughing. Or crying. Or both. He covered his face with his hands, trying not to let the other man see.

“Xinyi?” Xingchen reached a hand out and placed it on Xinyi’s knee.

After a moment, he dropped his hands, meeting Xingchen’s gaze.

“Did something else happen?”

Xiao Xingchen’s face showed such genuine concern it hurt Xinyi’s heart. Something about it made him want to laugh again, but another part of him wanted to tell Xingchen what he saw, confide in him about all the horrible nightmares he’s been having and how now he seemed to be plagued by restless spirits.

“Xingchen…” His fingers rubbed together anxiously. “What does… Xue Yang mean?”

The man’s body went rigid. The smile disappeared from his face and his gaze hardened. Xinyi regretted his question immediately. He wasn’t sure which was worse; the way Xingchen was looking at him or the fact that he recognized the words the ghost had shouted at him.

“Why are you asking me that?” He asked planely.

Feeling his nerves building up, Xinyi laughed quietly and looked away. “It’s nothing. It’s just nonsense from my dream.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He clenched his fists. “Would you believe me if I said I heard it from a ghost?”

Xingchen was silent and Xinyi couldn’t help but look back up. To his relief, the angered expression he wore before had dissipated and his features were soft again. The man looked down at the flame from the lamp, wrapping his fingertips on the floor, drumming out that same beat from the day at the river. After running through the beat several times, Xingchen looked back at Xinyi.

“Every artifact in this temple is thousands of years old. The tapestries, the fans, and porcelain dishware. They all have ghosts attached to them. Most people aren’t sensitive enough to hear them.” Xingchen took Xinyi’s hand and held it between his own. “These restless spirits think only of why they’re trapped here. Time is frozen for them, so they don’t understand things like forgiveness or change. Your nightmares have made you vulnerable to them- you can hear them now.”

Xinyi swallowed hard, unsure of whether or not he believed what the man was saying. He didn’t want to believe it- that the ghosts he saw were real and that he was going to keep seeing them. Was it just one more horrible reality that he’d have to adjust to, like he had to adjust to the nightmares?

“Xue Yang.”

He looked up, startled to see that Xingchen had leaned in closer to him.

“It’s a name.” He looked to the right where JiangZai stood in its case. “The name of the man who owned that sword.”

[sunflowerstache]

Life Is A Highway

Day 1: While Taking a road trip, Harry looks back on fond memories with his love A/N: I am beyond proud of this piece because it’s completely different than my usual style of writing! I really hope you enjoy it! Please make sure to show some love to your favorite writers and their pieces during this event! Everyone participating is out of this world talented and I can’t wait for you all to read their pieces! Happy Summer!

Word Count: 3.7k 25 Days of Summer Masterlist Find the rest of my writing  here!

There are certain moments in life that highlight every decision you’ve made, reminding you how lucky you are to be living the life you’re in. It’s almost like watching specific memories vividly play through your mind while doing the most mundane activity, and for Harry, that moment came while driving down the backroads of Tuscany.

For the last eight days, the region had been a breathtaking refuge for he and his little love; hiding out from any prying eyes or questioning glances. As those eight days came to a close, they were now moving on, heading south to Positano in hopes of finishing off their vacation surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery the world had to offer. But, it was proving difficult for Harry to find anything more beautiful than the view to his right.

It seemed the vacation had been giving his girl’s skin a bit more of glow each day, because sitting next to him, with the Italian sun slowly setting behind her while delicately singing along to the music floating through the car, he swore he was looking at an angel. How someone could look so breathtaking doing absolutely nothing, and the fact that he got to wake up each morning and spend his days with his own angel on Earth, was beyond him. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he knew he was done for, that everything else in life would pale in comparison to how he felt when he looked into her eyes that day in Going Underground Records.

Harry was on his way to lunch with a few friends in Malibu when he passed the record shop. The decision to stop inside was such a rash one that the cars behind him beeped multiple times when he abruptly turned his steering wheel and zoomed into the parking lot. It was a small place on Melrose Ave, the front of the store mostly glass so he could see there weren’t many people, which calmed him slightly. He had just come back from Jamaica, hiding away there for weeks to get as inspired as he could for his first album, but his fans were getting antsy. It had been two years since he had released any sort of music and he couldn’t blame them, he was getting anxious as well. But anytime he was seen out, the tabloids and fans would be speculating if new music was even coming at all, and he hated it. Music was coming, they just had to give him some time!

So, when he walked in and the two older men and one woman, who seemed to be looking for something for someone else - based on the constant glances between a piece of paper in her hand and the records in front of her - didn’t offer him a second of their time, he smiled gratefully. He wasn’t cocky and didn’t assume that they were going to know who he was, he just always aired on the side of caution when it came to going out in public alone.

A young, bald, man behind the counter gave him a solid nod as he walked past the register, taking in the hundreds of records all around the store. It wasn’t nearly as extravagant as some of the shops he’d been in over the years, and he had to admit, he had most of the vinyls he saw during his journey through the store, but he still loved to look. Always wanting to find new music and artists to inspire him.

“That’s a great album.” a tender voice spoke from beside him, startling Harry slightly.

A younger girl had appeared out of nowhere it seemed, hair filled with sparkly barrettes, a faint smile on her lips; wearing an oversized, white, Dolly Parton t-shirt tucked into a pair of denim shorts. She was paying him no mind, focusing on the stack of records tucked under her arm, like a schoolgirl with textbooks, and putting them back in the correct sections. From what Harry could only assume by how easily she could find certain genres and artists, she worked there, and he was immediately consumed by how her face would light up each time she came to a new album she liked as she was putting them away.

“Huh?”

During his time taking her in, she had moved from his side to standing directly across from him, now being separated by an island of records.

“Crosby, Stills, and Nash.” she said, looking up at him and nodding towards the album he didn’t even realize he had stopped at. “It’s an amazing album.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I suppose.” why was he finding it so difficult to string words together?

“You suppose?!” her exclamation was so loud that the two remaining customers in the store lifted their heads to look in their direction, “They’re one of the best bands of all time! Did you know each of them have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice? For each band they’ve been in? Or that Woodstock was only their third show together?”

She had set her own stack of records down on top of the shelf where she was standing, focusing on getting her point across rather than completing her job. Harry had known the girl, and saying he knew her was a stretch, for just under three minutes, but he was enthralled. The way her eyes lit up as soon as she started talking about the music she loved, how he could hear her humming an unknown tune while she was standing next to him, or how she obviously didn’t care about what people thought if she was okay with yelling at customers about her favorite band.

“I actually didn’t know that, no. Pretty sick.” he agreed, picking up the album and pretending to look at the list of songs on the back

“I suggest giving Helplessly Hoping a listen first. It’s my personal favorite. Especially with the windows down on a roadtrip” she smiled.

“I will. ‘S a good idea.” Harry nodded, picking the record up and deciding to buy it, despite having multiple copies of it in his homes across the world. He just couldn’t bare the thought of putting the record down and potentially seeing her face fall. So, he took his wallet out of his back pocket, and lifted the record up so the girl could see he was going to take her advice and purchase the album. But just as he was about to turn to pay, she spoke up.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Confusion covered his features. Was she saying you’re welcome to a ‘thank you’ he had never said? And she must have seen his questioning look, because she let out a small giggle, shaking her head.

“It’s on the house. Hope you enjoy some good, classic tunes.”

The movement of her hand shooting out of the window and a small, barely there squeak, brought Harry’s attention back to the present time, watching as she moved her hand like a wave in the wind as the car sped down the winding, rural roads. The beginnings of a soft hum of the familiar song made the smile on his face grow as he noticed that same love in her eyes that she had years ago while pushing him to buy the album.

It had become their song, one that could be found on each of their playlists, one that was hummed while making breakfast in the mornings, one that they had a bit of framed - the words “They are one person. They are two alone. They are three together. They are for each other” - hanging above their bed, and consistently heard playing through their home.

The home that they just celebrated their third holiday season together in, one that holds their new four legged fur baby, and is always being redecorated. It seemed like just yesterday that the two had been cuddled up in her apartment, talking about what they hoped the future would hold, when he accidentally took the plunge and inadvertently asked what he’d been thinking about for months.

Because of One Direction, Harry had spent more time than he can remember in California, soaking up the sun at all times of the year, enjoying it just a bit more than usual when it was snowing back home in England. But he had to admit, spending so much time in the Golden State had changed him, so much so that he was still cold, even with his jumper, throw blanket, and his love cuddled up to his side, two cuppas steaming in their hands and the thermostat reading 20°C. Who had he become? He used to bare the 7°C cold winters back home in England like they were nothing, and now he was shivering at the thought of leaving the warm bed.

“Can’t believe ‘m dating a girl who insists on sleeping with the AC on during the winter.” he mumbled, burying his face into her hair.

“I like to be chilly. Makes me sleep better.” she laughed, digging her nose deeper into his chest.

“It absolutely does not. What about waking up in the middle of the night to make sure my toes haven’t fallen off is better than a peaceful, warm sleep?”

“Toes won’t fall off, stupid! I don’t keep it Antartic in here! Just a little cool. So we don’t have to sweaty cuddle.” she lifted her head, now resting it on top of his chest so that she could stare at him with a smile that still blew him away every morning that he got to see it.

But he didn’t want to guess when the next morning he got to roll over and see her peaceful form sprawled out on the majority of the bed, hogging most of the massive duvet and ankles locked with his. He wanted to know that every single time he closed his eyes at night, she was laying next to him, permanently. And that train of thought is what caused his next words to easily fall from between his lips.

“Yeah, well, when we move into a new place, the bedroom’s gotta stay a bit warmer, doll.”

He realized what he had said no more than a second after he said it, and instantly began panicking on the inside. He knew what saying that could cause. They had only been together for a few weeks short of a year, just getting past the honeymoon phase and settling into the comfort and reality that is true love. And as much as the pair loved each other, a year didn’t seem like a lot of time to decide to move in together. Plenty of people were together for years before even considering taking that step, so he focused on keeping his breathing steady and internal panic to a minimum, so that she wouldn’t see how scared he was of what he just admitted.

But none of what he was expecting came. She just continued looking at him like he was the rising sun in her sky, the smallest smile playing on her lips, foot still rubbing up and down his calf. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Throughout their year long relationship, she never once acted the way he was so used to other girls acting; never making any accusations or jumping to conclusions, never getting upset for his busy schedule or amount of commitments, and never letting him forget why she loved him so much. So, this reaction shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Y’wanna live with me?” she asked, voice quiet like if she spoke too loud, she would wake the sleeping birds who had made a home right outside her bedroom window.

“Been thinking about it for months now.” Harry confessed, heartbeat finally slowing down a bit once he realized he had nothing to be so nervous about.

“What, had to wait it out a bit longer to make sure I wasn’t too insane? See if my hidden crazy 1D fan side came out?”

Harry’s head rolled to the other side of the pillow, snorting as he thought about his girlfriend secretly fangirling over him every night once he fell asleep.

“‘Cause I hate to break it to you babe, but I was a total Niall girl. If we met in like 2013, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.” her tone was completely serious, but that familiar joking fire was clear behind her eyes, daring him to think anything more of her comment.

“I think I have to agree. He really is quite the stud.”

Hearing his love laugh at his continuation of her joke was music to Harry’s ears, and he could bask in it all day, like the warm rays of the sun licking at one’s skin on the shore. And he would do anything he could to make sure he got to hear it every day for the rest of his life. His hand came up and rested on the back of her head, gently squeezing in a massage motion.

“Wanted to make sure I didn’t scare you off, saying it too soon.” he admitted finally, staring deep into her eyes.

And she just stared right back, like she always did, never afraid to hold her ground when talking to him. It was something he admired about her, how much she trusted her gut and knew when to speak her mind, and it taught him to make sure he was only doing things that made him truly happy, no matter what anyone else would think.

“We were on magazine covers two months into our relationship, not much you can do to scare me off at this point.”

“No?” he smiled, remembering how calm she acted when he burst through the door that Tuesday morning, frantically trying to explain to her how he and his team would take care of anything caused by those pap shots. While he was pacing in front of her, she continued to eat her cereal and read her book, like the world now knowing Harry Styles had a new girlfriend was the most mundane thing to ever grace her perfect little ears.

“Nah. As long as you let me keep the room a lil cold, gives us an excuse to cuddle every night… roomie.” she smiled brightly, abruptly flinging her body higher up on the bed so that she could attack his mouth with her own.

There was nothing Harry was more thankful for than that accidental slip up, because it brought them even closer and a beautiful two years in their home. Being with her was like living a fairytale, and he was mesmerized watching even the simplest things, like her skin care routine, how she had to keep the magazines on the coffee table in a certain order, and the subtle sway of her hips when it was her turn to fold laundry.

He had never felt any of these feelings when with other people, and he finally understood why people describe being in love as ‘falling’, because even getting the smallest glance of her from across a room made him feel like crumbling to his knees, at her mercy no matter what she asked of him. And as much as he loved that feeling, wanted to bottle it up and bathe in it, he was also scared. The idea of someone having so much power and control over his heart, being able to completely shatter his entire world in the blink of an eye, wasn’t something he liked to think about. Especially not involving her. But sometimes, the late nights and fears got the best of him, and thinking is all he could do. And most of the time, those thoughts were squished the second he stepped through their shared front door and he saw her waiting up for him on the couch, sleepy eyes but excitement to see him. Until they weren’t.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you Harry, I’m not going anywhere!” the vein in his sweetheart’s neck was becoming more and more prominent as the yelling continued.

He was thankful she no longer lived in a small apartment, surrounded by other renters, because the intense yelling at that late hour would have raised a few red flags. He wasn’t trying to create such a tense atmosphere, but he couldn’t help it. It had been a tough day figuring out the final details of his first world tour since One Direction splitting up, and the thought of coming home to his favorite girl and explaining what was in the works, only made him more anxious. How was he supposed to leave for nearly a year and expect his girl to still be waiting when he came back? Surely she would realize how much better she deserves and he would end up coming home to an empty house.

“I don’t think you understand how lon-”

She cut him off mid sentence, “No, Harry, I do understand! You think I don’t understand how long you’ll be gone? How many nights I’ll have to settle for a Facetime call instead of a goodnight kiss? How I have to explain to my friends that my boyfriend won’t be with me because he’s across the planet?”

All of the points she was making only made him feel worse about himself, and the fears he was harboring only seemed to expand as she continued to list her realizations.

“But if any of those fucking things mattered to me, Harry, I woudn’t be standing here arguing with you! I would have packed my shit up the second you told me about this tour and never looked back!”

“You say that now, but three months in and you’re still coming home to an empty house can change things real fucking quick!”

He never meant for things to escalate like this when he expelled his concerns the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around her body and water dripping from her hair. Hell, she hasn’t even made it halfway when it all started; the pair standing just the foot of the bed. But it was like the second his eyes met her figure, he was unable to keep anything to himself. His love had always exuded this aura that turned his insides to much, like he was under a spell and was unable to hold back anything from her. And in that moment, he cursed her ability to pull that out of him.

She let out a loud sigh, hanging her head and pinching her nose between two fingers, as if this conversation with her boyfriend was the most stressful thing she’s ever had to do. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that I don’t want anyone else? Why can’t you just accept that I’m going to love you through the worst of everything, no matter what?”

Harry had never really pinpointed the exact moment all of these fears were cast away in the darkest corners of his mind, it was like one day, he realized he had them, and they wouldn’t go away. There wasn’t a moment in time or harsh end that stunted his emotional growth; it was different parts of each failed relationship, cumulatively joining forces over time to knock him down, time and time again. And when he was finally able to stand back up and see just how perfect the girl he was planning to spend forever with was, they roared their ugly heads ten times stronger than ever before, scaring even himself.

“Because I’ve never known what that feels like.” he finally responded, eyes glossy and voice thick with the oncoming breakdown that was moments away..

Just as Harry blinked away his first round of tears, she moved to stand in front of him, hands cupping the sides of his face and wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks with her thumb. “I’ll keep reminding you how much I love you until time runs out, baby.”

And she kept her promise, not only telling, but showing Harry how deep her love for him ran. Hearing any variation of those words slipping from between her perfect lips warmed him from the inside out, just as the Italian sun was doing to them both as they drove down the picture perfect roads. He never took for granted how accepting she was of every decision he made for his career, how easily welcomed into his family she was;better than he ever could have imagined, or how she never failed to make him belly laugh. Harry had always been a hopeless romantic, but never truly believing in only one person, in the entire world, being made specifically for him.

Until he met her.

Every moment since that day in Going Underground Records, had been building to this story arc, creating a tale that would be unbelievable unless experienced for oneself. Because how was he supposed to accurately put into words the feeling of seeing the love of his life laugh at the corniest joke he’s ever told? Were their words yet invented to describe how fast his heart beat when hearing her sing in the shower? What would he say to explain the hope coursing through his veins when watching her chase his toddler cousins around the yard? Who would believe him when he said his girl was the most beautiful angel to ever grace the planet? Could he articulate all of that.

“Hey.” her voice was loud during the song change, and her hand squeezed his on the center console, both grabbing his attention quickly. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed, more content with his life than he had ever been.”I love you until time runs out.”

He couldn’t, because no amount of words he could string together would be enough to show his love and gratitude for the girl sitting next to him. Nothing would do her justice. But he would spend his entire life trying his damnedest to show her.

He just hoped the four words and finger sized gift he had planned for the end of their vacation was enough to begin explaining it all.

[daffietjuh]

I’ve got more than whiskey in mind

A/N It’s nearly midnight, I wrote this in one sitting and I refuse to re-read this for errors. But this is based off the song “Whiskey in Mind” by Christian Kane. Also, I guess I write smut now *shrugs*.

Michael wasn’t planning on stopping. He really wasn’t. Except, he’s been driving for hours, from Houston to San Francisco and there’s still three hours to go and it’s dark, has been for hours now, and he’s so fucking tired and he really needs a drink and maybe to get laid, but that’s not a priority. He knew Isobel would skin him alive if he wasn’t there in time for her rehearsal dinner or whatever the fuck else you had to do for a wedding, but when he saw the light up sign for a bar in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere… well, he was not strong enough to resist the promise of a barstool and a cold beer. Or maybe some whiskey. God, he could go for some whiskey.

So he caves, he parks his truck and unfolds himself from the cab. His back cracks and his knees crack and he feels approximately forty years older than he actually is. The sign is too bright for his tired eyes, so he doesn’t bother trying to read it. It’s a bar, that’s all he cares about. He pushes the door open and heads inside.

It’s midnight on a Monday (or he supposed Tuesday now), the place isn’t crowded, but there seems to be a solid group there that look like they live here. They also seem to be packing up to go home. Michael says a little prayer to a God he doesn’t believe in. Please say he hadn’t missed last call?

He lets himself fall down on one of the barstools, he blinks at the wall, trying to get his brain to cooperate with him. There’s two people behind the bar, a man and a woman. They’re talking amongst each other. Michael feels his eyes go out of focus. He’s going to fall asleep here and it’s going to be fucking embarrassing.

Suddenly a glass appears in front of him. It’s whiskey. Top shelf. The whiff he catches of it smells like heaven. He looks up into two of the most beautiful warm brown eyes he’s ever seen.

‘On the house.’ The man says and it takes Michael a second to register anything beyond the way the man’s lips curl around the words. He’s gorgeous.

‘Why?’ Apparently, being exhausted makes Michael rude beyond imagining.

‘You look like you need it.’ The guy shrugs. The fabric of his black t-shirt stretches over his wide shoulders and draws Michael’s eyes to the spot where his shoulders lead into his neck, to his jawline and those cheekbones.

‘Thank you. How’d you know my brand?’ Michael asks, now that he’s raised the glass to his lips and taken a sip, he’s realized this is exactly his poison. The guy smirks at him, he leans his elbows on the bar, bringing his face closer to Michael, allowing him to see the specks of gold in his eyes.

‘There’s certain things a bartender can just tell about a man.’ The comment is laced with a suggestive tone that has Michael’s pulse pick up speed. Fuck this guy is hot, maybe he’d get laid after all.

‘Well, thank you. What about you? Do you like the hard kick of old Kentucky bourbon, or the slow burn of Tennessee rye?’ The bartender looked away thoughtfully for a second. Michael immediately missed the weight of his eyes on him.

‘I’m more of a tequila man. I like it hard and fast and a little dirty.’ The guy wets his lips and Michael wants to launch himself over the bar and bite at them. Fuck, it had been a long time since someone got him going like this.

‘Alex, I’m heading out. You’ll close up, right?’ The woman from before moves from behind the bar in Michaels peripheral vision. He swears he can’t take his eyes of the hot bartender, Alex. He takes a long drink from his whiskey.

‘Yeah Maria, I’ll close up. You go home, get some sleep.’ Alex says, looking at Maria over Michael’s shoulder.

‘Alright, later babe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ Michael can hear the humour in her voice as the door opens.

‘Please, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!’ Alex calls after her and a melodic laugh is the last he hears of Maria before the door falls shut. Alex turns his eyes back to Michael. His eyes are sparkling and Michael still wants to kiss him, really badly. He takes another drink from his whiskey.

Alex moves, but it’s further away and Michael has to bite his lip not to make a disappointed noise. Alex appears from behind the bar and Michael gets to take in the long lines of his body as he heads for the door. The way his thighs look in those jeans, the way his hips sway just slightly as he walks, his wonderful ass. This guy is like a walking work of art, an incredibly seductive work of art. The resounding click of the door being locked draws Michael from his musings. Alex saunters back to him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, he has to.

‘I’m Michael.’ He says instead of “fuck me”, like he actually wants to say.

‘Nice to meet you Michael, I’m Alex.’ He leans against the bar, he’s really damn close, and he gets closer, bumping his hip against Michael’s seat. ‘So, what brings you through Roswell?’ Right, he was in Roswell.

‘I’m on my way to a wedding.’ Michael says, twisting on his seat a little so he could keep his eyes on Alex more easily. Some of the easy flirtation disappears from Alex’s face.

‘Your own wedding?’

‘Oh no.’ Michael says quickly. ‘My sister, she’s getting married. In San Francisco. Which is where I’m heading.’

‘Ah, that’s good.’ Alex goes right back to being the embodiment of temptation. ‘Anything else I can do you for?’ Michael can feel himself grin.

‘I don’t know, the whiskey is pretty good.’ He says, titling his head in the way that always works.

‘Well to be honest, I’ve got more than whiskey in mind.’ Michael wasn’t expecting to find a guy this forward in a small town like this, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. In fact, he was doing the opposite of complaining. He felt like his heart was jumping in his chest. He was trying to play it cool, honestly, but also, he really wants this guy and they were all alone now.

He holds on to the last of his resolve until Alex takes his glass from his hands with deftly fingers and downs the whiskey that is left in Michael’s glass. That is hotter than it has any right to be. Alex places the glass behind the bar with a smooth move that has his biceps bulging.

Michael would have blamed him missing the taste of the whiskey already. He was just chasing the taste of that. That is why he kisses Alex right there and then. That’s why he kisses Alex hard and deep as he stumbles off his stool. Alex makes an approving sound in the back of his throat. Michael had payed attention. Hard, fast and a little dirty. Strong hands tangle in Michael’s hair and pull him closer. Michael catches himself with one hand on the bar behind Alex and the other sliding up Alex’s firm chest, along the side of his throat and around that ridiculous jawline. Michael digs his fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of Alex’s neck and relishes in the noise he makes as Michael bites his bottom lip.

He feels dizzy. Maybe it is from the liquor on Alex’s lips. No eighty proof had ever gotten him buzzing like this. It could also have been all of his blood rushing south. When Michael has to lean back to take a breath, Alex just ducks his head down and kisses his way along Michael’s throat. It is like he could read him like an open book, he scrapes his teeth over that spot at the base of his neck that always makes Michael’s knees go weak.

‘Fucking hell.’ Michael groans. Alex laughs into his neck.

‘I’ve got a bed upstairs.’ Michael could have bowed out there. Should have, probably. He could have shaken his head and just offered a quick hand job right there in the bar.

But Alex looks up at him from under his lashes with those eyes as he trails his hands down Michael’s chest, down to his belt. Yeah, no, a hand job wouldn’t do. He’d accept Isobel’s fury. He wants Alex.

‘Lead the way.’ Michael says. Alex’s grin is positively blinding.

He grabs Michael’s hand and starts dragging him through the bar, through a door and up a flight of stairs. Michael doesn’t have time or any desire to take in the apartment properly. His brain has zeroed in entirely on getting both his and Alex’s clothes off. Preferably as soon as possible. So as Alex is still trying to guide him towards a bed, Michael is already shrugging off his jacket. It lands on the floor with a thud that he really hopes doesn’t mean he just broke his phone.

He doesn’t think about it long as Alex turns and immediately slides those big hands with those talented, slim, fingers under his shirt and tugs it up off over his head. Michael immediately goes for Alex’s shirt. He drops it somewhere behind him. Alex doesn’t give him long to take in the view, pulling him back into another searing, heart pounding kiss. But Michael has hands, and he uses them. He tries to map out the way Alex feels under his hands, the strong line of his shoulders, the hot skin stretching over his chest, the soft bumps of his ribs under Michael’s fingertips and the flat line of his stomach. He wants to remember this. He’s been so hopelessly single lately, he’ll be able to use this encounter for months to come.

Alex seems to be about ready to move things along. He turns them around in a quick, smooth move and pushes Michael backwards. The backs of his knees hit the edge of a bed and he lets himself fall backwards. He bounced on the bed and watches intently as Alex crawls over to him, hovering over him as Michael makes a noise he barely recognizes. It draws a smirk onto Alex’s face. Michael tries to kiss it off his lips.

It’s not long before Alex is on the move again. He kisses his way down Michael’s chest. He scrapes his teeth softly over one of Michael’s nipples and he shudders, fuck, he didn’t even know he was into that. The cold air that Alex’s laugh blows over the sensitive skin has goosebumps appear all over his arms. He makes an annoyed noise and tangles his fingers in Alex’s hair, he tugs on it just a little and it gets him a heated look from Alex before he dives back down to Michael’s stomach this time.

Michael is so hard he feels like he’s going to explode the second Alex actually gets to touching his dick.

‘I want you to fuck me.’ Michael says it without giving himself time to overthink it. He’s only going to have Alex for one night, he’ll ask for what he wants. Alex’s hands have frozen over the button of Michael’s jeans.

‘Fucking hell.’ Alex breathes out. ‘Yeah.’

That’s apparently all they need. Michael’s pants and underwear disappear somewhere. Alex fumbles around in a drawer for an agonizing five seconds before returning triumphantly with lube and a condom.

‘Do you want a round of applause? Get the fuck on me.’ Michael snaps. He feels like he’s wound tighter than a soccer mom in a suburb whose daughter wants a tattoo. Alex just laughs and he gets to it. Michael was right, those fingers are really fucking talented.

Michael whines, legitimately whines, when Alex slips his first finger inside. He hasn’t done this in a while and the stretch burns just as deliciously as Michael remembers it. Alex seems to know exactly when to give Michael a second to breath, and when to add another finger, or curl them in the way that makes Michael curse and squirm. He has to tell Alex not to touch his dick, or he’ll cum before they can even get properly started.

‘Why are you still wearing pants? Come the fuck on Alex.’ Michael complains when he realizes he still hasn’t seen Alex’s dick. That’s just unfair. Here Michael is, all splayed out with his dick leaking all over the place like he’s seventeen again, whining and squirming. The least Alex can do is get naked. ‘Get with the program.’

‘You’re really bossy, aren’t you?’ Alex smirks as he pushes himself up to his feet. Michael misses his fingers immediately, but he reminds himself he’s going to get something better to replace them. He stares shamelessly as Alex strips off the rest of his clothes. He’s fucking gorgeous. All tanned skin and muscles and temptation. His dick is hard and just the right size. Michael can just feel he knows how to use it too. He should take a picture of him, even if it’s just to prove to himself he didn’t make this up. That this isn’t some exhaustion fuelled whiskey dream.

The sound of the packet of the condom being opened draws Michael back to the present. Alex uses his teeth, because of course he does. He rolls it on with a smooth move, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

‘Is that a problem?’ Michael asks, suddenly remembering Alex’s last comment. Alex smirks, spreading some lube over his dick before approaching.

‘Nah, I like a bossy bottom.’

‘Well that’s good, now get the fuck inside me already.’ Michael says. If he wants bossy, Michael can sure as fuck do bossy. He stays laying on his back, he likes missionary, sue him. Alex doesn’t seem to mind.

When Alex slides in Michael realizes two things. One. He needs to get fucked more often, because his toys back in Houston do not compare to this. And two. Alex really does know what he’s doing.

He gives Michael a few seconds to get used to the stretch a little. He’s hovering over him, seemingly without effort, even though Michael can see the muscles in his arms bulging. Just as Michael is about to tell him to get a move on, Alex moves.

He picks up a rhythm just on the right side of slow. It’s not sweet or anything like that, but it makes Michael’s toes curl and his breath stutter and the noises that he’s making aren’t ones he’s ever heard from his own mouth before. He wants this to last, he really does, but he also feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t cum soon.

‘Alex.’ He moans. Alex seems to read his mind, again.

He pushes himself up, now kneeling on the bed so he can get his hand on Michael’s dick without crushing him or having to stop fucking him. The first stroke is almost enough to send Michael over the edge already. He wants to be good though, so he bites his lip, hard and holds on.

‘God fucking dammit.’ Alex curses, as Michael probably clenches around him. He sounds pretty close. The little furrow between his brows would be cute if Michael wasn’t so busy trying not to cum yet.

‘Shit, fucking- Alex. I’m gonna cum.’ He can feel his orgasm building in his stomach. It takes just a few more strokes before Michael topples over the edge and he swears he can see stars. That has to be in his top five orgasms of his life. He can feel it rippling through his whole body.

After just a few more thrusts, Alex follows him over the edge. Michael wants to remember what his face looks like, but he’s too busy trying to remember how to breath and also trying to remember how to move his limbs. He feels boneless and now that the tension of his building orgasm has disappeared, he feels the exhaustion come sweeping right back in.

‘God damn.’ Alex says. Michael will admit he’s a little proud of how wrecked Alex sounds.

‘Yeah.’ Michael agrees. He should go. He can sleep in his truck for a few hours, get back on the road at dawn. He doesn’t want to move though. Alex shifts next to him, but Michael doesn’t have the energy to check what he’s doing.

He doesn’t realize he’s drifting off until Alex getting up startles him. Alex disappears from the room, but reappears seconds later with a towel. He carefully, almost gently, wipes Michael’s cum off his chest. When he’s done he tosses the towel over his shoulder in a careless gesture that would have made Michael laugh had he not been so damn tired.

‘C’mon.’ Alex pokes him in the side.

‘Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m leaving.’ Michael ignores the twinge in his chest. He pushes himself up with great effort.

‘No, just get under the covers.’ Alex says and Michael’s tired brain has trouble processing that.

‘But-‘

‘Michael, you’re clearly exhausted. Get some sleep, you can leave tomorrow.’ Alex says, softly but firmly as he moves Michael under the covers and rounds the bed to flop into the bed on the other side. Michael tries to remember any arguments of why he shouldn’t, but the pillow is really soft and he’s well-fucked and sated and he’s really comfortable.

The next thing he remembers is waking up with Alex’s arms wrapped around him. He reads the time on an alarm clock that’s on the bedside table.

That succeeds in waking him up like a bucket of ice water being thrown over his head.

‘Fuck.’ He tries not to wake Alex, but as he slips from the bed, he can hear unhappy mumbles behind him. He’s trying to find his jeans, his underwear. Where the fuck did his shirt go.

‘You can take something of mine.’ Alex says, the sleepy croak in his voice shouldn’t make Michael want to crawl right back into bed, but it does.

‘I don’t want to-‘

‘It’s fine. You have to go meet your sister right, you should probably show up in a clean shirt.’ Alex rolls himself from the bed rather gracefully for how sleepy he still seems. Michael wants to declined, but his shirt (that he’s just located) smells awfully dodgy.

‘Alright, thanks.’ Alex, slips into some sweatpants before starting to dig through some drawers. He first throws a pair of boxers at Michael over his shoulder and then digs into another drawer. Michael refuses to feel embarrassed about the kind gesture. He hops into his jeans. Alex has turned around and is holding up two different shirts.

‘Alright, we’ve got two options here.’ He holds up the left higher. ‘This one, you could keep, I don’t really care.’ He holds up the other one. ‘This one, I want back.’

It takes him a second to realize what Alex is doing. It’s an offer. He supposes he could drive through Roswell again on his way back to Houston…

‘I’ll take that one.’ He points at the one on the right. Alex’s smile is blinding, and yeah, that seems like the right choice.

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 4.2

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Four – Five Billionaires and No Wives – Part 2 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 4.1

Author: Gumnut

29 Jan – 11 Feb 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 2951

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D

I’m still writing this, I promise :D I hope you enjoy this bit.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 Scott was angry.

He strode down the beach looking for his missing brother and fumed. He had finally been able to relax, finally been able to let go and now Virgil pulls a disappearing act.

Sure, Virgil was a grown man and he could look after himself, but Scott would always be his big brother, always look out for him, always worry about him.

Black sand kicked up as his toes hit a small drift and he stumbled. It brought him to a sudden stop and he found himself standing in the middle of an isolated beach fuming at the sand.

Who was he kidding?

And what the hell was he doing?

He dropped his hands to his knees and stood there bent in half, just breathing. The Virgil in the back of his head...because yes, there was one who sat beside both the Mom and the Dad in the back of his head...it was a crowded space...raised an eyebrow.

He was over reacting, wasn’t he?

Scott let out a breath and cursed the sand beneath him before pushing himself upright and continuing his slog down the beach. He would just be happier with Virgil in sight.

The Virgil in his head rolled his eyes.

Yeah, well, it’s my prerogative as your big brother.

The beach curved slightly, which explained why Virgil was likely out of sight, but Scott discovered his brother’s detritus before he found the missing man.

Discarded red flannel shouted amongst the greens and greys surrounding a small steaming spring. Footprints led to it and then away. Scott’s eyes tracked the direct line to the water...

“Virgil, what the hell?!”

His brother was almost waist deep in the surf, each wave battering at him as it rolled in. Apart from the fact the idiot wasn’t supposed to submerge his incisions in the water, what the hell was he doing?! “Virgil?!”

Unable to hear Scott above the surf, his brother continued to stare out to sea. As if to taunt Scott, he took another step deeper.

Scott cursed and shed his shirt and shoes, dumping them beside the red flannel, and ran towards the water.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was frustrated.

He could feel the questions, the song in his body, but he had no way to answer. Without the technology to shift his voice to the right frequencies, he wouldn’t be heard. Without amplification, any vocalisations would be muffled by the water.

He so wanted to answer.

The whales knew he was there. They hovered out of reach, beyond the surf line. He hummed deep in his throat, echoing the thrum vibrating through the water. Without thinking, he stepped closer, wanting no more than to be able to reach out and touch.

A large head peered over a dissipating wave and a huge eye latched onto him for only a second before disappearing beneath the surface.

Another step.

A hand landed on his shoulder and gripped hard.

“Virgil, what are you doing?!”

Scott.

Blink.

The thrum stopped and Virgil wilted. His feet shifted as the next wave hit him and he stumbled. Scott grabbed his arms, holding him up. “Virgil?”

“I’m good.” But it was automatic. He realised he was far too deep, his incisions submerged in the water, his heart was pounding and Scott was staring at him with worried eyes.

Another wave hit side on and soaked the both of them. Virgil spat water.

He didn’t get a chance to turn towards shore before Scott was dragging him in that direction. His brother didn’t say anything further, but the grip on his arm was tight and Virgil knew he was going to pay for this.

Fortunately or not, Mel was standing on the shore waiting for them when they finally stepped out of the waves. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, but she didn’t say anything, simply handing the both of them their shirts and shoes and Virgil his phone as well.

“They followed us.”

“Who?” Mel was frowning up at him. Scott’s hand tightened on his arm.

“The whales. The mother and calf. They’re out there.” He pointed out into the bay.

Mel’s frown deepened. “Are you sure? They should be migrating south. They need the feeding grounds. Maybe they are another mum and calf?”

His lack of knowledge slapped him in the face, but something told him it was them. “It was them.”

The frown didn’t disappear, but her gaze did flick to Scott and back. “Okay. We should tell Sam.”

“First we change your dressings.” It was the Commander who spoke and Virgil found himself automatically straightening in response. Hell, even Mel stood taller, her eyes widening as she looked to his brother.

The surf hissed around Virgil’s feet as an extra large wave dissipated on the sand.

Scott hadn’t let go of his arm.

Internally, Virgil sighed. Great. His brother was pissed and stressed again and it was all his fault. His shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

Blue darted at him and the thin line of his brother’s mouth tightened for a moment before softening. “C’mon.” And he was being led back towards the other end of the beach.

-o-o-o-

The walk back was nowhere near as relaxing as his initial venture down the beach. Scott let go of him eventually, but his eyes hardly left him. Overreaction much?

He would have shouted that he was fine, that he could take care of himself, for crying out loud, but it was so obvious that he had screwed up royally, that he didn’t bother.

To be honest, he was a little freaked himself. He hadn’t intended on going into the water that deep. It wasn’t like he had almost drowned himself, but he had been caught up in an almost thrall in the whales’ voices.

Scott had a right to be at least a little concerned.

Being Scott, he blew a circuit.

And Virgil wrecked three solid days of his attempt to get the man to wind down.

He spent the walk back mentally kicking himself.

Gordon strode up grinning, but that grin faltered badly when he caught sight of Scott’s expression. Virgil saw the moment the dots connected and his fishy brother’s shoulders dropped. John’s reaction was less obvious, but his frown at Virgil’s soaked appearance was pretty clear.

Sam, somewhat clueless, bounced up all grins and smart comments. Liam was a little more sensitive to the situation and grabbed his husband by the scruff of his neck.

Suffice it to say that the party packed up and climbed back up the hill rather quickly. Scott on Virgil’s heels the entire way.

The damned hill he had to climb didn’t help and by the time they made it to the island’s small infirmary, Virgil was tired and frustrated.

The finger that pointed him to the examination table was firm. Mel had made herself scarce. His brothers had quite willingly fed him to the wolf once they found out why Virgil was being glared at by his older brother.

Of course, nothing was stopping Gordon and Sam from locating those whales now they knew they were there and John was roped into helping with Five. They had all found a decent excuse to run off.

So, the two brothers were left alone in the infirmary with plenty of time to ‘talk’.

Initially, Scott was silent, his actions abrupt and precise as he removed Virgil’s old and now sodden dressings, exposing his stitches to the air. The incisions were actually quite small, thank goodness for keyhole surgery, but they cut through his abdominal wall and messed with his movement.

His brother wiped him down with antibacterial solution. “You better hope you haven’t caught yourself an infection.” The tone was cold.

“I will be fine.”

“How do you know that?” Scott stopped and glared at him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m fine, Scott.” The problem was he hadn’t been thinking.

The dressings were ripped out of their packaging rather vehemently and Scott’s ministrations, while gentle, were sharp and vibrating with suppressed anger.

“You do know I can do that myself.”

Scott stopped what he was doing. His shoulders dropped and his eyes closed. His sterile and gloved hands hovered in the air as if lacking direction. He didn’t say a thing.

Virgil struggled to push himself into a seated position, levering his feet off the bed, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Scott-“

“Why?” Blue eyes opened and were actually pleading at him. “Of all of them, I trust you the most to not do something stupid.”

“What? So, I got my dressings wet. It’s not a big deal.”

“Virgil-“

“I’m fine. Quit worrying so much.” He grabbed his brother’s arms and squeezed gently. “Take a breath.”

“Virg-“

“Stop. Take a breath.”

Fire ignited in those blue eyes, but Scott stopped.

Air whistled across his teeth.

“Now. I’m sorry I apparently vanished. I was not aware I couldn’t be seen. I’m sorry I got my dressings wet. I was distracted.” Very distracted. Zombified was a more apt description. “But I can look after myself. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“You’re my brother.” It was a simple sentence, but it said so much. “Now lie down so I can make sure your wounds are properly protected.”

Virgil sighed, his own shoulders dropping in parody of his brother’s moments ago. But he didn’t lie down.

Instead he looked up at his brother and drew him into a hug. “I’m okay, Scott. I promise. It was nothing. It was stupid. I’m fine.” Please calm down.

Scott’s arms curled around him, sterile hands still held out awkwardly, but the man said nothing.

“You need to relax.”

“I was relaxed until you up and disappeared.”

“I went for a walk.”

“Into the damned ocean.”

“I was looking at the whales.”

“You didn’t hear me. I called you repeatedly.”

“I was focussed on their song.”

Scott pulled away and stared down at him. “They were singing? I didn’t hear anything.”

“You can’t hear most of it. It is below our hearing range.”

“Then how?”

“I could feel it.” His whole body was the receiver.

Scott eyed him a moment before swallowing and grabbing a new dressing. “Lie down.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and did as he was asked. Scott finished his administrations quickly and quietly.

“I want you to go to bed and rest while we pack to leave.”

“Scott-“

A hand came up. “No. You do stupid things, you give me this.”

Virgil sighed. “Fine.”

His brother helped him up again and off the bed before letting him go.

Virgil left him putting away equipment, making his way out the door and down the steps. Okay, if he was honest, all that walking, more than he had done for days, not to mention that blasted hill down to the beach, had taken a lot out of him.

And the song...

Kind hands helped him the last two steps onto the grass, John still sporting that frown. Great another brother he had to convince yet again he wasn’t dying.

“I’m okay, John.”

Turquoise flashed in the sunlight. John’s voice was quiet, but firm. “We know that. But you have to understand, you scared us. You folded while flying. What would have happened if you had been flying alone? Could you have made it home?”

Virgil froze. The sun was warm, but he felt chilled. “I would have done my best.”

“We know that. But you scared us. You scared Scott. Satisfy our need for reassurance.” An indrawn breath. “Especially Scott.”

A stare was the only reply Virgil could manage at first. Quiet. “Okay.”

John’s smile was small, but fond. His hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Now, go rest. No doubt what he told you to do.”

A resigned nod.

“I’ll take on ‘the Commander’.” John sighed quietly. “Don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t.”

His shoulder was squeezed once more and let go, John stepped gracefully up the steps and vanished into the infirmary.

Virgil let out a breath.

Well, shit.

Guess he was ‘resting’ for the next hour or so at least. Resigned, he turned and headed off to the hostel.

-o-o-o-

John watched as Scott put away the last of the extra dressings. His brother knew he was there, he had no doubt of that, but neither said a thing.

Eventually Scott finished up, straightened and turned to face John. “What?”

“You’re going to have to back off.”

“Why?”

“You’re hovering like a distressed parent. Virgil is a grown man. Sure, he did something stupid, but this is the brother who throws himself through walls into burning buildings on a regular basis. He had appendicitis. He had surgery. He is recovering.” Eyebrows for emphasis. “You’re overreacting.”

“He was alone on a beach, waist deep in surf and walking deeper. It was like he didn’t know what he was doing!”

John flashed back to the day before when Virgil had sung to the whales. It had been worrisome.

“We will keep an eye on him. But back off.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not responsible-“

“Bullshit, Scott.” He took a step forward. “I send all of you into danger, everyday! Don’t you lecture me on guilt!”

“I’m in command.”

“You’re on vacation!” He drew in a breath and forced his calm facade into place. What was it with Scott that messed with his control so much?

Family knew how to press all the buttons.

“I am responsi-“

“No, you’re not.”

“John-“

“We are all adults here. Yes, even Allie.” And he said it with sadness. “You need to relax. This isn’t good for you.”

“Yes, everyone says that. ‘Relax, Scott, put your feet up.” He waved a careless hand. “You’re on vacation. It never stops, John. Never! I’m still responsible. It all comes down to me.”

A sigh. “It really doesn’t.”

Scott stared at him.

“We are responsible for ourselves.”

“John-“

“I guess from my perspective, it looks different, but I have to trust my brothers know what they are doing. I can’t reach out a hand to catch them. I have to trust them.” He straightened a little. “You have to trust, Scott.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you really? Do you think Virgil really would have drowned himself?”

Scott opened his mouth, but frowned instead.

John pushed the point. “Do you really think Virgil has lost his mind enough to voluntarily injure himself?”

“Well, no.”

“When he vanished on the beach, did you think he was in danger?”

“I...well, maybe...” A blink. “Okay, no, not really, I just...am used to being in direct communication with all of you and he wasn’t answering. What am I supposed to think?”

John had to concede that Scott had a point. They were spoilt with the ability to contact each other on whim. Virgil obviously hadn’t thought of that when he removed his shirt and left his phone behind. “You have to trust that Virgil will be okay. That he can handle himself.”

Scott made a disgusted sound and threw himself into a chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Easier said than done.”

John grabbed another chair and sat down opposite his big brother. “You do it every time we go out on a rescue. You do if for me all the time I’m on Five.”

“Yeah.” But it was a mocking sound.

“You have to let go.”

“I can’t! You’re my brothers!”

Different tactic. “Do you have any idea what you did to all of us those first few years after Dad went missing?”

Scott’s head came up, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You went nuts. Taking horrible risks. Virgil was beside himself. He ended up on Five terrified we were going to lose you as well as Dad. Did you know that?”

Mouth open. “N-no...”

“He said he spoke to you several times. It wasn’t until the aurora generator incident that you finally started to listen.”

Eyes on the floor, but focussed ever so far away. “He didn’t tell me.”

“Yes, he did. But you weren’t listening. Please listen now.” Another indrawn breath. “We don’t want to lose you, either on a mission or to burnout.”

Ever so quiet, Scott’s entire body slumped into the chair. “Okay.” Whispered. “I’ll try.”

“As for the whales...I think we should throw Virgil at Gordon. He knows what he is doing. We can trust Gordon to keep Virgil safe, can’t we?”

Vulnerable azure glanced up at him. “Yeah.” Back down at the floor. “Yeah, we can.”

John shifted where he sat. There was silence for a moment as he reordered his thoughts to work out a way to draw Scott back out again. The last thing they needed was for him to retreat to nurse his wounds and suffer in silence.

Alone.

“So, you going to dish on what’s happening between you and Mel?”

That startled him. Even a small smile appeared on his brother’s face. “What did you want to know?”

John snorted a little. “Without going into detail, spill, big brother.”

That smile, to John’s relief, widened. “She’s remarkable.”

“And not immune to a little Scott Tracy charm, apparently.”

“Hey, I play to my strengths.”

A soft smile. “Then go play some more while the rest of us pack up.”

“Virgil has gone to rest.”

“I know. Now you go rest and talk to Mel. You’re on vacation.”

His brother’s lips thinned, but he stood up and offered John a hand, catching his eyes.

John took his brother’s hand and found himself drawn into a heartfelt hug. His big brother, holding him tight. “Thanks, John.”

“Anytime.” Scott’s shirt was soft under his cheek. “We’re brothers, remember?”

“Yeah, we are.” His brother drew in a breath.

“We are.”

-o-o-o-

End Day Four, Part Two.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #302

“heaven ain’t close in a place like this”

What color are your eyes? Grayish blue. What's your favorite type of milk? If we're talking the basics, ig 1% is fine. What would you change about your appearance if you could? Oh, hunny, you got time for an essay? What would you change about your bedroom if you could? I need to fucking finish decorating it... It's not finished by no fault but my own laziness. Are you rich or poor? We're definitely pretty poor. Are you double jointed? I don't think so. What's the most physically painful thing you've ever experienced? I once had a large infected cyst that had to be drained by applying pressure to it, and I swear to Christ I don't know how I didn't faint. They gave me morphine and multiple numbing shots, but none of that did SHIT. I'm not even embarrassed by the fact I was shrieking and sobbing and swearing because I'm pretty fucking sure any sane person would've cried out many times. I'm convinced they either didn't numb me enough for someone of my size back then, or I should've just gone under for it. I have no words for how painful it really was. Do you like shots? Uh, given that nobody LIKES getting a shot with a needle, I'm going to assume you mean like, taking shots of alcohol, in which case I've never tried, but I can almost absolutely guarantee you I'd hate them. I hate the taste of alcohol (hence why I only drink sweet and weak stuff), sooooo, I've got my doubts I'd enjoy something so potent. Are you afraid of spiders? Yes and no? Small ones don't tend to get to me, and I LOVE tarantulas. Big spiders are absolutely fascinating and I love *watching* them, but if I was surprised by a sudden spider, I'm going to probably cry out and jump/scramble away. But on a real note, respect your spiders, whether they scare you or not. They are so important to the ecosystem. See one in the house, take it outside if you can. Have you ever had an allergic reaction to something? To some earrings, yes. I have to wear ones that don't have silver in them. Do you like to read? Yeah, but not nearly as much as I did as a kid. I'm even slacking on WoF lately... Do you know what your purpose in life is? *SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* BITCH I WISH I KNEW What's something you would like to improve at? Not being a socially anxious catastrophe. Do you believe you have great potential? Everybody does. You just have to use it. What is the most beautiful scenery you have ever beheld? Probably the mountains when driving to Tennessee. Or New York? I really can't recall either so clearly as to have a favorite. Are you flexible? Noooot anymore. Back in my WiiFit days, I was a gotdamn snake. List a song lyric that you like. Oh Jesus, don't make me think. Uhhhhh there's so many. Flipping through artists in my head with lyrics I tend to love, there's Otep with: "hey, hey, NRA, how many kids did you kill today?". Simple, but spine-chilling to me. Huh, time to listen to it actually, lol. That song murders me with the goosebumps. Do you meditate? No; I can't. You can't tell me to "free my mind," man. It's way too hectic at all times up there. What's one place you've been to that you want to visit again? I'd love to go back to Chicago one night when I actually learn how to do nighttime urban photography. What's one place you want to go that you've never visited before? I always answer "South Africa" to questions like this, so for variety's sake, I'll say the Bahamas. But a conspiratory bitch is afraid of the Bermuda Triangle, so... lmao. What's your favorite type of tree? I like big, impressive weeping willows. How many times have you seriously injured yourself? Only two occasions I can think of immediately. Maybe there's more, but idk. Did you attend Sunday School as a child? Yeah, even though I hated it. What is the longest your hair has ever been? Maybe a little passed the small of my back? What about the shortest? (not including being a toddler or baby): How it is now and has been for a couple years: shaved short on the left side, and it transitions to a length near my chin as you go to the right. Have you ever smoked a cigarette? No. Are/were you in the school band, and if so, what instrument did you play? I did, and I played the flute. I'd choose the saxophone if I could go back. Who does the grocery shopping in your household? Well, it's just Mom and me, so her. If you were to donate to charity today, what would you donate to? One that focuses on ovarian cancer for Mom. What is your favorite card game and when was the last time you played it? Even though I was never great at it or knew every single rule, "Magic: The Gathering" is honestly really fun, and I loved looking at the card art. I haven't played it since I was with Jason, so at least five-six years. Would you consider yourself to be good at spelling and grammar? Yeah, but I've somehow gotten worse with time???? I question the spelling and tenses of words I write a lot. What is your favourite seasonal candy? (only available at certain times): Probably like, chocolate rabbits. NOT hollow. Way to break my heart. Or gingerbread cookies. What was the last chocolate bar you ate? I think a Hershey's? It was a while ago. Who was the last person you talked to on Skype/video chat? I was in a Zoom session with multiple people for my partial hospitalization program. Have you ever dreamt about sleeping with someone other than your partner? If so, did that make you feel embarrassed? I've never had a dream like this while in a relationship. The last time you had butterflies in your stomach, what was the reason? I have no idea. Has anyone told you that they miss you recently? No. Has anyone ever asked you out or told you that they liked you, and you rejected them? Can you explain why you didn’t like, or didn’t feel attracted to that person? There was this one guy in the 4th grade who asked me if I would go out with him so much it almost became like a joke. I just... didn't like him like that. Then there's Juan; I'd just been warned that he had a bad rep by a very reliable adult, and the idea of dating him was kinda... intimidating anyway. Plus he was a smoker, which was and still is a no-no for me. What part in a movie would you love to play? The clinically insane villain or something because I feel with my history, I could channel that very well IF I actually wanted to act in the first place. What piece of furniture have you replaced the most? The couch. What’s the best part of your favorite movie? When Simba walks up Pride Rock in the rain and roars and all the lionesses join in. Chilling. What do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? Candy corn is repulsive. What was the highlight of your day? My mom was raving to one of my therapists in the PHP about my art and how badly she wants me to just get everything out there. I was smiling really big but looking down with how shy but also flattered it made me. Do you know anyone who is anorexic? I don't think so. Who has hurt you the most this year? Ha, myself. What's the last insult someone said to you? Hm. How much did your car cost? N/A What is the last picture you received on your phone of? Uhhh Mom mighta sent me a meme or Sara showed me a drawing someone made of Suriza, I think. Have you ever let someone go because you thought they deserved better? No, though I've felt that way before. Is there anybody you're really disappointed in right now? I'm still not over the fact Dad was a druggie before me and my sisters, apparently. It's almost like... hurtful in some weird way? Idk exactly why, it's just something I know I feel. What do you hear right now? I have Motionless In White's cover of "Somebody Told Me" playing in another tab. Do you do anything to help the environment? I do what I can as someone who isn't financially independent and reliant on another person for transportation. I won't litter for anything (and this includes shit like letting balloons go in the air, fucking stop), I'm trying to use my metal straw always in place of plastic, and to use less plastic bags, I try to spread out the times I clean Roman's litterbox to a few days; not to the point it's disgusting or uncomfortable for him, of course, though. Three days without is pretty much max. When's the last time you did something you knew was wrong? Ha, a little while ago... I was trying to avoid eating the two last biscuits Mom made for dinner 'cuz I really gotta lay off the carbs, but Mom "joked" that "it's your birthday, you get to do whatever you want," so I kinda just said fuck it lmao. Do you think that you have a pretty smile? No, because my eyes squint badly, and I also hate my teeth. When's the last time you cried over a guy? A few days ago a little bit, actually. I was reminiscing too much and recalling some of the warmest memories. Are you scared to lose the person you fell the hardest for? I already did. Oh well. Is there someone you wouldn't mind kissing right now? Yep. Do you have any friends that actually model? No. Do you care about the last person you kissed? A fucking lot. Do they care about you? Yes. Is there someone you wish you were with right now? Yes, just because of past birthday memories. I keep hoping a "happy birthday Britt" pops up in my FB messenger, and I hate myself for it. Have you ever imagined how it would feel kissing a certain someone? I legitimately just huffed in humor, guess, lmao. What are the bad things you've heard people say about you? That I'm a martyr, going nowhere, lazy, not trying hard enough, y'know, all that good stuff. Do you flirt a lot? Definitely not. What phrase or saying do you use the most? Probably "oof" lol. What mood are you in right now? I'm doing pretty all right. Kinda dreading Miss Tobey coming over, mean as it is, but I just... don't wanna deal with her and her judgments on my birthday. But I'm looking forward to seeing my sisters, and therapy went very well. Have you ever kissed someone that was high? No. Do you have a good relationship with your mother? Yep. How many exes do you have? I only consider two exes "serious," as I've only been in two deep and long-term relationships, but if we're counting everyone who's had the label of "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," there's six. Do you want to be single or with someone? Ugh, I don't know. It's probably better I don't 'til I figure my shit out, but I really do miss the companionship a lot. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed? Because I love her and I was leaving her at the airport. Does your mom think you’re a virgin? She doesn't know for the same reason I don't, really. I think she leans towards I am, but idk. Is there someone that wants you to give them a second chance? I don't know. What size bra do you wear? Uhhh I genuinely don't buy bras enough to know this exactly. C-something. Does the person you last kissed still like you? I don't know if she still like-likes me. Are your parents still together? Noooo. Was your first time good or bad? I dated an Italian, if u kno what I mean. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Which friend-turned-enemy do you miss the most? Colleen, sometimes. Have you ever used an epi pen, and it worked? I have not. What is on your top priority list for today? Make this fuckin' day for me. I'm trying to not let the depression sink in and make me feel worthless on today of all days. So I'm trying to stay in a positive headspace. Do you own any sand art in a jar? Omg, those are so cool! But no. Does the sun come in your window in the morning or at night? Not really; there's houses in the way. What was the last piece of art you created? A drawing of a meerkat with its mouth open angrily, done with colored pencils, against a black background. It's on my second dA. What time of day do you take medications? I have prescription meds for when I wake up and at bedtime. What's your newest hobby you've started? A new hobby? Huh... What are some things you wanted to do that your parents didn't let you do? They wouldn't let us stay home alone until a certain age, we had a timer on the TV at bedtime to shut off after a while, we weren't exposed to certain music or shows, no cursing... stuff like that. What YouTube channels do you recommend? This is a BAD question to ask me, 'cuz I could just about recommend channels for just about any niche. I watch soooooo many. What is your favorite day of the week? Tuesday, because it's reset day in WoW, haha. Meaning, I get to do my stupid mount farming raids again for the week. Blackhand, gimme your FUCKING clefthoof already. Ballet or cheerleading? Ballet is beautiful. What are your favorite sports to watch? Only dancing, really. Were you ever in the marching band? No. Which holiday has the best decorations, in your opinion? My contrasting aesthetics make this hard, haha. I love Christmas with all the beautiful light displays people can make, but let's not sleep on Halloween, y'all. I loooove Halloween decor, like c'mon, that's where I get shit for my room year-round, lmao. What do you want to be known for? It'd actually be kinda cool if I built up some sort of rep in the vulture culture community with my photography of roadkill. For how few shots I actually have on there and minimal interaction, my Instagram for it is doing quite well, if you consider those factors. They've gotten some pretty decent attention on dA, too. I would love for people to know why I do it though, of course: awareness and respect for the animal's life. How often do you wear make-up? Almost never nowadays. Think of the person you are jealous of...what are you jealous of them for? She's actually making a career out of her photography. Do you have art that you made in high school? Oh, plenty. Do you have trauma in your past? *clears throat* take a fuckin seat Favorite type of frosting? Chocolate. Have you ever tried cake decorating? No. One of my sisters is actually one, though! She's great at it. What clubs are you a part of? None. What was your favorite book that you had to read for school? The Outsiders. 6th grade, to be exact. Do you like to read classics, or do you usually read new arrivals? I don't prefer one over the other, honestly. Were you a big partier in college? No, I never partied. Is your college one you would recommend? My most recent one, fuck yes. They're amazing and care so deeply for their students. Would you go camping in the woods alone? Yikes, no. Would you name your kids after anyone? If I had a son and I had my way with the name, he would be named after the Most Selfless Man in the World, Damien from WKM. :'''''( Do you have any supernatural gifts? No. Are there any good churches in your town? You're asking someone who has a bad relationship with religion. Do you want an indoor or outdoor wedding? It really depends on the season and venue my spouse and I pick. Do you think you would be a good salesperson? HEEEEEEEEEEEELL NAW fam. I ain't pressuring people to buy shit.