#stupidly proud of how I drew those hands

[avariceaside]

ArcticFight piece with my OCs Pelios and Becca for the prompt 'Comfort Food'

Fun fact, this is actually a bit of a redraw of old drawing I did in 2019 for DnDecember thing. I'll put it under the cut

Man, I was like 12-13 when I drew his one. I love seeing my artistic growth with comparisons like these

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 12

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

It was as if some protective membrane had been torn away and everything that he had not let himself feel was exposed behind the rupture.

this is a beautifully written sentence

He had nothing left to hold it back, only this raw, terrible feeling, of being denied family.

it’s interesting how he takes this as being denied family. it’s less of a literal denial, and more of him reckoning with the reality he’s been avoiding for the entire series: his father and kastor were/are incredibly flawed people, and in kastor’s case actively committed/attempted familicide. it’s less the denial of family itself and more the denial of the family he thought he had, and the ideal of family being loyal and dependable. that same disillusionment must have happened to laurent when auguste died and the regent started mistreating him.

In his life, he had known only one parent. His father had been to him a set of ideals, a man he looked up to, and strove to please, a standard against whom he measured himself. Since his father’s death, he had not allowed himself to think or feel anything but determination that he would return, that he would see his home again, and restore himself to the throne.

okay i think i kinda hinted at some mild criticism of king’s rising in my last set of annotations, and a some people agreed in that it seems like she had an editor and was writing to be traditionally published. i think i see that here. i don’t think captive prince or prince’s gambit pacat would have spelled this out here, as clearly as she does. it’s well-written, but also something we could easily understand between the lines. it almost feels less effective this way, although that’s partially because i’m so used to a certain style and approach from the author.

Now he felt as if he stood in front of his father, felt his father’s hand in his hair, as he never would again. He had wanted his father to be proud of him; and had failed him, in the end.

yeah, i’m sorry, but this feels really out of place. both in terms of the writing and the fact that it’s included at all. feels like some editor was like “you need to spell it out for the casual readers who are just interested in the porn if you want the scene to be effective.” the turns of phrase are a little trite and the entire thing just seems so… obvious? maybe i’m being too harsh, but i am curious what others think.

Laurent said, ‘No. I’m not here to—’ He said, ‘I’m just here.’

this is a lovely line. laurent knows damen thinks his presence is a call to action, but wants him to know he’s safe and can just exist. a little bit of a reversal between them.

Laurent, he realised, had guarded his solitude for him. And his people, fearing the fierce, strange foreign prince, had done as Laurent ordered, and stayed out. He was stupidly, profoundly grateful for that.

again with the reversal—similar to what happened after aimeric/nicaise

Before he could, he felt Laurent’s fingers on the back of his neck, a shock of touch that caught him in a tumult of confusion as it drew him forward, simply. It was, from Laurent, slightly awkward; sweet; rare; stiff with obvious inexperience. If he had been offered this as an adult, he couldn’t remember it.

<3 i still think we’re getting a lot spelled out for us, but it’s so lovely here that i don’t mind.

‘Now you are taking advantage of my kind-hearted instincts,’ Laurent said, a murmur into his ear.

:)

He let his lips form a half-smile. ‘You aren’t going to offer me one of your gaudy Veretian handkerchiefs?’ ‘You could use the clothing you’re wearing. It’s about the same size.’ ‘Your poor Veretian sensibilities. All those wrists and ankles.’ ‘And arms and thighs and every other part.’ ‘My father’s dead.’

YEP THIS IS GREAT. love how it takes this swift u-turn away from their usual banter. we know these characters and how they usually speak, so this is effective on its own

The words had a finality to them.

... so we don’t need this! we GET that finality from the way they heavily contrast with the light banter and stop it abruptly with "my father's dead."

His father was buried in Akielos beneath the columned halls of the silent, where the pain and confusion of his last days would never trouble him again.

this might be giving us a little hint of damen almost wanting to be dead himself? in the sense that it would be peaceful, to not have to deal with this bullshit. he hasn't grown up having these kinds of feelings acknowledged so he's unprepared to cope with them now.

‘You thought he was a warmonger. An aggressive, war-hungry king, who invaded your country on the flimsiest of pretexts, hungry for land and the glory of Akielos.’ ‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘We don’t have to do this now.’

laurent doesn’t disagree. the “no” is for “i’m not letting you do this yourself emotionally.” and laurent would know all about torturing himself with harsh realities about dead people during intimate and vulnerable moments, so that’s really saying something

‘A barbarian,’ said Damen, ‘with barbaric ambitions, fit only to rule by the sword. You hated him.’ ‘I hated you,’ said Laurent. ‘I hated you so badly I thought I’d choke on it. If my uncle hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed you. And then you saved my life, and every time I needed you, you were there, and I hated you for that, too.’ ‘I killed your brother.’

this feels a little bit like a summary, but i’ll allow it since they’re having an honest conversation while knowing each other fully for like the first time. do you think this is the chapter that was edited/pitched to publishers first? i don’t know exactly how publishing works, but it does feel just kind of weird

‘What are you doing here?’ Damen said.

i like how we get some insecurity from damen here. we don’t see it often, like this. he is surprised that laurent wants him, even while he is being vulnerable. i’d say it’s a toxic masculinity thing, but in the context of this world it’s more of a toxic royalty thing

Laurent said, ‘I know what it’s like to lose family.’

(as an answer to “what are you doing here?”) i get what this is trying to say, i think. laurent is looking past his anger at damen for auguste and offering him empathy, even though damen caused the tragedy that allows laurent to be empathetic in this case. it still feels… slightly off, though. maybe it’s even the fact that damen asked in the first place. maybe it’s the fact that laurent answered verbally. so much between them has been unspoken thus far, and i don’t see why that needs to change, even though they’re in a more supportive relationship. that can be implicit, too. and that unspoken understanding makes it even more intimate and distinctly Them.

‘Is there no way forward for us?’ said Damen. It just came out. Beside him, he could feel Laurent holding himself very still. ‘You mean, will I come back to your bed for the little time we have left?’ ‘I mean that we hold the centre. We hold everything from Acquitart to Sicyon. Can we not call it a kingdom and rule it together? Am I such a poorer prospect than a Patran princess, or a daughter of the Empire?’

he mentions unification so casually, which is both rewarding to the reader who has been screaming it for chapters but also kind of… annoying? i don’t know, so much of this feels in service of the imminent sex scene. kind of rushed or dumbed down. so much tension has been meticulously built, and they’ve had sex under far less resolved conditions. here it’s almost like there’s a checklist of Things Damen and Laurent Have to Agree On/Share About Themselves Emotionally Before They Can Satisfyingly Fuck For The First Time As Themselves. but like, these bitches are messy. always have been, always will be. and they’ve always BEEN themselves. to just try to quickly resolve and drop the mess feels inconsistent, and makes the execution of the sex less unique and ironically more shallow, maybe

When he made himself look at Laurent, Laurent’s eyes on him were very dark, his voice quiet. ‘How can you trust me, after what your own brother did to you?’ ‘Because he was false,’ said Damen, ‘and you are true. I have never known a truer man.’ He said, into the stillness, ‘I think if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly.’

contrast to what he’s learned about his family—kastor and his father, because the negative things he said about his father as if laurent believes them are also things damen has come to believe.

it’s a sweet line. and kind of insane, given everything laurent has done. but i think it works, because we know damen has been like this about laurent from the start. and we also know its difficult for laurent to believe or accept that anyone would want to trust him with their heart. i wish we could have had this interaction be spoken, but with FAR less of the previous conversation here. start the scene with laurent entering, have them comfort each other physically but unable to speak. or speak around the subject, instead of hitting the nail on the head. then give them this extremely direct moment, and it would be a lot more effective.

listen i’m not saying i’m better or smarter or anything, it is ultimately a matter of taste and i’ve been taking a break from the books. but i have done a VERY CLOSE READING of this series so far, so i feel at least somewhat capable of analyzing it in this way. if that makes sense.

Laurent turned his head, denying Damen his face.

this doesn’t feel like a pacat line. the construction of it does, but i feel like she’d say something far less direct and far more poetic than “denying his face”

Damen could see his breathing. After a moment he said in a low voice, ‘When you make love to me like that, I can’t think.’ ‘Don’t think,’ said Damen. Damen saw the flickering change, the tension, as the words provoked an internal battle. Damen said, ‘Don’t think.’ ‘Don’t,’ said Laurent, ‘toy with me. I—have not the means to—defend against this.’ ‘I don’t toy with you.’ ‘I—’ ‘Don’t think,’ said Damen. ‘Kiss me,’ said Laurent. And then flushed, a rich colour. Don’t think, Damen had said, but Laurent couldn’t do that. Even to sit there after what he had said, he was fighting a battle in his head. The words hung awkwardly, a blurt, but Laurent didn’t take them back, he just waited, his body singing with tension. Instead of leaning in, Damen took Laurent’s hand, brought it towards himself, and kissed his palm, once.

yeah.

He had learned in the course of their one night together to tell when Laurent was taken unawares—taken aback. It wasn’t easy to anticipate, the gaps in Laurent’s experience not mapping to anything that he understood. He felt it now, Laurent’s eyes very dark, uncertain of what he should do. ‘I meant—’ ‘Don’t let you think?’ Laurent didn’t answer.

this is. such an interesting way to bring in previous themes of consent and submission. bc this is by all means consensual, but laurent is almost asking damen to just take what he wants, because his anxiety is so bad that he doesn’t really WANT to be asked what he wants or made to initiate. it's submission willingly given because laurent trusts damen, both in terms of seeing and understanding his weakness here and in taking care of his pleasure. laurent asking outright to not have to be strong in this situation, and trusting damen to treat him well while his guard is down. trusting him with his heart, just as damen has sworn to trust laurent with his.

Laurent’s wariness was not, at this moment, the high walls of the defended citadel. It was that of a man with a portion of his guard down, who was desperately unused to it.

After a moment: ‘At Ravenel, I—it had been a long time since I had—with anyone. I was nervous.’ ‘I know,’ said Damen. ‘There has,’ said Laurent. He stopped. ‘There has only been one other person.’ Softly, ‘I’m a little more experienced than that.’ ‘Yes, that is immediately apparent.’ ‘Is it?’ A little pleased. ‘Yes.’

THIS is lamen dialogue. so much unsaid, and it’s perfect, because we know what it’s all implying.

‘Laurent, I’d never hurt you.’ He heard Laurent’s strange, disbelieving breath, and he realised what he had said. ‘I know,’ said Damen, ‘that I did hurt you.’ Laurent’s motionlessness was careful, even his breathing was careful. He didn’t turn back to look at Damen. ‘I hurt you, Laurent.’ ‘That’s enough, stop,’ said Laurent. ‘It wasn’t right. You were just a boy. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.’ ‘I said that’s enough.’ ‘Is it so hard to hear?’

big moment for damen, realizing he did something to hurt laurent and admitting it. this has been building for a while with his guilt about his father and slavery and everything else akielos stands for. damen has always lied to himself, a lot. he almost treats this scene like a confession.

on the laurent side of things: this is damen admitting he was wrong, but still wanting to be better. i think that confuses laurent, to think that anyone would ever want to treat him well when they’re strong enough to hurt him. also, this is just generally intense for laurent, but he's still here despite his discomfort because he cares about damen.

this entire scene really is just an insane amount of honesty and vulnerability from them both. it's quick to overwhelm laurent, while damen seems to be getting kind of addicted to it and wanting more. which he gets, in more ways than one.

He thought of Auguste, thought how no boy deserved to lose his brother.

interesting line for a guy who ends up almost being murdered by his stepbrother and gets saved by his divorce husband, whose brother he killed, killing his stepbrother

He didn’t understand the forces that moved in Laurent, but some instinct pushed him to say it. ‘My first time, there was a lot of rolling around. I was eager and had no idea what to do. It’s not like Vere, we don’t watch people doing it in public.’ He said, ‘I still get too caught up near the end. I know I forget myself.’

awww :) he’s trying to make him feel less awkward. this is such a setting-transcendent moment. anyone would say something like this, whether in this weird horny semi historical fictional society or any other romance setting. "you're new to this, but so was i. and i still have my flaws."

A silence. It went on too long. He didn’t disturb it, watching the tense line of Laurent’s body.

love the patience here

‘When you kissed me,’ said Laurent, pushing the words out, ‘I liked it. When you took me in your mouth, it was the first time that I had . . . done that.’ He said, ‘I liked it when you—’

he’s so brave for saying this. i’m not being sarcastic. go laurent

Laurent’s reaction to kissing had always been complex: tense; vulnerable; hot. The tension was the greatest part of it, as though this single act was too much for him, too extreme. And yet, he had asked for it. Kiss me.

as always, the way laurent is not a normal romantic interest but still deeply loved and respected narratively makes me feel so happy. gives me hope etc

Don’t think, he’d said, because it was easier than saying, Take me for who I am. He couldn’t bear that suddenly. He wanted it without pretences, without excuses, his fingers curling hard into Laurent’s hair.

love this evolution. damen desperately wants laurent to be here and thinking, and knowing him, and still letting himself want this. again, with the almost addiction to honesty between them. he's getting swept up in it.

‘It’s me,’ said Damen. ‘It’s me, here with you. Say my name.’ ‘Damianos.’ He felt the sundering in Laurent at that, the name an admission, a statement of truth that came out of him, Laurent open to him with nothing to hide behind. He could hear it in Laurent’s voice. Prince-killer.

He wanted it, felt a surge of purely selfish desire as he thought of it, that Laurent knew it was him. That Laurent wanted this with him.

we know. this could have been left out.

It was subsumed, as it had to be, into the act of kissing. His body felt heavy, one form of penetration substituted for another, the tremors in Laurent not that of a single barrier crumbling, but shudders as though one after another were being brought down, each place unexplored, each place deeper than the last. Prince-killer.

so is this kind of meant to conjure the image of damen taking auguste down, right? breaking down defenses, penetration, etc. prince killer as in murderer, but he’s also killing laurent as in like. “lady-killer ;)”

He felt acutely aware that he was half on his back, naked, with Laurent fully clothed, astride, still wearing his polished boots and the high-necked, tightly laced collar of his jacket. It was a sudden, vulnerable fantasy that Laurent might simply get up and wander off, strolling the rooms, or sit in the chair opposite to sip wine with his legs crossed, while Damen was left exposed on the bed.

yeah damen, you WOULD be into that

Laurent didn’t do that. Laurent lifted his hands to his own neck. His eyes on Damen’s, slowly, he took up one of the tight-laced ties at his throat, and drew on it.

the EYE CONTACT!!!

In the dim light, Auguste was between them, sharp as a knife. The scar on his shoulder was the last thing Auguste had done before Damen had killed him. The kiss was like a wound, as if to do it Laurent was impaling himself on that knife. There was an edge of desperation to it, Laurent kissing like he needed it, his fingers clutching, his body unsteady.

it really feels like this should be cut at “wound.” maybe continue with a much more brief “laurent impaled himself.” we can MAKE the connection that it’s like he’s stabbing himself on this figurative thing, but doing it anyway because he wants it. it doesn’t need to be written out, it’s already on the page between the lines! it is SO bizarre to me that pacat's style has changed in this way in seemingly just this one chapter. maybe it's because i stepped away for a while, but honestly i can't see how i couldn't NOT have a sort of sixth sense for recognizing these weird moments given the amount of detail i've put into my analysis and reading. again, your thoughts are definitely appreciated.

He kissed back knowing it hurt him, hurt them both. There was a desperation in both of them, an aching need that could not be filled, and he could feel it in Laurent, the same unconscious striving.

another example of “we don’t need the second the sentence because the first already says it!!” i seriously suspect that this scene was written way more raw at first but an editor was like “you have to make it a lot more clear they both want it/they’re chill with each other over and over again so it’s not too vague”

another alternate explanation could be the chapter's overarching theme of abundant honestly, like almost an overwhelming amount of it, but i still don't think that explains the change in like, craft. there's a difference between characters changing their behavior through development or to make a thematic point, and the narrative itself shifting in how it tells the story. and while damen is kind of going from the extreme of lying to himself about everything to craving this truth, it's still strange to read, and feels like a very intense departure from their previous scenes together.

In a burst of explicit fantasy, he wished Laurent were a pet, or a slave, wished him a body that was not going to require extensive, coaxing preparation before it could be penetrated.

“you like it simple” flashbacks

i think both laurent and damen have moments of wanting this, but ultimately care far more for the more complicated and real parts of their relationship and selves. that was a lot of my chapter 7 analysis re-write. part of what i love about this pairing is that it's really not that much about the sex for them, which is highly ironic given gestures vaguely to the story and world. true intimacy between them has been in their conversations, their little sidequests together and the way they've connected intellectually and emotionally despite literally every odd being against that happening. it's in the way they are equals, and choose to devote themselves mutually, whether it's through despising or adoring each other. anyone can fuck; and especially in this series, almost everyone does. whatever damen and laurent do is wayyy more insane and complicated and interesting and real than that.

He wanted to be inside. He wanted to feel Laurent’s surrender shudder and give way, become total. He wanted no denying that Laurent had let him in, who he had let in. It’s me. His body primed, as though only in one act could this be driven home.

(heads up, i talk pretty explicitly about sexual assault and rape in the following paragraphs)

see, i don’t get how THAT is the ultimate sign of laurent "letting damen in." because anyone could fuck anyone if they’re powerful enough, right? that’s the whole tragedy of laurent, he sees himself as weak because this has been done to him before without his consent. i guess the surrender is in admitting he wants it, which does make sense with how everything has been set up. laurent has been assaulted and harassed and objectified by countless people, but damen is the only one he’s even given enthusiastic consent, so yeah i guess it is the ultimate sign of uhhhh accomplishment, for damen? for lack of a better word. but that still just feels OFF to me. the emotions and the logic of it.

i understand that there is a raw sort of honesty to sex; a body's natural response, fairly disconnected from morality or reason. damen has experienced that for laurent from the very start, and it's gotten him into trouble before. but despite that, he isn't a character who experiences shame about having those feelings, like, ever. the man had sex slaves, after all. he is horny despite the horrors, that's his thing.

i guess where i struggle is in, myself, thinking that the kind of primal sexual honesty here is real or meaningful in the same way the aforementioned emotional and intellectual intimacy are. like, there's something here that just bothers me. maybe it's the way damen is so swept up in the "honesty" of laurent letting himself be fucked, as a totally good and amazing and real thing. i get how damen might feel that way, but it's like, did the regent not also feel those same kinds of feelings, and act on them? if laurent had any kind of bodily response to his own assault, was that bodily honesty his emotional or intellectual truth? is it any different from the bodily honesty damen is appreciating here? this line of thinking is a common way that people convince others that they wanted or deserved their assault. i know damen is like deeply unqualified to understand that, and i know that laurent does want it and damen cares for him deeply, but i guess i almost feel protective of laurent in this moment, with the way damen is thinking during this scene.

all of the terrible people in this series who do so many things without consent, to degrade and disempower others or simply because they think they're entitled to it, are acting on the same primal urges as damen in this scene. what makes damen different from them, the entire reason laurent trusts damen enough to LET him do this, is the fact that damen respects laurent beyond those primal urges, and sees him as a person and not an object. raw sexual desire, by contrast, is just... simple.

i get a little lost here as a reader because, like laurent, i need to intellectualize everything always. i do not like it simple, often to my own detriment, admittedly. it’s hard for me to amend the idea of this like unmitigated desire for sexual honesty/vulnerability with damen genuinely respecting laurent, even though i know he does and that’s literally the entire point, that the two things can coexist and this is romantic and powerful because somehow they do. i can suspend my disbelief while reading this in fiction, but it’s harder to rationalize or understand based on my own experiences, and my knowledge of the real world. trusting another person with vulnerability is horrifying and the series knows it, but is trying to offer a strong rebuttal in the way damen and laurent love each other.

maybe it's just that in this scene, i'm not totally sold. or something.

‘Do it, I told you, I don’t care—’

there is a little part of me that’s like “uh is this what a person who really wants to be doing this would say??” but also i know damn well that i'm projecting so go off king i guess????

maybe i would have been more satisfied by this scene if damen did not fuck laurent here and now. i don't know. this analysis is poor, unobjective, confused and hypocritical. but i'm not struggling with it in a fun or enriching way, like with chapter 7, it just makes me feel kinda bad. so i'm pushing through.

He was inside Laurent. It felt raw and unprotected. He had never felt more like himself: Laurent had let him inside, knowing who he was.

yes. WE KNOW.

Damen’s grip, still oiled, was wrapped around the hottest, most honest part of Laurent.

“most honest part” yeah that pretty much sums up what makes me weird about this scene. the way damen DELIGHTS in the primal honesty of it all, beneath laurent’s carefully constructed defenses. i guess just, its been so nice reading damen being so respectful of laurent’s hesitations and boundaries, and therefore falling for his personality and intellect and genuinely growing to understand and respect him without the promise of submission or sex, so the framing of this being damen finally getting what he REALLY wanted from laurent the whole time is… kind of rough to read. like oh, this is REALLY intimacy. this is the height of it. but it's not. like, at all.

damen is not me, and i get that. but in previous times where damen has done shit i've felt weird about, i've never felt like the narrative has been poking at me to approve of it or feel positive catharsis. but this entire scene is so heavily written to be this great moment of celebration and positive catharsis, for protagonist and reader alike. but what are we even celebrating here? we're celebrating the honesty between damen and laurent about their identities, and the fact that they support each other anyway. given how much baggage they both have about sex, i almost feel like it would be a more effective scene if they DIDN'T fuck. like, laurent just hugging damen was beautiful. that kind of simple comfort, not inherently sexual, was unusual to damen. and therefore impactful. but noooo, the sex is supposed to be the pinnacle, and we made the way for it with some weirdly written overly explanatory dialogue shoved at the start of the scene. to be fair, damen does literally say, 'I still get too caught up near the end. I know I forget myself.’ which is kind of what I've just described happening.

i just don't think i am where the book wants me to be, with how i react to that. it's an odd feeling. i feel like everyone is going to read this and be like "wow she has issues, she's insane, you're supposed to like that he forgets himself and is consumed by his desires." but oh well. i usually don't enjoy the romance genre for a reason.

this series really does challenge my own ability to let simple desire coexist with the proven need to be highly intentional and thoughtful in caring about/interacting with others. it’s hard for me to believe those two things can be in harmony—that you can be honest and vulnerable, and not either be hurting someone, getting hurt by someone, enabling someone else’s self-harm, or hurting yourself.

i suppose some of the catharsis of this scene is that laurent and damen are doing this together, KNOWING they have hurt each other. that they will always have that between them, yet also knowing and trusting that they can and will treat each other well.

it’s just hard for me to see that as anything other than fantasy. it's not honest, it's not real, in the way i've come to understand those concepts both in my personal ethos and the ethos of the series. so this entire scene built around honesty as a theme just kind of falls flat. it’s tragic, really, that damen is so happy about this apparent truth between them when he is unaware of the very blatant and relevant reality of laurent’s history with sexual assault. it’s a powerful scene, but not for the reasons damen thinks it’s powerful. maybe pacat meant for that to be the case, maybe she didn’t, maybe editing made it weird. who knows.

but it is, as i’ve said in previous chapter analysis posts, a nice fantasy. i'm glad if it hits for other readers, and i respect that cs pacat put it here for a reason. maybe someday i'll re-read it and react differently.

[varlaisvea]

2024 Art Retrospective Thing!

I’m only going to talk about one thing.

I’m a writer, but in 2024, many decades into my life, I got to feel what it’s like when your art tools can adjust to compensate for your disabilities.

In September, I finished the best piece of visual art I’ve ever made (warning: spicy). It didn’t get a ton of notes—maybe it’s not awesome to others, but I still can’t believe *I* made it. I’m still in love with it and so proud of it.

The thing is, I write all the time. Writing is the currency of my brain; I’d be doing it whether I had anything to say or not. Writing comes naturally to me. Drawing does not! I’ve always liked drawing, especially figures and faces, but I was never great at it— I have had chronically shaky/numb/painful hands my whole life, so visual art was always frustrating to me.

THEN i discovered the tools Procreate has to stabilize and correct for shaky hands! Suddenly lines went where I meant for them to go and curves and angles took on the form I intended as I drew them. I thought it was my lack of talent that meant I couldn’t draw lines the way I wanted, but the art that emerged once those I turned those settings on was miraculous to me. I discovered I actually COULD control visual art the way I always thought I couldn’t.

I only kinda used a reference for the pose. Otherwise the whole thing came out of my brain. I still can’t believe it.

I’m making you look at it again. Please go look at the whole thing, but here’s a cropped closeup:

(I made a post about the symbolism behind all the jewelry in this crop, too. It’s also a pretty good summary of the story so far.)

But!!! I need to talk about what Procreate allowed me to do here.

Tumblr thinks the pr0n screenshot i used as a reference is explicit (it's not), and I'm pissed bc i wanted to show you how little of it made it into the final. At any rate, I started with a reference image of two people in a similar pose to this, and all that remains of it is the bottom character's shoulder and the top character's leg. Everything else--the folds and drape of the fabric, the light of the fire, the substantial changes to the pose—was math I did in my brain. I quite literally rotated my blorbos in my mind and then drew it. I had absolutely no idea I could do that.

I mean, maybe it looks like something that would be easy for an amateur to make, idk! But to me? It’s amazing! This was a stupidly difficult pose I chose for myself, and I did it. It has a lot of strange shit in it and you can still tell what’s happening!!! The weird twist of her head and braid, the strange way his arm is angled, the way fabric covers every joint on the body you would otherwise use to orient yourself to what you’re seeing… I did all of that math in my mind, and I still pulled it off.

It took me 250 hours in Procreate. I later discovered character posing tools online that might have made this a whole lot easier, and I’ve started using those for subsequent art.

Idk why people didn’t really like this. Maybe it’s bc ESO is not super popular on tumblr, maybe it’s bc of the ostensibly heterosexual/cisgender pairing (both false!!!! btw!), maybe it’s bc of the conventionally attractive bodies? idk! but honestly, I still love it. this is my achievement of 2024 no matter how many notes it has, bc it represents an immense gift I received in 2024: I learned that after all these years, I actually did kinda know how to draw. :) Thank you Procreate!

[sarahscribbles]

E, what have you done to me 😭😭 this was so beautiful and fluffy and lovely and I think my heart is going to explode 😭

Of course, some deity had it out for her, because she drew Loki’s name.

That deity is doing you a favour, girl!! Honestly, who (other than Thor) would have put so much thought into Loki’s gifts?

“…everyone has certain needs to satiate, but courting someone is no interest of mine.” 

Uh huh. Sure thing, buddy 😉 why don’t we circle back to this in a few months?

Theo had to stop for a moment and consider whether he was referring to the himself, or the living room.

E, please 💀💀💀 though from your amazing descriptions I know he looked magnificent 🥵

On one side of each sock, placed so it would be visible while wearing shoes, was the design of an apple car driven by a worm, as well as text which read: “I’m on my way to the bookstore!”

Oh my god, this was so freaking corny and sweet and just perfect! I can see this as the type of gift that would make Loki stupidly happy and I’m going to bet he wears those things all the time!

Theo noticed his emerald green and black socks and her heart skipped a beat - he wore the socks she gave him.

Called it.

Thor offered Loki a frosted pop-tart. In response, Loki nearly disintegrated the thing on sight, calling it an abomination to pastries everywhere.

E, I can’t with this chapter 😂😂 I’m picturing Thor with a pop tart half way to his mouth while Loki is popping off like the drama queen he is 😂 probably on some monologue about the history of the danish 😂

Theo barely had a chance to set down her mug before Loki scooped her into his arms and crushed her in an embrace, the strength of which forced a small “oof!” out of Theo from the impact

Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! Ugh, he’s so grateful 😭😭😭 how did she break away from that because I would have dragged him down on top of me 😂

And that ending?? The painting and then both of them holding hands??? I’m going to need a dramatic declaration of love from these idiots! 😂

E, this was everything I could have asked for and more! You have such a gift and I’m so in love with your blorbos! You should be so proud of this!! 🩷🩷

Together by this Christmas Tree

Summary: The Avengers have an annual tradition of a Secret Santa Gift Exchange, and Theo’s life becomes a real life Hallmark Movie when she draws Loki’s name and has to get him five days of gifts. Because shopping for a god and a prince, especially one that you have a massive crush on, is easy, right?!

Author's Notes: HELLO AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS! This is a one-shot set in the WEMTBB world with our favorite sorcerers, however you do not need to be caught up on (or even have started) WEMTBB in order to enjoy this story! For those of you who are reading WEMTBB, this takes place in the future, when these two are in their “mutual pining idiots” stage; you will absolutely spot some easter eggs, but there are no major spoilers here.

This is for @sarahscribbles Christmas Collection, because I’m strolling in five minutes late with Starbucks for Christmas by posting this the day after Christmas. If you're a regular reader of WEMTBB, I am still planning to update it on Sunday (12/31).

Content: Absolute tooth-rotting fluff, Secret Santa, LOADS of mutual pining, Wanda being a very supportive friend, some pranks along the way, Loki in multiple sweaters, and lots of Loki getting the love, kindness, and attention he deserves.

Word Count: 8,104

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

—

When Steve first made the announcement, at the end of a mission debrief, Theo swore he was joking.

The idea of the Avengers making a point to celebrate Christmas seemed a bit strange - beyond the fact that there were two Norse Gods on the team, it seemed presumptuous to assume everyone else was Christian. 

Theo’s feelings about the winter holidays were, at best, ambivalent. Sure, she liked the holiday lights, and she was a sucker for a good holiday song. She enjoyed showering her niece, Katie, with presents - after all, what kind of auntie would Theo be if she didn’t absolutely spoil her niece? And any time Theo could visit Mémère for longer than an hour or two was a blessing in its own right.

But the holidays also reminded her of the family she lost, and being the single friend at every holiday party got tiring (especially when her well-intended friends kept trying to set Theo up with people that Theo had absolutely no interest in). It had reached a point that Theo often volunteered to work the holiday shifts, as chaotic as they were, just so she had the excuse to avoid awkward gatherings.

However, when the other Avengers lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree at the announcement of the Secret Santa gift exchange, Theo kept her mouth shut. She was still relatively new to the team, and it wasn’t the first time she had been subjected to workplace celebrations for holidays she didn’t celebrate. 

But of course, this was a group of superheroes celebrating, so it wasn’t a basic Secret Santa; no, of course not, because nothing about them was basic. It was five days of secret Santa. 

At least the rules were simple: each person drew the name of another Avenger. Then, you had to give the person whose name you drew a series of gifts with clues about your identity leading up to the final day, when you would give them a gift and a final clue. Then, each person would try to guess who their Secret Santa was. Regardless of whether or not they figured it out, each person would receive one final gift, something a bit more special.

Steve closed the announcement by informing the group they would draw names the following Monday, and would have approximately a month to pick out gifts before they completed the exchange. A certain buzz filled the air as everyone left the conference room, with some reminiscing about funny moments from past exchanges, while others pondered over who they might end up with.

It wasn’t until after the meeting that Theo had the foresight to ask if the Secret Santa exchange was meant to replace getting everyone their own gifts, or if it was in addition to getting everyone their own gifts. Wanda, ever the MVP when it came to explaining unwritten Avengers’ rules to Theo, explained that it was in addition to getting everyone else gifts. 

Theo spent the next two days praying she would get someone easy to shop for - after all, she already had to get gifts for a dozen Avengers, plus her hospital colleagues, and her family. She wasn’t sure that she had enough mental capacity to figure out gifts for someone she wasn’t as familiar with.

Of course, some deity had it out for her, because she drew Loki’s name.

Loki, the prince and ‘most powerful sorcerer in the nine realms,’ who could buy or conjure pretty much anything he wanted in the snap of his fingers.

Loki, who, besides being Theo’s best friend among the Avengers, happened to be the person Theo had a massive fucking crush on.

It wasn’t like anything would ever come of the crush - Loki had a firm rule that he did not date. He had no interest in relationships whatsoever. It was a tidbit of information Theo learned early on in her tenure as an Avenger, amidst a conversation about the love lives of the Avengers as a whole. Loki would spend one night with someone, but never allow it to become an ongoing thing - in his words, “everyone has certain needs to satiate, but courting someone is no interest of mine.” 

So, despite Theo’s unbidden thoughts of channeling her inner hallmark movie to reveal her feelings to Loki, she needed to figure out how the hell to navigate getting him Secret Santa gifts, a normal gift… oh yeah, and his birthday gift, because that was a week before Christmas.

Inevitably, once they finished drawing names, Theo immediately dragged Wanda down the hall by the sleeve of her red hoodie and into Wanda’s suite, since it was closer than Theo’s.

“What’s going on?” Wanda half-laughed as she closed the door and glanced, worriedly, at Theo, who had started to pace the room. “Are you okay?”

“I need your help with Secret Santa — What the hell do you get someone who could have anything they want for Christmas?” Theo flopped on Wanda’s bed with a dramatic sigh, her mind reeling with how to handle her predicament.

“That depends –” Wanda answered slowly, eyes narrowed as she approached Theo. “Why do you think they have everything?” 

“Because he’s a prince and a God who can conjure anything he damn well pleases with the snap of his fingers!” Theo tossed her arms up in the air, gesturing exasperatingly at nothing. 

Nothing - just like the ideas she had for Loki’s gifts. 

Nothing.

“So you have Loki for your Secret Santa?” Wanda sat down beside Theo, smirking at her.

“Yes!” Theo buried her face with her hands. “I had a hard enough time figuring out a birthday present, and I still haven’t figured out what to get him for a normal Christmas gift! But now I also have to give him a Secret Santa gift?!”

“Gifts, plural.” Wanda reminded her, smirk widening into a rather evil-looking grin. “Remember, it’s a week of lead-up to the final gift, because the goal is to try and have them guess who it is.”

“FUCK.” Theo let her arms drop to her sides. “This isn’t fair—“ she whined, earning a poorly stifled laugh from Wanda. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like he’s the only one who is hard to shop for,” Wanda attempted to sympathize, but the giggles that slipped out as she replied did little to help. “Can you imagine having to buy gifts for Tony?”

“Simple, get him booze.” Theo scoffed, propping herself up on her elbows. 

Wanda rolled her eyes and adjusted her ponytail, one auburn lock falling aside to frame her face.

“Look, half the fun is writing the little cards that go with each gift to give the person clues about who the gifts are from, and then trying to figure out the identity of your Secret Santa,” Wanda pointed out. “Besides, other than Thor, I’m willing to bet that no one knows Loki as well as you do!”

“That only makes it worse,” Theo complained and flopped back a second time, rolling over to bury her face in Wanda’s burgundy comforter. “Because I know he’s a picky bitch and nothing will be good enough for him.”

The snort that came out of Wanda did nothing to ease Theo’s concern, but it sounded ridiculous enough that even Theo laughed. 

“I think that he’d like any gift you give him, simply because it’s from you.” 

“That’s cliché as hell.” Theo pressed herself up enough to look over at Wanda, who, despite Theo’s whining and dramatics, still wore a small, knowing smile.

“And true.” Wanda shrugged. “You are, without a doubt, his favorite person on the team, and probably on this planet.”

“Yeah, for all the good that does me.” Theo grumbled to herself, but sat up all the way. “It’s not like I can tell him on day one that I’m his Secret Santa, so the gifts have to be good. No, they have to be perfect.”

“You’re overthinking this.” Wanda chuckled softly, then rose to her feet and held out a hand for Theo to grab onto. “How about we go shopping and see what is out there? Maybe you’ll get some inspiration that way.”

The petulant child within Theo wanted to complain for a bit longer about her predicament, but deep down, Wanda had a good point. If nothing else, it would give her a chance to get out and clear her head before the inevitable descent into holiday madness.

“Right. That’s probably a good idea.” Theo accepted Wanda’s hand and allowed her to pull Theo onto her feet. “I need to get gifts for my family anyways, so maybe i’ll knock it all out at once.” 

“Only if I can help you pick out gifts for Katie,” Wanda winked at Theo as she opened the door. 

“Deal.” Theo didn’t have to think twice before answering. “Do you have plans for this afternoon? I’m not working, so we could go today…”

Wanda held up her purse and grinned. “Let’s go!”

—

Shopping with Wanda, unsurprisingly, proved to be a fruitful venture. 

Sure, the pair went absolutely wild with gifts for Theo’s niece. Would Max kill Theo when he saw just how much stuff Theo got? Absolutely. Did she care? Not a bit; after all, she had to maintain her reputation as the coolest aunt.

More importantly, Theo managed to put together a list of ideas for gifts that referenced inside jokes from the time that Theo and Loki had known each other. Even better - the conversation between Theo and Wanda as they shopped, though wide-ranging and lively, gave Theo the inspiration for her final gift.

In the end, the gifts required some careful planning, calling in some favors, and a lot of sneaking to make it happen - not to mention a few sleepless nights as Theo put the finishing touches on certain details - but she managed to pull everything together, just in time for the first day of gift-giving.

Pepper had really outdone herself with the holiday decorations. On a normal day, the common areas within the tower could be described as minimalist: clean lines, lots of metal and glass, neutral tones everywhere, no knick knacks or soft touches to be found. Not even a throw pillow or blanket could be found in the common areas - whenever Theo wanted a pillow or a blanket, she had to bring it from her suite.

Yet, when everyone filtered into the living room after going out for dinner, they may as well have walked into a luxury ski chalet at Tahoe. In one corner sat a massive, lush evergreen tree trimmed with glistening tinsel, soft white lights, and a collection of beautifully coordinated ornaments in burgundy, cream, gold, navy, emerald, and eggplant. 

The fireplace had a beautiful garland of eucalyptus, cypress, and cedar draped across the mantle; tucked among the greenery sat pillar candles of varying heights in burgundy, navy, emerald, eggplant, and gold. Elegant, cream-colored stockings with each Avenger’s name embroidered at the top hung in front of the crackling fire (plus stockings for Pepper and Happy, since they were pretty much unofficial Avengers). 

Blankets and accent pillows, some in plaids that incorporated the colors of the ornaments and candles, others in solid colors, all made of luxuriously plush fabrics, found homes on the various seating throughout the living room. 

Even the coffee tables had coordinating centerpieces.

Theo quickly found her usual seat, but continued to gawk at the living room’s transformation. When the hell did Pepper (or, Theo supposed, whoever Pepper hired) have the time to decorate the living room? Just that morning, when Theo left for work, the living room had been its usual, minimalist styling. Maybe if she had stopped back in her suite before meeting the others at the restaurant she would have seen the living room decoration in progress.

Hardly a moment later, Loki sat down beside her. Dressed in a forest-green crewneck sweater that perfectly framed the planes of his chest and black dress pants that highlighted his long legs, Loki somehow managed to look holiday appropriate without even trying. His raven curls, just slightly disheveled from the wind and snow outside, framed his elegant features so perfectly; combined with the warm glow of the fire and the soft light of the christmas tree he appeared downright radiant, particularly as he grinned at something Thor said. 

“Quite magnificent, is it not?” Loki leaned over and nudged Theo with his elbow, interrupting her train of thought. Theo had to stop for a moment and consider whether he was referring to the himself, or the living room.

“Yeah,” Theo agreed, her cheeks growing hot as she realized Loki caught her staring. “Compared to when I left this morning, it is a night and day difference.“

“I suspect Miss Potts takes great pleasure in decorating for the winter holidays.” Loki offered Theo a soft smile. His soft eyes caught the flicker of the candles atop the coffee table as he studied Theo, and for the second time in less than a couple minutes, she found herself speechless.

Luckily, Dum-E saved the day when he dropped a present on Theo’s lap, and in doing so brought both sorcerers’ attention to the larger group. As it turned out, Dum-E distributed everyone’s gifts - all wrapped in the same paper, to make sure that the gift wrap didn’t give anything away - and as soon as he finished, it was time to open the first day’s gift.

They started with Bruce, then worked their way through a randomly generated list that Steve put together. The soft lights of the Christmas tree, glow of the fire crackling in the hearth, and joyous laughter as each person read their clue and opened their gifts filled the room with such warmth. It was the kind of holiday scene you’d see on a postcard, especially since snowflakes drifted past the tall windows and into the city below.

As they drew closer to Loki’s turn, Theo’s hands began to sweat. What if he didn’t like her gift? Sure, it was kind of corny, but it was a fun reference to how they spent much of their time. He didn’t seem overly thrilled by the idea of Secret Santa in the first place; what if her silly little gifts only made him hate the game?

Well, she didn’t have to wait any longer to find out, because it finally reached Loki’s turn.

Loki picked up the small box, turning it over and inspecting it. He tossed it into the air and caught it in one hand, lithe fingers curling perfectly around the container. 

“It is quite light, and rather small,” he observed. “Whatever is in this box does not jostle when moved, so it either fills the box or it is carefully packed in place. Let us see what is inside.”

Loki methodically removed the ribbons, then carefully tore away the gift wrap. He removed the lid in a graceful motion and set it aside, all the while peering into the box. He hummed.

Seeing the fabric folded and coiled inside, he reached in and tugged on the cloth, pulling it from the box. The fabric unfolded as he lifted the gift into the air, revealing the first gift: a pair of crew-length socks - black, with an emerald green heel and toe. On one side of each sock, placed so it would be visible while wearing shoes, was the design of an apple car driven by a worm, as well as text which read: “I’m on my way to the bookstore!”

“Aw, those are cute!” Wanda winked at Theo as she said the words, to which Theo casually agreed. 

Loki maintained a relatively neutral expression, though he let out a rather amused hum. He set the socks in his lap, then opened the card. As his eyes scanned over the text, one side of his lips curled up, then the other, until he wore a sheepish smile. He read aloud: 

“I know you love the bookstore,

We’ve been there a time or two,

But since I can’t buy the whole store,

I got you a pair of Crew… socks!

Sorry, I know you like poetry, but your Secret Santa isn’t a poet.” Loki chuckled, shaking his head, then continued: “These socks are from Out of Print, which has donated over 5 million books to communities in need and supports a variety of literacy initiatives.” 

He looked up from the card and glanced around at the group. “Well, thank you to my mysterious Secret Santa. I quite enjoy a whimsical piece of attire, and I am certain these will be put to good use.”

Next to Loki, Theo let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

First day was not a failure.

Only… four more to go.

—

The second day of gift-giving arrived, and with it came another day of second-guessing whether or not Loki would like his gift.  

This time, the idea came from a conversation early in their friendship. After falling asleep in Theo’s suite, Loki joined her for coffee on her balcony, at which point Theo explained a sudoku to Loki. At the time, he commented that there were “some puzzles he was still learning to solve.”

From that morning on, Theo couldn’t help but notice the way Loki approached briefings and missions as puzzles to solve. So when Theo found a pair of rather clever puzzle books (many of which provided a formidable challenge, even for her), she knew that it would be a perfect gift.

Yet, as the day crept on and the gift exchange grew near, Theo felt the seeds of doubt taking root once again. What if he thought the puzzles were stupid? He was a god, after all, and insanely intelligent. The puzzles might have been a challenge for Theo, but they were probably child’s play for Loki. 

Still, it was too late to turn back, so by the time Theo sat down with the others and the gifts were distributed, she simply hid her sweaty palms in her sweater sleeves and acted like it was any other night in the tower.

Loki, for what it was worth, seemed perfectly relaxed when he took his usual seat beside Theo; this time, he opted for a plain gray t-shirt and a black cardigan, paired with what were (secretly) Theo’s favorite pair of dark, slim-fit jeans. When Loki crossed one ankle over his knee, Theo noticed his emerald green and black socks and her heart skipped a beat - he wore the socks she gave him.

That was a good sign, right?

Once again, Dum-E distributed the gifts, then each person took their turn opening their gift and reading the card; this time they started with Yelena, but otherwise the order was the same. After what felt like ages, Steve finally gave Loki the go-ahead to open his gift.

Like the first day, Loki went through the same routine of examining the box, then peeled away the wrapping paper. 

For the sake of maintaining a bit of mystery (and making it slightly less obvious that the gift was a pair of books), Theo put the set into a clothing box and padded the sides. It wasn’t that sneaky, since the box was heavier than it would have been with apparel inside, but at least Loki wouldn’t know until he opened the box.

He opened the box and removed the first book. 

“The Master Theorem - Book of Puzzles, Intrigue, and Wit,” he read the title, then held it up for all to see, then held up the second book and read off the title. “The Master Theorem: Elite - Book of Puzzles, Intrigue, and Wit.”

He returned the books to his lap, pausing for a moment to flip through the pages and glance at the contents. 

“You gonna open the card?” Tony nodded towards the card that came with the box, which barely poked out from beneath the pair of books.

“Ah, yes, apologies.” Loki offered a half-smile, then retrieved the card and read aloud:

“While the identity of your Secret Santa is, well, a secret, it’s no secret that you, Loki, are pretty smart - like, ridiculously smart. And you’re a quick learner… Plus you’ve got a knack for problem solving. With that in mind, you seem to be a master when it comes to puzzles; even though you once told me there are still some puzzles you are learning to solve, the way you light up when you encounter a good logic puzzle or mystery makes me think there are few things you enjoy more than a good challenge.

“This series of puzzle books is notorious for its difficult logic puzzles - the New York Times called the first Master Theorem book “Mensa’s evil twin,” and the Elite edition is supposed to be exponentially harder. But with your sharp wit and attention to detail, I’m sure you’ll have it figured out in no time… And by the time you finish, maybe you’ll figure out the identity of your Secret Santa as well!”

Loki grinned as he folded the card and set it aside. “Thank you, my mysterious benefactor - I imagine I will be entertained for quite some time.”

For the rest of the evening, whenever Theo snuck a glance at Loki, she caught him flipping through his new books with a subtle smile and a twinkle in his eye, only half-paying attention to the others as they opened their gifts.

Day two: rousing success. Only three more days to go.

—

For the third day of gift-giving, Theo took a bigger risk.

At one point in Theo and Wanda’s shopping adventure, they stopped at a bakery to grab a snack and some coffee. While they waited for their drinks, they got on the topic of how, earlier that morning, Thor offered Loki a frosted pop-tart. In response, Loki nearly disintegrated the thing on sight, calling it an abomination to pastries everywhere.

And that was from Loki, the guy who was notorious for his sweet tooth. 

The conversation gave Theo an idea.

Ever since Loki roped Theo into his pranks, Theo had wanted to find a way to turn the tables and prank him. And what better way to prank him than to bait-and switch some sweet treats?

With a call to Theo’s favorite Bodega cashier, Carlos (who still hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask out that girl, but had at least he learned her name was Liza), Theo managed to get her hands on one of the big cardboard boxes that they shipped pop-tarts in. Importantly, it said pop-tarts all along the outside, so when Loki saw the box he would initially think it was a whole case of pop-tarts.

Instead of filling it with pop-tarts, Theo convinced Mémère to bake up all sorts of traditional Aneterran holiday treats to fill the box. Given Mémère already planned to make the treats, it was easy for the family matriarch to accommodate the request. However, when Theo explained her plan, a knowing, almost devilish grin spread across Mémère’s face; the next thing Theo knew, there were treats that Theo hadn’t seen since she was a child. 

Packing the treats into the box required quite a bit of attention to detail - it had to have the weight and heft of a case of pop-tarts, and it had to be packed tightly enough to not move around, but she also didn’t want to crush the treats. 

There may have been some enchantments involved to make it work, but hopefully Loki wouldn’t notice.  

Not wanting to make the prank too convincing, Theo made sure to leave clues that the box had been altered somehow; knowing Loki, realizing the box had been tampered with would make him curious enough to look inside.

When everyone gathered for the third night of gift-giving, the laughter and merriment from the first two nights returned almost immediately. But when it came to Loki’s turn to open his gift, Theo’s confidence from the day prior collided with her nerves, to the point that she clutched her mug of spiked hot chocolate so her hands wouldn’t shake. 

Just like the first two nights, Loki inspected the wrapped gift, lifting it up and giving it a gentle shake. “Much larger, and rather heavy,” he noted. “Yet, there’s a card that indicates I ought to open it before the gift. I suppose I ought to follow my Secret Santa’s request.”

He set the gift back in his lap, and quickly opened the card. 

“Heard you have a sweet tooth…” Loki read aloud, then glanced down at the gift and hummed. “Well, let us see what is inside.”

Loki started to tear away the wrapping paper, but paused part-way through; his face twisted into something unreadable when he saw the writing on the box. 

Theo bit her lip to not give herself away.

“Pop-tarts?” Thor exclaimed, cocking his head to the side with curiosity. “Brother, I did not think you to be a fan of the Midgardian pastry.”

“I…” Loki trailed off, face falling as he unwrapped the rest of the box. “Interesting.”

Theo’s heart stuttered in her chest - what if he didn’t think to open the box? Would she give herself away if she said something? Oh god, he looked like a kicked puppy — she should have realized that he might take it wrong because Thor likes pop-tarts and he’s the popular brother, shitshitshit—

“Loki, maybe you should open the box,” Bruce suggested, “There’s a weird wrinkle by the cardboard seam that makes me think it was opened, then closed again.”

If it wouldn’t have given her away, Theo would have leapt to her feet and hugged the man for his suggestion.

“Yeah, that box looks like it has been messed with,” Sam agreed, “and I think everyone knows you hate pop-tarts.”

The kicked-puppy expression softened as Loki took a second look at the box and noticed the obvious tampering that Bruce and Sam pointed out. A hint of pink rose on Loki’s cheeks - if Theo didn’t know better, Loki looked almost embarrassed at the realization - but he went ahead and opened the box. 

Theo held her breath, all of her attention trained on Loki as she waited for his reaction. 

Peering into the box, Loki’s shoulders suddenly dropped and relief flooded his features; he reached in and retrieved a treat similar to a chocolate scone, as well as a second card.

“Pleased to report that I was mistaken; it appears the box is filled with a variety of homemade treats, as well as a second card.” He let out a soft, almost hesitant chuckle as he opened the note and read aloud: 

“HA! Nearly got you, didn’t I?!” Loki laughed a second time, this time a little louder, and nodded his head. “You’ve pulled off some of the best pranks, but your Secret Santa is known for a good prank or two. 

“Jokes aside, did you really think your Secret Santa would do that to you? Of course not - I know you have a discerning taste when it comes to sweet treats (far more discerning than your brother, of course)! These are some of my favorite holiday snacks from growing up; I think you’d like them too. If nothing else, I promise they taste better than pop-tarts.”  

Loki returned the note to the box, then unwrapped the treat in his other hand. He took a bite, and his face almost immediately lit up. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed, and cleared his throat to speak. 

“Well, mysterious Secret Santa,” he said, “I will confirm that this treat is quite divine. However, you best watch yourself– “ Looking around at their teammates, a dark, sinister grin curled over Loki’s face. “– I am known as the Trickster god for a reason, and you may very well have started a war.”

When Loki briefly locked eyes with Theo, her heart skipped a few beats; in just a few moments he went from beautiful to downright devilishly handsome, and his threat should not have been nearly as hot as it was. 

Sweet baby Jesus, she needed to get her shit together. 

“Any guesses on who it is?” Bucky asked, tapping his vibranium fingers along the side of his still-wrapped present. 

“I’ve a few contenders,” Loki smoothly answered, the earlier signs of discomfort completely gone, “but I will wait to put forth any claims.”

“Who cares! The real question is are you gonna share!?” Shuri pointed at the pastry in Loki’s hand, then held out her own hand. “That looks amazing!”

“Maybe once the Secret Santa is revealed, they can bring us all some treats.” Wanda replied, though she gave Theo a pointed glance, to which Theo glared back - after all, she didn’t want Wanda to give her away. “But for now, I think Loki should get to enjoy all of his gifts.”

Loki, who was busy searching through the rest of the box, didn’t seem to notice Wanda staring at Theo. 

Shuri glanced at Wanda, then at Theo, then grinned as she made the connection. 

“Fine, but they better bring me some extras,” Shuri relented. “That thing looks amazing.” 

Theo smiled and rolled her eyes, just in time for Steve to inform Wanda that it was her turn to open her gift.

Day three, though nearly a bust, worked out. 

Only two more to go. 

—

After the scare of the third day, Theo went into the fourth day feeling more comfortable about her gift. Sure, Loki may shrug at it, and there was a chance he wouldn’t use it. But at least she wouldn’t run the risk of upsetting him by making him believe his preferences were the same as his brother’s.

In some ways, the gift seemed particularly timely: a winter storm raged outside the tower, with howling winter winds and heavy snow that made sitting in the living room feel like they were inside a snowglobe. Even with the heat on and the fire roaring in the hearth, everyone bundled up in sweaters and plush blankets, sipping on mugs of cocoa and tea in between opening gifts. 

On the fourth night, Loki’s turn to open his gift came even earlier. Similar to the first three nights, he inspected the box - small, slender, almost like a fancy box for a fountain pen. 

After making quick work of the wrapping paper, he glanced at the lid of the box:

“Museum of Modern Art Design Store,” he read, then shrugged and removed the lid of the box.

Nestled among chic black packing material sat a stainless steel tea infuser. Its design was what drew Theo to the gift - long, slender, with a hook on the top for easy removal, it looked downright elegant. And with the amount of tea Loki drank, an upgrade to his usual steeping methods seemed like the perfect sort of gift - thoughtful and useful.

Loki hummed, carefully slipping the tea infuser out of its packaging and inspecting it. The stainless steel glowed beneath the Christmas lights and reflected the smile curling over Loki’s face. He twisted the cap off, then closed it again, nodding to himself as he set it aside and opened the card. Like the first three days, he read the message to the group:

“A tea infuser that combines form and function?! It’s almost as stylish as you are (almost)! As the resident tea expert on the team, it seemed only appropriate to give you something for making your favorite (non-alcoholic) drink - after all, you’ve brought me, your Secret Santa, more than a few drinks over the course of knowing each other!”

The hint, in Theo’s opinion, was almost painfully obvious; Loki brought Theo drinks all the time. Coffee at the hospital when he knew she had a long day. Whiskey or wine when she needed to unwind. Tea when it was late and neither of them could fall asleep. Water when Theo just used her inhaler and needed to rinse out her mouth. Throughout the entire time she had been an Avenger, Theo never saw Loki bring anyone else drinks quite so often - not Thor, not Wanda, not anyone. However, the clue made so much sense, and there was only one more day, so it wasn’t like she had to keep the secret for much longer. 

What Theo didn’t account for, however, was almost every other person in the room making the connection between the clue and the identity of Loki’s Secret Santa. Over a dozen pairs of eyes all trained in on Theo as Loki glanced down to set the card and gift aside; the heat of their stares nearly made Theo lose her composure.

When Steve asked if Loki knew who his Secret Santa was, he simply smirked and replied “I’ve my suspicions, but I find I rather enjoy the suspense and anticipation of the grand reveal.”

Somehow, she held it together, but just barely. Sure, Theo was grateful that Loki seemed to enjoy the gifts up to that point, but “suspense and anticipation of the grand reveal?” If Theo was under pressure before, now she was on the verge of being crushed under the weight of expectation, and the whole damn team knew it.

Theo shot a terrified look at Wanda, who only sent back an impish grin.

Shit.

One more day to go.

—

The final day of Secret Santa arrived, and with it, the grand reveal. Apprehension loomed over Theo’s head like a storm-cloud; after all, the pressure was on - not only to give the perfect gifts, but to set up the perfect reveal as Loki’s secret Santa.

Despite the overall success of the first four days, by the time the last exchange began, Theo was too nervous to sit down. Instead, she leaned against the kitchen island with her mug of hot chocolate and whiskey clutched in both hands, offering little more than one-word answers whenever someone tried to ask her something. The only time she even considered sitting down was when Loki asked if she would join him on the couch, but then all the potential ways she might make a fool of herself flooded her thoughts and she politely declined, claiming that she needed to stretch her legs a bit.

If Theo didn’t know better, Loki seemed disappointed that she didn’t want to sit by him, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her; after all, Theo was the one with the crush, not Loki.

At least from across the room, Theo could easily admire Loki in his thick, fair isle sweater - seasonally appropriate, of course, but like all of his attire, it fit him perfectly and highlighted his long, lithe form in all the right ways. Between her nerves about the gift and how distractingly handsome Loki was, she barely noticed when the first two Avengers opened their gifts and found out who was assigned as their Secret Santa.

For the final night of the exchange, Loki was the third person to open his gifts.

While Loki focused on the large box in front of him, everyone else stared at Theo. If she could have, she would have melted into the floor; instead, she stood by the kitchen island with her mug of hot chocolate and whiskey in both hands, shooting dirty looks at the rest of the group so they wouldn’t give her away.

… Not like Loki hadn’t already figured out that Theo was his Secret Santa, because he likely knew. If he didn’t know, he was about to figure it out, but that was beside the point. 

Of all the gifts Theo chose, today’s were the most nerve-wracking because they were the most personal: the pre-reveal gift referenced something Loki gave her when she ended up in the hospital with an asthma exacerbation and pneumonia a few months prior. The post-reveal gift referenced the time all the Avengers visited New Asgard, and Loki took her on a late-night walking tour of the community.  

The note on the card was, well, maybe a bit too sentimental - in hindsight, maybe she should have saved the message for a later card that she could have given him in private. But by that point the card was taped to the box in Loki’s lap, and Theo couldn’t do a damn thing about it, other than brace herself for the inevitable fallout. 

At least she had the sense to write a disclaimer at the top of the note: “You might want to read this to yourself first, then decide if you want to read it out loud.”

After four days, Loki’s examination of the gift box had become a routine: turn it all around, lift it up in the air, give it a shake - and once he seemed satisfied, he peeled away the wrapping paper. 

“Well, I do not have any guesses as to what is inside this box, so I suppose I ought to open it.” Loki remarked, tugging away the last bit of wrapping paper. He conjured a dagger to cut the tape sealing the flaps at the top of the box, though he was careful not to cut deeply and risk damaging the contents inside (which was good, because that dagger would have sliced through the gift like hot butter). 

Unlike the previous days, where he immediately looked inside the container, this time he made a show of looking at the others as he reached inside. Theo watched Loki’s arm muscles tense through the wool of his sweater as he grabbed the gift, while his brows furrowed with confusion.

As he turned back toward the box, he slowly pulled out the present: a snake squishmallow, in green, of course - after all, green was his color.

“That’s cute!” Natasha commented, though Loki didn’t seem to notice. He held the plush toy in both hands, turning it side to side as he gave it a once-over. Theo swore she could spot the gears turning in Loki’s head as he tried to make the connection between the toy and his Secret Santa. 

“Yeah, but why? I don’t see the connection.” Yelena added, pointing at the card. “Open the card. I want to know what it says.”

Loki slowly set aside the snake, as if still thinking about the gift, and pulled out the note. 

Theo watched as Loki methodically scanned the note. At first, he read with heavy brows drawn tightly together; after a few moments, the light from the christmas tree reflected off his sea glass eyes, glittery and shining amidst the soft glow. A shaky, small smile grew as he made his way through the message until it practically took over his face.

“Well, what does it say?” Natasha asked, craning her neck to try and read what was written on the card.

Loki, however, ignored her. Without warning, he closed the card and rose to his feet. In a couple of long strides, he stood before Theo, who could no longer bite back her nervous smile as he drew near. 

Theo barely had a chance to set down her mug before Loki scooped her into his arms and crushed her in an embrace, the strength of which forced a small “oof!” out of Theo from the impact. She didn’t waste a moment before returning the embrace, selfishly nuzzling into his chest and drinking in the scent of cologne on his sweater - cedar, bergamot, and smoke - as they stood, arms wrapped around each other and swaying gently from side to side. 

Loki leaned down, his nose brushing gently along Theo’s hair, then drew a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “Truly. Thank you.”

Theo’s heart damn near exploded. 

“Elsa, I really hope that Rapunzel’s your Secret Santa,” Tony, ever the troll, interrupted, “or this is going to get awkward.”

“Yeah, Tony, it’s me.” Theo laughed, her mind reeling as Loki shifted -  if Theo’s mind didn’t deceive her, his lips brushed against the crown of her hair. Still, he hadn’t let go, and as long as Loki held on, Theo had no plans of going anywhere.

“Now I wanna know what she wrote on that damn note,” Sam complained between shoving handfuls of caramel corn in his mouth. “Because damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Loki react like that.”

“Can we let him open the other gift first?” Theo asked, still hugging Loki as she looked over at Sam. “After all, there is a part of the message that won’t make sense without seeing the final gift.

“Fine, but afterwards I wanna read the damn note.” Sam grumbled and leaned back in his seat while Bucky leaned over and snatched some caramel corn from him. 

Theo begrudgingly pulled away from Loki, silently lamenting the lack of warmth that came with his touch. She rounded the Christmas tree and crouched down to where she hid the final box - a thin, rectangular box that was a bit larger than a poster - and brought it over to Loki, who had returned to his original seat. Theo sat down beside him, nervous but excited to see how he reacted to the last gift.

This time, Loki didn’t spend a moment examining the package - he went straight to tearing off the wrapping paper. With paper crumpled up and tossed aside, he carefully slid the lid off the box.

Centered on a bed of white tissue paper, was a painting - a canvas covered in thousands of small dashes of paint, the result of more than a few sleepless nights as Theo raced to finish the painting on a tight deadline. During the day, Theo hid it beneath a stack of other canvases so if Loki stopped by her suite, he wouldn’t notice; the moment night fell, Theo was elbows deep in oil paint as she added layer after layer of color.

“It’s New Asgard!” Thor exclaimed as he peered over Loki’s shoulder.

“Those are the gardens…” Loki breathed, one hand hovering over the canvas as if he wanted to touch it and prove to himself that it was real. 

“The gardens that you created, and that your people and countless tourists adore.” Theo added, her cheeks slightly pink. 

Loki’s focus went to the bottom corner, where Theo scrawled her name. It was tiny and borderline illegible because of the paint, but if someone had ever seen her handwriting, they would know instantly who it was. Loki traced his fingers over the letters almost meditatively.

“You made this?” When Loki looked up at Theo, she caught the slightest shine in the corners of his eyes, though his expression was nothing but pure awe. “Was this from memory?”

“God, my memory isn’t that good - I mean, yeah I painted it, but it wasn’t from memory,” Theo rubbed the back of her next, heat rising on her cheeks as Loki continued to gape at her. “I got Val to send me some pictures for reference, and then I worked on it every night after everyone was asleep. I wasn’t sure it would be done in time, if I’m honest, because oil paint takes forever to dry, but it dried just in time. The paint is still going to need some time to fully cure, so I’d be gentle with it.”

For the second time in minutes, Loki pulled Theo into another heartfelt embrace. 

“I am… I am speechless. I’ve no words, truly.” He laughed, a rumbling sound that Theo felt as much as she heard it. “Thank you.”

“Okay now we need to know what the hell was on that card.” This time it was Shuri, who looked like she was one step away from snatching the card and reading it out loud herself.

Loki unfurled his arms from around Theo so he could set the painting on the table in front of them, then retrieved the card.

“I think you ought to read it,” Loki held the card out to Theo, his cheeks now flushed with crimson. “I imagine it will sound better in your voice, since you wrote the message.”

Theo rolled her eyes, but accepted the card. She got the sense that Loki felt a bit sentimental himself, and was probably a bit out of his comfort zone; re-reading the message aloud might be more than he thought he could handle. So, despite her heart still fluttering like a goddamn school girl, Theo tried her best to steady her breathing, then cleared her throat and began:

One of Thor’s favorite stories to tell is when you were children and turned into a snake to trick him. One of my favorite things is watching the little smile you get every time he tells the story, like you know you shouldn’t think it’s funny and it makes the story even funnier. I bet you’re making that same smile right now as you think about the story!

This clue will probably give me away, but you once gave me a gift much like this - a plush toy of an unexpected creature, because you realized that the creature shared a connection to my sister. You didn’t make a big deal out of it - telling me you “happened to pass by a shop window and it just seemed like something I would like,” but it meant the world to me; to this day, it is easily the best gift I’ve ever received. 

In many ways, that gift is such a great example of why I am so lucky to have you as a friend - you are so incredibly thoughtful and kind, and when you sense that someone is having a tough time you go above and beyond to help, all without making a big deal about it… God knows you did that for me constantly when I first got here! There are, obviously, other reasons that you’re an amazing friend (your sense of humor, intelligence, and patience in putting up with me are also high on the list). 

I know none of my Secret Santa gifts have been big or flashy so far, and your final gift isn’t exactly big or flashy either. If I’m honest, I panicked when I drew your name because, well, what do you get someone who could have any gift they wanted? But the more I thought about it, the more I came back to just how lucky I was to have the gift of your friendship (yeah, corny as fuck, sorry - you’re the silvertongue, not me!). I can’t ever give you a gift that would compare, but I can at least make sure you know just how grateful I am for you and how much of a difference you make. Without a doubt, my life is better because you’re in it, as are the lives of many others. 

So, for your final gift, I made you something that I hope will remind you of not just the impact you’ve made on me, but the impact you’ve made on countless others, every time you see it. 

Merry Christmas Loki. 

Yours,

Secret Santa. 

P.S. I hope you can forgive my sentiment. Not all of us can be as cool as you.”

By the time Theo finished reading the message aloud, her entire body felt like it was on fire from the combination of her nerves and the others’ burning stares. With trembling hands, Theo slowly closed the card and set it on her lap, eyes focused downward the entire time.

“I didn’t realize it was possible to win at Secret Santa… ” Peter finally broke the silence, beaming as he looked at the pair. “... But I think Theo just won Secret Santa.”  

“I think everyone’s going to want you as their Secret Santa next year,” Steve chuckled, nodding along. “Still, we aren’t done with this year’s Secret Santa - I believe Wanda, you’re up next?”

With that, the attention shifted away from the two sorcerers sitting side-by-side on the couch, and onto the rest of the festivities. While Wanda made a scene trying to deduce clues about her gift, Loki casually slipped his hand over to Theo, interlacing his fingers with hers. In turn, Theo leaned her head on Loki’s shoulder and settled into his side.

By that point, she was only-half watching as Wanda opened one last gift. Frankly, Theo hadn’t heard who Wanda’s Secret Santa was, but she wasn’t that interested. 

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” Theo whispered, giving Loki’s hand a squeeze.

“Merry Christmas, Theo,” he murmured, turning so his lips brushed Theo’s temple. “I think this might be the first year that I’ve understood why one might enjoy Midgardians’ holiday festivities.”

Cozily tucked into Loki’s side, amidst the golden glow of the holiday lights and the spirited laughter of friends, Theo had to agree: maybe the holidays weren’t so bad after all.

[ohheyitsokay]

earn

pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: implications of an abusive household/family

summary: this started out as a fic about the fact that the Razor Crest was destroyed, and ended up being a fic about the reminder that your value to a person should not have to be earned

>>

You needed to sell your cousin’s ship.

Well, you didn’t really need to – he had given it to you when he settled down. A gift, he said, for the only other adventurer in our family. Your mother hadn’t heard, or she would’ve glared even more.

Since you could remember, she had not liked that you yearned to search and explore the stars. She did not like your desire to help people, to be your own, to change.

She hadn’t liked that you’d chosen smaller adventures on your planet, either, but you had finally learned that she could not stop you, even if you still avoided extra conflict. You helped and narrowly escaped the local authorities depending on the day, and tried not to resent the mediocrity of both.

The ship should’ve just been yours. It could’ve been, would’ve been, had your grandfather not held your hand with his frail fingers asking you to stay a little while longer. It was a big ship too, flown better with another person, and you had no one who understood your desire to leave your little planet. And you couldn’t stand the beautiful thing nestled under tarps, mocking you. If you sold it, you could at least buy a more modest one for yourself later.

That’s what you told yourself, as you spread the word all around that you needed a buyer. Selling it bought good favor it bought with your family, which you used to take your time as you looked for a suitable sale, searching for stories as to warm your heart.

When the two Mandalorians created a stir a town over, and you were there immediately, drinking in the interesting shapes and veiled voices hungrily, wishing the excitement of their lives could rub off of them onto you.

They had a woman with them, tall and lithe and wary and you saw your future in them, and ached. Tucked in a corner of the gathering area, you watched for awhile before averting your eyes, knowing they were like your ship all those miles away. Just salt in the wounds left by your invisible shackles.

The night was lovely, too beautiful to be fair, as you walked towards your home town, and you kept your eyes off the sky.

As your crossed into the outskirts of town one of the Mandalorians was standing at in the shadow of a tall plant, as if he was waiting for you.

“Why were you watching us?” He moved into the light and his armor gleamed and it was distracting, how unmarked it was.

“It does not matter,” you said stupidly, carelessly. He wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t matter, and his straightened shoulders snapped you back into reality. It should have been muscle memory by now, to watch yourself around a dangerous person.

“I have a ship to sell,” you corrected yourself quickly. A half truth.

“So I hear,” his voice rumbled, but it was amused. “You’re lucky I was the one who noticed you, little one.” You flushed, out of embarrassment and just a little bit of pride.

“It just so happens that I need a ship,” he stepped closer to you and you stood frozen as he drew up his full height, forcing you to bend back to meet his visor as he added, “and the whole truth.”

You told him a little too quickly for your pride. About needing to get out, wanting to make a difference, do something with your life, and seeing that in his little party. His posture changed again, when you spoke of your family’s control over you, and again when you spoke of staying, for your grandfather. The reputation of cold, stern, self-interested warriors did not match the understanding and instinctive protectiveness he was demonstrating. It was fascinating, baffling, almost too good to be true.

And he made you an offer before he even saw the ship.

At your grandfather’s house, you whispered it to him, as you smoothed the blanket over his stomach.

One boney, loving finger traced from the apex of your forehead down, over your nose and lips, to your chin. He was letting you go, and you swallowed, willing yourself not to ask twice. You kissed his cheek, and took the deal.

-

The other Mandalorian and his companion had looked you over and shrugged as you defended your usefulness, and left the planet before you and your new… boss? Comrade?

You did not know. You were still afraid of him, just … less than you were of staying, and it was your single chance. To take the ship and the adventure and not look back.

The agreement was that he would take you with him, and he would pay you for it over time. You’d get your shot at adventures, at freedom, and he got a near free ship for his use, a strangely perfect fit.

Despite such a dubious beginning, it didn’t take long for you to adjust to the life.

It was amazing, to see the bits and pieces of his work, to help him set up carbonite for his bounties and rearrange to make the ship more effective. He didn’t speak much at first, but you craved knowledge of the galaxy and he quickly realized you learned from the stories, soaking in information and connecting context like a sponge in water. Slowly he shared more and more, and realized beyond making you more useful, he enjoyed it.

Feeding you information paid itself back, as you always gave him eager, bright smiles in return, or helped him process information that even his sharp mind hadn’t thought of.

Sitting side by side as you shot through hyperspace felt more like home than either of you had bargained for.

Your first job on your own coincided with a longer hunt of his, when a mechanic offered you a quite high amount of credits to be an extra set of hands. In the morning you would roll out of your cot, set up the protocols for the ship, and trudge over to carry boxes and bins and hold tools and wires and panels of sheet metal. Part of the deal was that you would smile and make nice with the more advanced workers, as well as his clients, and you provided as best you could. At first, it was enjoyable, your learning curve was steep, and you liked to see creatures with lives from all over the galaxy. But you quickly began to understand you had little time for that, and were forced to duck your head down and, as always, do what you were told.

It was worth it, you told yourself, to be doing something productive while he was away. Already it felt like the ship was almost his, and you were grasping at your new freedom like an eel in the water. If you were useful, and brought in your own income, it would help you and least find your footing in the mud. 

When he returned, you told him proudly of your work, showing him the credits like they were your first piece of beskar. His voice had a smile in it, as he watched you, and his gloved hand had touched you cheek gently. It was good, he told you.

-

Din liked the feeling he got in his chest when you were around him, when you looked at him, and especially when you smiled his way. He went out of his way, from then on, to create similar opportunities for you, to try new things and use your skills. For once in his life, he wasn’t hurting for credits, but it was lovely, to see you be proud of yourself. The missions were shorter than that first one, though, because he preferred being with you to almost anything else. 

It made him feel lighter, after the chaos of the last few months, to work, and come back to a ship where you were waiting for him. He had never met anyone like you – selflessness disguised as ambition, as smart and careful and kind as you were strong and capable. After the child had been taken from him, he didn’t know if he would ever open himself up again, but he couldn’t resist.

After you came into his life, ship aside, there was no going back. You found ways to make rations more interesting, took the time he never had to scour the markets for tiny improvements, always kept a hand free when he needed something to hold on to. It made him feel like man, not simply a bounty hunter or even a Mandalorian.

There was no other feeling in all his travels, that compared to that of your weight against his side. It startled him, even though he had been the one to pull you there as the two of you stood, staring at the cargo bay, but it became as necessary to him as his armor. Din would reach for you, hand finding your opposite hip, and tug you against his ribs and you would melt into it. Your warmth seeped through the cloth, and the tension would ebb out of his muscles so much he could almost sleep standing up.

He tried to tell you sometimes, but words rarely felt necessary or like they actually communicated what he wanted to. And the way you touched his arm or hugged his clunky armor made his heart full, so he could only hope his touches and actions did the same, for you.

Still, you asked for words sometimes, so he told you stories of the Mandalorians, his childhood, and his adventures with Cara and Boba, and even the child. Once, he pulled your forehead against his helmet and told you his real name. Those were the words that sunk in like the roots of your relationship. The grounded you both, the foundation for understanding between two healing souls.

When he returned from a shorter mission to find you glossy eyed and frustrated in the kitchen, and you dropped his hand after a single squeeze, he was lost. Moving through the area, he grabbed food, trying to put it together the way you did, clumsily trying to show you he cared, how you did, to him.

It coaxed out of you the story of your day – the problem and the fall out. On the surface, he didn’t understand. 

You had tried to get work and it fell through, everyone was feeling grumpy and you didn’t have the skill set they were looking for. Din wanted to shrug – it happened, and ask you if you enjoyed your day off.

But there was something more, of course there was, or else you wouldn’t be here with storms in your eyes, flinching from his touch.

“I’m sorry,” you concluded and he reeled. You were sorry?

“It’s fine,” he didn’t know what it was, but he was sure of it wasn’t already, it would be. You flinched, like he had confirmed something was wrong, and Din was even more confused.

Then it dawned on him.

All this time, he thought you knew. Not really one to say things so plainly, he thought for long moments over the exact right words he wanted.

“You… don’t have to earn your right to belong here,” his voice was sincere as it filled the dry air.

The tears slid down your face, and he rushed over to you, cautious but concerned. You were sitting in a chair and he knelt by your side, not touching you yet, but watching and listening closely.

“Really?”

If you could see his face, then you would see his unruly dark eyebrows draw together.

“Of course,” his hands reached for you then, brushing off your tears, and willing his honestly to sleep into your skin through his gloves until you believed it. “You do not have to earn your right to belong here, in my life. My family.”

There was a quiet crack in his voice, and it broke something in you, but the break was good. Like a tree you’d seen once, split open to let the poisoned sap ooze out a litter quicker. Din moved his hands to hold yours and you let him and the air was quiet, and for the first time fully peaceful, content. 

- 

Someone once told you “unhappiness cannot stick to a person’s soul if fit’s slick with tears” and you knew it was true when you rolled out of your cot the next morning. It would be a long process, to unlearn lessons you’d been taught grow, but as you walked into the cockpit, you felt for the first time you didn’t need the strength for it. He would help, and you would help him.

“Good morning, Din,” you murmured, and he looked up at you, warming you all the way through. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer you for a moment, just checked that everything was in place, and you waited. Then he stood his full height, and you almost had to bend to meet his visor - but you weren’t afraid. Pulling you into him, you could almost hear his smile when he spoke.

“Somewhere where there’s nothing to do, mesh’la.”

His forehead found yours, and it helped you not to ask are you sure?

After all, he wouldn’t have said so if he wasn’t.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Perfect

A/N: I actually wrote something!! Hallelujah!! Special thanks to @negans-lucille-library for beta reading and putting up with all of my questions!!

Summary: Life with Dean is perfect.

Pairing: Dean x reader (I believe this reader is pretty gender neutral, so I hope some guys out there get to read this and enjoy it, too!)

Warnings: None, really. Mostly fluff. Bit of angst.

Word count: 3497 words

Prompt: For the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 19. I used one prompt. It will be bolded. Not listing it here because spoilers.

Two machetes swung in unison, lopping off two vampire heads and leaving you looking at the proud face of your husband as the bodies fell between you. A beam of sunlight burst through a broken board in the roof of the barn and lit up dust motes in the air around Dean’s head, making him look positively resplendent. You grinned at each other before each of you motioned over the other’s shoulder, and then both spun away, taking down two more vampires with almost synchronized movements. It was always like a dance, fighting with Dean. The two of you had fought together for so long now, you were one unit, just taking down monster after monster in fights that almost looked choreographed.

When the last vampire head hit the ground with a satisfying thump and the corresponding body slumped after it, you both heaved a satisfied sigh and smiled at each other. With a quiet nod, you separated, making sure the barn was completely clear of monsters, inside and out, then met again in the middle with a quick, chaste, kiss.

“I’d do better, but you have a little something right… about...” –you gestured at his cheek, then really all over his face– “well, everywhere, really,” you said with a grimace. “Don’t feel like turning into a vampire just because I wanted to kiss my husband.”

Dean pretended to try and kiss you messily, laughing when you pushed him away. “You mean, it’s not worth two days of puking your guts up with the vampire cure to give your hot-as-hell husband a proper kiss?” Letting you go, he wiped his machete off on the shirt of one of the headless bodies and then headed toward the water pump just outside the barn doors. “I must be losing my touch!” he joked as he began pumping to fill the trough below the faucet.

You joined him in cleaning both your weapons and yourselves, enjoying the clear spring air and bright sunshine warming your back, and soon you were able to safely risk showing your affection. As did every other part of you, your lips fit together perfectly. Dean kissed you so well, you wondered how you ever thought anyone else was any good at it. He took over all your senses, making little happy noises when your tongue slid against his, surrounding you with his arms, filling your nose with the scent of his aftershave and sweat, and leaving the taste of the pie he’d had with breakfast in your mouth. You finally came up for air, still trading little nibbly kisses until you both accepted that the hunt wasn’t done, yet, and you needed to finish it. You stayed in his arms an extra moment, foreheads touching, both reaffirming that you were still here - still alive - and uninjured after the fight.

“Love you,” you whispered, looking through your lashes at the bright green of Dean’s eyes. They always seemed greener in the spring, somehow.

“Ditto,” he whispered back, before landing one last peck on your lips and smacking your ass playfully.

“You’re lucky I love you, or I would have told Sam how you watched that movie, and enjoyed it, a long time ago!” you teased as the two of you split up to head to Baby’s trunk and get cleaning supplies.

Walking ahead of you with those long legs, Dean turned around, walking backward for a step, and gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t!” he cried with eyes wide and his mouth turned into a pout, clearly knowing that you really wouldn’t, but playing your game, anyway.

“That’s right, I wouldn’t because I love you. Now, aren’t you lucky?” you scolded while still grinning.

He stopped you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, yet again. “Luckiest man in the world,” he echoed, before turning away and unlocking the trunk.

While Dean was digging through the trunk to find a matchbook to go with the can of gas you were holding, you saw something move out of the corner of your eye. Years of hunter awareness sent the hair on the back of your neck standing up while you searched the nearby tree line for another sign of movement. The barn was in the back forty of a farm abandoned at least a decade earlier, so wildlife of all kinds had taken over. The tree line was nothing more than just that: a line of trees that marked the edge of the farm. Over the years, bushes and smaller trees had filled in the gaps between the larger trees, making it a more formidable barrier. Where you guessed you might have been able to see through it years ago, now, it was overgrown and impenetrable. Except for the driveway the vampires had tamed, the grass in the surrounding fields was all knee-high and waving in the breeze. Figuring it was either one of the taller weeds in the grass or an animal, you convinced yourself to let it go as Dean slammed Baby’s trunk lid shut.

The barn had plenty of hay for kindling, but much of it had gotten wet from the holes in the roof. Dean was hauling bales and generally kicking up dust when you inhaled a bit and started sneezing uncontrollably.

“Head outside, honey, and I’ll finish up here,” Dean urged while you continued sniffling and sneezing. “Go use up some of those tissues you keep stashing in my car when you think I’m not looking!”

Not able to speak, you just nodded and headed back out into the sunshine, which started another round of sneezes. You were blowing your nose when you saw another bit of movement by the tree line. Keeping your eyes trained on the grass and bushes that had moved, you finished with the tissues and grabbed your gun from the holster on the back of your belt.

Gun trained in front of you, safety off, you slinked towards the tree line, keeping your eyes moving left to right, looking for another anomaly in the swaying of the grass and weeds. When you reached where you’d seen the movement, there were signs that someone had been standing there all around. Trampled grass, broken branches in the trees and bushes, and then footprints in the mud drew you further into the miniature jungle. You were almost out and on the other side when you were grabbed from behind, a hand put over your mouth to dampen your screams.

Whoever it was pulled you backward, knocking you off your feet so you stumbled. The body behind you spun you and pushed you up against a tree, knocking the gun from your hand in the process. You tried to shove an elbow back into their ribs, but it was caught, and you were pinned. Your mind swirled, going through the intel you’d gathered with Dean before the hunt. Both of you had been sure of the headcount, but obviously, you were wrong. One of them must have been away for a few days, but now they were home and pissed.

“Calm down, kiddo, I’m not a monster,” said a very familiar voice as you were pulled away from the tree, but still held tightly. “Just take a breath and relax and we can talk.”

A deep breath, a subtle shift in your body, and the picture in your mind became something almost like your husband, but not. Your muscles relaxed, trusting Dean no matter what was happening, even though your mind still whirled. Through the leaves of the trees and bushes, you saw your husband walk out of the barn, looking for something. Maybe looking for you.

“Of all the things I thought I might see when I walked into your dream, I really didn’t expect to see me.” The arms around you loosened and you whipped around to see a carbon copy of your husband standing there.

Well, almost a carbon copy. Different flannel. Different jeans. Fewer laugh lines around the mouth. Less unadulterated love and affection in the eyes.

“Dream?” you asked stupidly, looking back at your husband as he began searching for you around the barn. You didn’t want to believe it, but as you watched your husband in the distance, you saw the differences, the unreality. That didn’t stop your heart and mind from clinging to him, wanting nothing more than to go back to him.

The Dean next to you sighed. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m sorry, but it’s a dream. You got nabbed by a djinn. Sam’s off getting ingredients for the antidote, but I couldn’t just sit by and watch you dying, so I took some dream root.”

Your husband looked absolutely panicked as he ran towards another part of the tree line, searching for you. The sight pulled at your heart. How he missed your trail through the tall grass was a mystery. You’d have to tease him on his lack of tracking skills later when you got home, after the panic was over.

“I need to go let him know that I’m okay,” you whimpered, taking a step towards where your husband was beating back bushes looking for evidence of you.

Dean gently grabbed your elbow and stopped you. “No, kiddo, you really don’t. He’s not real.” With some effort, he turned you around so you were looking at him, this man who was so close, but not quite your husband. “I’m real, you’re real, and the crappy motel we’re asleep in out there in the real world, that’s real. But this is all crap. You can walk away from it all and come back to what’s real.”

Silent tears dripped down your cheeks. Your mind fought against it, but once the magic trick was revealed, you couldn’t go back to believing. Memories of working beside Dean for years, loving him quietly while he fought and died and came back and fought and died again… they rushed back in and overwhelmed you. Memories of a quiet confession of love, a small wedding, and a shared bed quickly took on the sepia tones of a fading dream. A sob ripped from your throat, and you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle it.

“So,” you croaked, sniffling through the tears, “everything… with him,” you nodded at your husband, still literally beating the bushes to find you, “all the…,” a sob stopped you until you could swallow it down, “all the everything with him, it was all a dream?” Turning back to the Dean in front of you, your heart ripped in two. “Just a stupid fucking dream?” His face twisted as he looked down to avoid your eyes, but he still nodded. “And now you’re telling me that I have to leave?” He nodded again, his eyes still on the ground instead of on you.

Your husband was getting closer. He’d see you in a minute. He’d hold you, and comfort you, and love you the way this Dean never would. You could go home with him, go back to the Bunker, where Sam and Eileen were teaching hunter classes to Jody’s girls and a few other new recruits. Jack and Cas were fixing Heaven but always visited for Sunday dinner. Eileen was pregnant, and you were going to be a godparent, and Dean had already built the crib and bought the biggest stuffed unicorn you’d ever seen. You could go home with him and live an entire lifetime with him and your family until the djinn poison took you.

“No,” you declared. “I don’t have to leave. It’s my choice. I can stay if I want. Even if I know it’s a dream, I can stay here.” Looking at the real man your husband was based on, you shook your head and stepped away from him. “Maybe it’s just a dream, but it’s my dream, and I’m staying.”

Your husband crashed through the bushes and finally caught sight of you, with another Dean holding your elbow in one hand. His gun came up, the safety clicked off, and you stepped in front of the real Dean. The move stopped him from firing but didn’t quell his confusion.

“What’s going on, babe? You know that’s not me, right?”

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face. “I know, but don’t shoot. Please don’t hurt him,” you begged. “Just trust me, okay?”

Pushing Dean’s hand from your arm, you walked toward your husband, arms outstretched. He pulled you close and hugged you tightly, gun still pointed somewhat at the other Dean, murmuring about how worried he’d been when he couldn’t find you.

“Who is this guy, anyway? What’s going on?” he asked you, talking into your hair as he held your head against his shoulder with one hand and continued watching his prey suspiciously.

You’d never felt as safe and loved as you did in Dean’s arms. It didn’t matter where in the world you were, or what was happening around you, in Dean’s embrace was your happy place. You’d do anything to stay there. Even die.

“Nothing you need to worry about, honey,” you reassured him, pulling away so you could look him in the eye. “He’s leaving and I’m staying with you. Till death parts us, and then beyond, like I promised.” Cupping his head with your hands, you kissed him, promising to uphold your vows with every fiber of your being.

“Even if it’s only a dream?” your husband asked, his eyes closed as he touched his forehead to yours.

The surprise that he would acknowledge it rocked you, but your decision stayed the same. Nodding, you glanced back at the other Dean – the real Dean – meaning to say goodbye. What you saw there made you pause: pain reflected in glassy eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be a dream,” he said, almost too quietly for you to hear.

You and your husband froze. “What did you say?” you replied, feeling your thoughts move too slowly to fully understand everything that was happening.

“I said,” Dean answered, taking a deep breath, “It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

Your husband felt you pulling away and tightened his hold on you, tugging your chin so you were looking him in the eye. “I love you, honey, and I love our life and we’re gonna live whatever the badass version of ‘happily ever after’ is, remember?” Tears blurred your view of your husband, but you could see the future with him so clearly. “Sammy and Eileen are gonna have their baby, and we’re gonna have the cutest damn niece or nephew ever, and Claire and Kaia are gonna get married, and we’re gonna do the robot at the reception and embarrass the crap outta them, and we’re gonna keep killing monsters until my knees get creaky and your back gives out, and then we’re gonna retire and help Garth with his monster rehab and teach hunter classes in the bunker, right? Maybe get a little house nearby with a porch we can sit on in the evenings and watch the sunset from our rocking chairs. That’s the plan, right?”

Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, you both sniffled and nodded in agreement.

“Look, I can’t give you a niece or nephew, or a fancy wedding for the girls, or monster rehab and hunter classes,” Dean said from behind you, “but I can give you nights on Baby’s hood watching the stars, and bad jokes while I stitch you up, and the best bottom-shelf bourbon with a side of diner food after a bad hunt.”

Pulling away from your husband a little, you turned your head to hear Dean’s words.

“I can’t promise we’ll get a little house with a porch and a pair of rocking chairs, but I’ll chase the sunset with you in Baby any night you want. Or, if you want to stay in, we can cuddle on my memory foam and watch movies.”

The arms around you loosened, allowing you to turn around, and you could finally see the emotion in Dean’s eyes.

“I’ve wanted to be with you for so long, I can’t even tell you when it started. All I know is that I’ve always thought you deserved the best, and that’s not me.” He waved at your husband, who had let go of all of you except your hand. “He’s better than me, this world is better than me, and if he were real, if this were real, I’d let you go off and live this life without a single regret.” He shook his head, heaved a deep breath, and shrugged. “But it isn’t real – he isn’t real – and you’re not going to live happily ever after, you’re going to die, and I can’t do it. I can’t let you die if there’s anything I can do to stop it. So, this is me, asking for what I want: a future with you. A future where nothing is certain except that I’ll always do whatever I can to make you happy.”

The last link to the dream faded as you dropped your dream husband’s hand and stepped towards Dean. The world around you changed somehow, the colors turning once again to the sepia tones of the dream that it was.

“I always thought you didn’t think of me that way,” you said, your voice trembling with nerves.

“I’ve always thought of you that way,” Dean replied. “But you were so out of my league, I didn’t think you’d ever think of me like that!”

Staring into each other’s eyes, you both chuckled and then reached out towards each other, clasping your hands and moving closer together. Dean had the beginnings of a goofy smile, and you felt it matched on your own face.

“You really mean it? You really want to be with me?” you asked, needing to hear it just one more time.

“How about you shake off this dream and I show you for real?” Dean suggested, bending over, pulling your trusty knife from your boot, and handing it to you.

Holding the knife in your hand, you felt the rightness of it click into place. Dean had given you this knife shortly after you’d met. He’d picked it out with everything about you in mind. It had engravings on the blade and handle that you thought were beautiful, and the handle was a perfect size and shape for your hand. Looking at it, you marveled at how it was so perfectly you, perfectly Dean, and just all-around perfect. Dean had always loved you, and everything about the knife proved it.

“What do I need to do?”

Dean gestured towards his double standing opposite you.

The other Dean – your dream husband – began backing away. “Honey, no! It’s me! We can fix this! It will feel like a lifetime, but you’ll be safe here! No monsters can kill you here! Eileen’s gonna have a girl and that little warrior princess is gonna wrap me and Sammy around her little finger! There are gonna be tea parties! Don’t you want to see all of that?”

In his rambling, he slowed just enough that you were able to catch up to him and slam the knife into his gut. He doubled over, falling to the ground in a heap. As he bled out, still babbling about how life would have been perfect with him, the dream faded to black.

You woke with a gasp, Dean waking in a similar manner at the same time next to you. You both sat up, looking around the room and patting yourselves down. When your breathing settled, all the aches and pains from being strung up by the djinn slammed into you and you groaned.

“Oh, God, that hurts,” you complained, holding your neck where the thick gauze bandage was covering your wound. Looking down at yourself, you saw the dirty clothes and felt the skunky funk that came from being held captive in a dank basement for most of a day.

Gesturing to yourself in all your post-captivity glory, you commented to Dean, “Are you sure you still want to be with me? I mean, I’m not much of a prize.” Although you were supposedly joking, deep down you were giving Dean an out. Just in case he’d only said what he’d said to save your life, and not because he’d meant it.

Dean shifted on the bed until he was sitting right next to you and then carefully cupped your head with his hands so you could only see him.

“I will always want to be with you,” he said, solemnly looking into your eyes so you would see the truth of his words. “You are the best prize. Better than the prize in any cereal box.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t as flawlessly perfect as the kisses you had in your dream – your teeth clashed a little in the beginning, and Dean tasted a little like the chili lime beef jerky you didn’t like – but it was perfect for you.

[faetalwords]

Faults (Or ; How Eskel Got a Cat)

 The Wolves had always told him that his heart was bigger than his brain. First it was Geralt; when Eskel refused to let him take the fall for one of their misadventures in the kitchens back in their fourteenth year. Then it was Rennes, swearing him up and down while forcing Eskel to butcher the griffin chick he’d tried to spare. It came softly from Feliks, a tiny kitten clutched in his own paws- too large to be graceful even in his youth.  Vesemir said it with a sigh when he was nursing a bloodied nose from his refusal to just “fucking move” from the fight of a Witcher and recruit.

 It was a truth of his life, that the Dragon of Kaer Morhen would die at the fault of his stupid heart. He never could leave well enough alone, couldn’t walk away from a creature in pain without his scars burning like a fresh brand. Even when those same creatures hissed and spit at the sight of his face.

 “Come now, there’s no need to be nasty.” The Witcher across the clearing snarled, hurled another insult at him that would have made Lambert proud, and pressed closer to the rock face at his back.

 “If you’re gonna kill me how about you either do it or get lost.”

 “Why would I kill you?” He had to ask, the other man seemed so sure of his intent to harm… he was injured as well. It wasn’t until the Witcher moved just so that the scent of blood drifted far enough for Eskel to catch.

 “Don’t play fucking coy, Honorton. Ain’t a fucking person this side of the Pontar that doesn’t know by now.” Oh. Oh yes, Eskel knew. It had been a massacre. The Witcher’s breath was labored and Eskel had assumed it was the anger;

 “Honorton was near two weeks ago. You’re not healing, so what happened?” The cat, because the little Witcher was indeed a Cat, favored his left side. “I really do want to talk.”

 “Want me to fucking confess my sins? Well tough shit.”

 “For fucks sake I want your side of the story you little bastard.” That made the man draw up short.  ‘Like fucking Lambert ’ Eskel thought. “You tell me your side and I’ll share whatever I manage to catch tonight. You’re half starved.” He was half as likely to get a knife in his ribs as an answer but the Witcher seemed to give in.

 “They hired me for a leshen and tried to give me ten fucking crowns for it. Told them they’d wish they had the beast back if they didn’t pay me what was agreed. ‘We hid some gold sir witcher, it’s in the barn if you insist on taking our livelihoods’. I believed them. Stupidly.” The cat had taken a seat on a stump that was nearly older than Eskel. “They stabbed me in the back with a pitchfork. They’d kill me for a few crowns and I’m supposed to protect whoresons like that?” It was a rhetorical question, but Eskel bit his tongue anyway. “So yeah, I drew steel and didn’t sheath it until the ground was slick with blood.”

 Every man, woman, and…. Child. Almost. Eskel knew the rumors. His hands clenched and released. Anger was a powerful emotion and he tried to let it go.      There goes the Butcher of Blaviken…  

 “You heading somewhere in particular?”

 “No.” Too fast.  

 “I’m gonna go check for game. If you’re still here when I get back I’ll share and take a look at your back. Pitchfork is a nasty wound when it is treated right.” There was no response from the Cat but Eskel left anyway, turning his back to the man but listening intently for the event of a betrayal. He was kind, not a fool. Not usually.

 He had a choice to make. It wasn’t a Witcher’s place to absolve a man off his sins. It wasn’t their place to pass judgement on men… nor each other. Shit happens on the path, he rubbed at his scars. It wasn’t his place to judge.

 Eskel was genuinely surprised to find the Cat waiting for him on his return. The young man had stripped most of his kit off and left it in a careful stack so that he wore his breeches and a stained white undershirt. There was the faint scent of blood in the air and Eskel huffed a breath to clear it from his senses.

 “Got two rabbits, you want to skin them while I look at those wounds?”

 “Fine.” The witcher hesitated, be it the shock of an act of kindness or wariness Eskel didn’t know, but he pulled the dingy shirt over his head and took the rabbits from Eskel’s hands. “Jus’… if you kill me like this I’ll be pissed.” He turned his back and knelt in the dirt to take up the task Eskel set for him. Eskel didn’t dare speak of honor- no wolf would kill a man with their back turned; and what a sight that back was.

 The wounds were nasty. Four punctures that, in truth, should have killed him. Eskel was gentle when he  pressed along the edges of the wounds, two were infected- angry red and fevered under his calloused hands. He traced the second highest and whistled through his teeth. “They almost got your lung here, cat.”

 “Yeah.” The cat stilled where he was about to place the first skinned rabbit in a bowl. Eskel rummaged through his pack for some white Rafford’s and a bit of white gull.

 “I have silver thistle for a poultice that I can use if you want.” The blade scraped at the inside of a pelt and the Cat half shrugged.

 “S’okay.”

 Eskel skimmed his fingers over the notches of the other’s spine. He wasn’t simply underfed, he was starving. Witchers grew lean in the months nearing winter, as contracts paid less and game grew thin, Eskel had counted his own ribs more than once. It was a fact of their lives. He wondered how often the cat had been stiffed to be so hungry that he wouldn’t heal.

 “Drink this, cat.” he pushed the potion into the witcher’s hands as soon as the second rabbit was gutted. Once it was finished the vial was laid near the bag that Eskel rummaged through for his herbal salves.

 “Gaetan.”

 “Hm?”

 “My name. It’s Gaetan.” Those yellow eyes were trained on the ground, his hands twisted in the fabric of the ruined shirt.  

 “Well Gaetan, it’s good to meet you. I’m Eskel.”

[cassianandor]

For the chayenco fic rec, can you please do one about their confession or kiss..Will it be a fiery passionate sparks of the roof kinda one or a angsty soft teary kind of one!? Thankyouuu again!! You really are an angel for writing for the fandom!!!

I tried my best to convey what you wanted me to tell, I hope you like it!

READ IT ON AO3 TOO

Tell me how much you want me

Pairing: Hong Cha Young x Vincenzo Cassano

Word count: 956

Warnings: corny

This was for her father.

The words of comfort Cha Young didn’t get to say to him while he was alive were translated, hopefully, in her actions in the past months.

She fought hard beside Vincenzo. Cha Young saw people she cared dearly dying, almost died herself and was in the face of danger more times than she expected, but she didn’t regret it. It was all worth it now that it was over — Jang Jun Woo was dead, Jang Han Seo, Choi Myung Hee and Han Seung Hyeok were arrested after Vincenzo and her proved all their crimes in court.

Cha Young couldn’t help but to wonder if her father was finally proud of who she had become, wherever he was. Apparently, she was diving into her reveries way too much.

“Hong Cha Young-ssi,” Vincenzo called out for her, in a drunkenly voice. They were at an almost empty restaurant, celebrating their victory. Cha Young wouldn’t admit, but she was already a little drunk too. “What is it? I can hear you thinking from here.”

Cha Young huffed, hastily putting an elbow over the table and almost dropping a bottle. “I’m thinking about my dad. Do you think he’s happy?”

Vincenzo crossed his arms over his chest. “I think so. At best, yes. But he’s dead.”

Getting up abruptly, Cha Young startled Vincenzo with her loud tone. “God, couldn’t you just say ‘yes’? I know he’s dead.”

She wasn’t that upset. Cha Young was fed up, physically tired and a little bit drunker than she should be, so she let her emotions get the best of her. Leaving a mouth agape Vincenzo behind, she grabbed her coat and purse and dashed out of the restaurant.

A cold breeze hit Cha Young squarely in the face and she puffed, putting on her coat as she walked down the sidewalk. The world seemed to spin a little until Cha Young felt a hand grabbing her arm.

“Ms. Hong,” Vincenzo, panting a bit, let go of her arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so used to being pragmatic that I forget that people have feelings too.”

Cha Young stared at him for a couple of seconds before responding. Her heart was pounding in her chest way too fast. “Mr. Cassano, aren’t you going to leave Korea? I thought that there was nothing keeping you here.”

Vincenzo blinked twice before replying. “There isn’t.”

Liar.

“Then why are you here?” She questioned, trying to read something in his eyes. It was a losing game.

Vincenzo didn’t respond, so Cha Young felt entitled to scoff and leave him behind for a second time that night. After she took a couple of steps, Cha Young heard Vincenzo’s voice again. “What do you want from me?”

Cha Young came to a halt, still with his back turned to him. “The truth,” She said.

“What?” Vincenzo asked. “I said I’m sorry…”

God, that man was dense.

Cha Young turned around annoyed, feeling completely sobered up. “Not about that, oh my God! Can you just say what—do I have to say that—just… don’t you have anything to say to me after all these months?”

Maybe it was all in her head. They were partners — not friends, never friends — that were damn good at what they did, and all those days and nights spent together naturally made them grow closer. Unconsciously, Cha Young’s heart learned a new language to speak whenever Vincenzo was around. There was no tragedy in it. It was enough.

Or so she thought, now face to face with Vincenzo wearing her heart on her sleeve. “Ms. Hong…”

Cha Young let out a dry chuckle, tightening her hold on her purse. She was a professional of making a fool out of herself. “I get it, I’m an idiot. Forget it. I was—”

“It’s not that,” He began, taking a step forward. “I told you. Villains don’t deserve love.”

Cha Young frowned. The line between good and evil was not always clear. A God to many was a Devil to opposite worshippers. “That’s bullshit,” She argued. “You’re running away. It’s what you do when you pretend to not know what you want.”

Vincenzo sighed, darting his eyes to the floor then back to her. Cha Young could feel the weight of his gaze over her as he repeated his question. “What do you want from me?”

Cha Young pursed her lips, heart racing at a stupidly swift pace. “I want your everything. I want the messy Vincenzo Cassano the way he is. I want all your failures and all your triumphs, I want the Mafia law—”

While she was talking, Vincenzo suddenly took a couple of steps forward and slid his hand around Cha Young’s neck, pulling her close as he pressed his lips into hers.

Cha Young’s eyelids fell closed slowly. Her mind shut down of anything that wasn’t the feeling of whatever was growing hot in her stomach, so Cha Young used her free hand to cling to Vincenzo’s coat and push into the kiss. He tasted like soju and Cha Young wanted to drink him down, to taste him and dive into his soul as if it was her own.

Cha Young parted her lips, breathing out into Vincenzo’s mouth. He angled his head and drew Cha Young even closer, brushing his thumb softly against her jawline. Her grip on his coat got tighter, but Vincenzo was the first to break the kiss.

Still close to Cha Young, he looked at her with a pleased gaze. “You will never stop talking about the Mafia, will you?”

Gently, she dragged her hand from his coat to place upon his cheek and smiled. “Never.”

[serenityseventeen]

Love & Letter: To The Thirteen Boys I've Loved Before

The Fourth Letter

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

To: Wen Junhui

From: Y/N

Jun, how are you doing lately?

I'm always wondering that now that you're gone. I want to text you or call you but it'll be awkward since before you left, we decided to break up. I want to call and hear your voice, laugh at your jokes, I miss it all.

I'm sure it's better for the both of us that we cut off contact, but how can I forget you, my first boyfriend that I'm still in love with? I think you're the first person I've ever loved so deeply like this. I know that I'm in love with you.

During the little over half a year that we dated, I learned so many things about love. It was phenomenal, beautiful, and such a good feeling.

I'm always wondering, if we weren't teens in high school, if we were adults, would our relationship be different? Would we have ended differently? Because if we were adults, maybe you wouldn't have to leave back to China. Even now, I'm wondering, in the future, can we cross paths again? Give our love another chance?

But I know that by that time, we would be completely different people and maybe not even attracted to each other anymore. Who knows, you may find someone in China that you love better than me.

If you didn't have to go, maybe we could have had a longer relationship. Why must we have to be apart when we're so in love? You're my first boyfriend ever and I can't be more grateful to you. You were the best first boyfriend I could ever ask for.

This letter to you, it's not a confession, only a little bit. I just want to write this letter to remember you, my first boyfriend, and thank you now that it would be too awkward to do it over text or call.

You're my first boyfriend and when you came into my life, it felt like someone above heard my prayers. At that time when you slipped into my life, I'll confess that I was trying to fall out of love with someone else. Thanks to you, I was able to do that.

Should we both thank Mr. Koo for pairing us up for the 2-month project? I mean, thanks to him, I was able to fall in love with someone like you.

I remember how awkward it was for both of us introverts to speak with each other. You introduced yourself and I introduced myself and then we didn't talk for like five minutes. I still remember how heavily my heart pounded while waiting for you to speak. To this day, I don't know why you giggled first, but it was attractive and cute. Maybe I'm just so madly in love with you that I find your everything to be perfect and cute.

When we began talking to each other, I was surprised at how unique you were. Trust me, Junhui, you're nothing like anyone I've met before. Out of the guys I've ever met, you're the weirdest! But that's a good thing, because of that charm, I fell even harder for you. It's your charm, Jun.

It was just your way of thinking that was unique. You were able to come up with the most unique jokes I've ever heard and your humor always cracked me up as well. I still remember that first day when we were working on the project, you drew a small sun with a smiley face at the corner of my paper. It was so cute.

Soon, I realized that most of the time during class, we were just busy joking with each other and wasting time. You shared stories about your little brother and always made me laugh somehow. Each time I laughed because of you, my heart fluttered. Each time you laughed because of me, I would feel a rush of excitement and my heart would be pounding so fast.

When you started coming over to my house to work in hopes of getting more progress, that's when our relationship progressed. It was weird to have you around at my house because we just talked so much instead of getting work done. Sometimes, the responsibility would hit me and I would remind us to get to work, in which you would chuckle and reply, “Oh right, what are we doing, fooling around?”

Every time you said something along those lines, it made me smile because you were just so cute. I was slowly drowning myself into your charms. This unique personality of yours was drawing me in.

Aside from your dorkiness, when you get to work, you work hard. Sometimes I was distracted by how you looked when you were focused.

Thank you for asking me out that day at the bus stop. I was sending you home. I know I told you it was because I felt bad for leaving you alone and it really was because I felt bad, but it was also because I wanted to be around you longer.

When we reached the empty bus stop and you waited for the bus, you told me after some hesitation, abruptly, while chuckling softly, “I like you, Y/N. Should we date?”

At that time, my heart and mind were racing, that's why I replied stupidly to your confession and said “Isn't it too fast...?”

Gosh, I was so dumb! It wasn't fast at all and the pace was actually good. We took two weeks getting to know each other, it was about time that you asked me out, right? I mean, I liked you back then too, so I hope you don't think those dates we went on captured my heart because that's not the case at all! I've liked you before your confession.

However, thanks to my dumb reply, you took me on many dates. It was my first time going on dates like that with just one other person. A date like the ones in the movies.

The first date being at the carnival that was open in town. I had so much fun there! Plus, I still have that photo of us with the face paint in my photo gallery. I don't want to delete it because it holds so many memories. Maybe someday, I'll print our couple pictures and tape them on the back of this letter. Plus, the cat ears looked so cute on us.

For the first time, I felt like I was on a real date, and it was with you. I'm grateful that I was able to participate in so many different games with you. I still have the small duck you won for me. Those games are all a total scam but you still insisted and managed to win it for me. At that moment, I felt your sincerity at the bottom of my heart.

I also remember our date at the PC cafe. Gosh, you have the weirdest taste in games, you know that!? Usually, men like playing shooter games but you and I trained a cat to fly and had multiple races. The loser would then have to get a flick on the forehead, even though we both went easy on each other. That brought me a lot of joy too even though it was simple.

For our last date, before we started dating, I just want to confess, I lied about being able to stay out late. My dad didn't figure out I was with you though. I just really wanted to see the movie so I went to watch it with you. That was the location of our first kiss together.

After the movie, I was stretching my back outside the movie theatre. I don't know what you were looking at but if you were looking at me, I'm sorry I looked so ugly while stretching. It was almost 9 PM, two hours past the time I can stay out.

I can remember the scene clearly. I was just about to tie my hair while talking about the movie when you suddenly took my face with your cold hands and kissed me with your warm lips. Your hand on my warm neck was sending chills down my spine. I still didn't know how to kiss then and just going with the flow, I found myself enjoying kissing you a lot. My heart was racing and I remember how hard I clenched onto your khaki jacket. I'm giggling now thinking about it.

I did learn how to kiss better because of you though, Jun. After we started dating, sometimes when my dad left to get us some fruit, you would sneak some kisses onto my lips in the meanwhile instead of working. You're so playful too. Playful and sweet.

Sometimes, you don't know how much you mean to me, Jun. I mean, I'm still a bit upset that you didn't tell me you were moving back to China in the middle of summer break. However, I'm glad that you told me before you moved and just didn't disappear suddenly. Because you told me, I could love you with all of my teenage heart and give you all of me. I was able to convince my father to allow me to spend more hours with you, whether it was goofing around, working hard, or just kissing and hugging. Thank you for that, because I was able to prepare myself. I loved it whenever we were just sitting, our legs crisscrossed, and my arms around your neck with your hands clasped around my waist while we kissed sweetly.

I also love your hair, Jun. It was so soft and flowy that I could ruffle it all day. Your hand too, whenever they clasped with mine, I would always feel a sense of warmth.

When the move ticked closer, I was beginning to grow more nervous. I didn't want you to leave but I knew it wasn't your choice. Did you dread the day as well?

I wonder if we could have broken that long-distance relationship curse. We loved each other after all. I thought that I would be able to handle it as long as I could still hear your voice and text you. I thought long and hard about it, wondering if a breakup was necessary. But then, without even trying, I know that we will eventually drift apart. We're still teens and it's my first time having a boyfriend, how was I supposed to know what to do?

I remember the day before you left, you told me that you loved me and that you were sorry that all you could give me was memories. I'm still believing that every word you said was genuine.

You cared for me when I was sick. I remember how you rushed to check up on me after school when you heard that I was absent because I was sick. Most of the time I was sleeping but I can still remember how gently you caressed my hair and stroked my cheeks.

You showed me unconditional love, even when I was telling you that I wasn't proud of myself. You cheered me on with your bright personality.

I'm glad I said those words too. “I love you.”

Even though we may just seem like kids to others, I truly loved you, Junhui. The day when we broke up at the airport, I did not want you to see me cry. You always told me to cry if I wanted to but I didn't want you to see me cry.

When you said “Well, I guess that's it for us. Thank you, Y/N, for being mine for a while. I love you a lot and I'll always treasure the memories we made” as you left, waving and smiling painfully, I was going to cry, but I just smiled and waved after telling you that I loved you too and that this breakup was unfortunate.

When you stopped your suitcase and ran back to me one more time to hug me, I was about to burst into tears. You said your final goodbye and then went back to your suitcase. To be honest, I wanted to hold you longer. I didn't want you to leave, I wanted to hold you back so that you could stay with me.

After you left, I ran into my dad's car and cried.

I cried a lot and my dad didn't even do anything to stop me. He knew you were my first boyfriend and having to end my relationship with you so sadly made his heart ache too I bet. I'm glad my dad let me cry though. I think he understood what I was going through.

I miss you a lot, Jun. I still think about you a lot. Sometimes I look back on the place where we worked on our project and I can almost see the scenes of us sitting there, laughing, talking, hugging, cuddling, kissing. I was really sad after you left. I'm still getting over it. I'm still remembering when I wake up some days and realize that you're not here with me anymore and that you're in a different time zone, a different country, a different place.

A month has passed since you left. I have a month of summer left to spend to move on.

I hope you're having a good time, staying healthy, being happy where you belong. I will always remember you. I don't want to forget you, Junhui. You mean a lot to me.

I miss you, Jun. I'm thankful to you too.

I love you, Jun.

If only we fell in love at a different time, perhaps in the future when we are adults, capable of our emotions, capable of thinking, capable of our own lives, capable of loving. If you didn't have to move... If you didn't have to leave... I'm sure I'd still have you beside me. Yet, I can't even tell what the present holds, who am I to assume the future?

All I can do is reminisce now. I really miss you, Jun. I'll move on soon enough. Are you trying to move on too? Do you miss me as much as I miss you?

If only we were given more time.

Yours truly,

Y/N

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

© serenityseventeen

6/20/21 - 1:03 am

a/n: I listened to ‘Silent Boarding Gate’ while making this one because that song is so beautiful and just makes me feel like I'm reminiscing about a past love that is now gone. I almost cry every time. It's such a beautiful song, guys...

[wolf-and-bard]

*Giggles at all of your cute chaos cousins posts* *Imagines Ciri’s royal family meeting her Witcher family* I was just wondering if you might wanna write a little something to satisfy my craving for some everyone lives fluff? ❤️ I’m honestly just imagining sweet sea hound Eist meeting and making friends with the wolf boys XD

My friend ♥️ Do excuse the long wait, my brain was not in the mood for fluff for a bit there. This did turn out rather silly, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway! Maybe don't take it too seriously 😂

Everyone lives family-floof (with some vaguely implied Lambskel), rated T, 3.1k. Enjoy!

„Welcome, welcome,“ the crashing mine-cart voice of Crach en Craite boomed up the gangway which Geralt treaded lightly, Ciri clinging to his backside. The girl had slept through half of their ship’s journey and was still softly snoring. Geralt could feel drool against his neck, but he didn’t mind so much with her. It made him bite down on a smile as he set foot on the wooden planks of the dock.

The air around them was filled with the general clamour of Ard Skellig’s harbour, people that embarked and disembarked from various vessels, traders that carried wares to and fro, merchants that advertised their wares, children that spent their lazy afternoons watching the various ships dock.

Nothing of the wars with Nilfgaard had reached the Skellige Isles, not a single galley of the Black Ones, nor yet a spark of the fires that consumed the Northern Kingdoms. Nothing of the wars had reached their host either. Crach stood as a proud and stout warrior with open arms and a stately set of his shoulders, smiling broadly through his thick beard.

“Well met, Jarl,” Geralt said.

„Geralt of Rivia,“ he hollered and laughed and came up to Geralt to greet him before he noticed Ciri on his back. „By Freya, if it isn’t my dear cousin.“ Ciri perked up at that, and laughed when she saw the low bow Crach was giving her. She tugged on Geralt’s hair and he let her down with a grunt.

“Cousin Crach,” she squealed and barrelled into him under his thunderous laughter.

Geralt crossed his arms and smiled as the two of them hugged out their reunion, Crach bent low to wrap his huge arms around Ciri’s body, still small in spite of all the training she had done under the witchers’ careful instruction. Speaking of which…

“Man, this place stinks,” Lambert complained as he joined Geralt on the dock. His face was slightly pale, had taken on a greenish taint, and he wore a constant scowl. “Please don’t tell me all they have to eat is fish, I’d kill for a roasted chicken leg right now.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you,” Eskel said and he too took up position on Geralt’s side. Vesemir was the last to leave the ship, having chatted with the captain about sightings of rare sea creatures all journey long, and he looked as vivacious and happy as Lambert looked annoyed and sickly. A flush was spread over his cheeks and a bounce suffused his step making him seem younger than the lot of them which was a ridiculous notion. Geralt huffed, and jostled Lambert lightly.

“Fuck off!” the youngest wolf yapped and jostled him right back.

“I brought my family,” Ciri announced when she wound out of Crach’s embrace and her eyes glittered, a sea-weed green under the afternoon sun which hung in a cloudless sky. Her chest swelled in pride as she waved Crach over to introduce them.

“You know Geralt of course,” she said and Crach and Geralt exchanged another nod. Crach winked and Geralt bit down on his laughter. “The greatest witcher to ever walk the Continent!”

“I have a thing or two to say to that,” Vesemir huffed.

“You’re right, the second-greatest witcher to ever walk the Continent. Vesemir taught him,” Ciri explained and Crach saluted Vesemir loosely, then turned to the other two.

“These are my uncles Eskel and Lambert.”

“Not your uncle, kiddo,” Lambert grumbled.

“As you can see, Uncle Lambert is a massive killjoy. But he can be fun if he wants to be, he taught me how to make bombs.”

Geralt waited for the realization to hit Crach, the sudden understanding that having this girl live with four witchers of all people might have been the worst thing to happen to her, and that he should have them all executed for their crimes against the crown. But Crach only chuckled which, if anything, made Lambert even more suspicious. Geralt could see it in his narrowed eyes.

“Uncle Eskel is the best cook ever and he’s so strong. He once carried me and Uncle Lambert to bed when we fell asleep playing Gwent on the battlements. He makes a super strong herbal tea and he knows all about the weirdest kinds of monsters, those even witchers get to fight rarely. But don’t cross him, I hear his Axiis can knock you right out.”

“They can,” Eskel said, a faint blush clinging to his cheeks. “But so can my fists. Thank you for having us, Jarl.”

“I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about, but I’m sure these men are great people and fine company. Welcome to all of you and my sincerest thanks for taking my cousin in. Her family is ours also and shall be welcomed on Ard Skellig henceforth. Please, dear witchers, follow me, there is much ale to toast with and a few other people that should like to make your acquaintance. Our servants have prepared a royal feast in your honour.”

“Royal feast, who gives a shit. Don’t think we will be wooed by manners and wine,” Lambert muttered and Crach laughed. “We’re only here because the brat was nagging us about it.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Lambert,” Ciri said and batted her lashes at him. “There’ll be beer and cuss words and all the types of fish you can imagine, it’ll be right up your alley.”

“Call me uncle one more time,” Lambert said through his teeth and Eskel drew an arm around his shoulder to pull him close, then whispered something into his ear which Vesemir and Geralt heard, but the others couldn’t. Lambert flushed red, Eskel smirked, and Vesemir scowled at them. Geralt shook his head, biting down on an amused smile.

“We would love to join you in the keep,” he said. Ciri beamed at him, and so did Crach. Lambert was suspiciously quiet all the way up.

---

The moment Crach threw open the grand double doors at the end of the bridge that led into the entrance hall of Ard Skellig’s keep, a blur of reds and browns came shooting from a dark corner and barrelled straight into Ciri, knocking her over. All four witchers fell into various fighting stances immediately, their focus trailed on the heap of limbs on the floor, but as soon as Ciri’s excited giggles echoed through the great space, they relaxed.

“Cerys,” Ciri laughed and they tumbled about on the floor, Ciri and a girl that was no more than a couple years younger than she. She had flaming red hair and wore a version of Crach’s armour, adjusted to fit her still growing body. The girl grappled with Ciri, then tried to pin her down, but Ciri’s training kicked in – Geralt noticed her perfect execution of a manoeuvre that flipped their positions – and she gained the upper hand. Cerys stared up at her, wide-eyed, then burst into laughter that too matched the thunder of her father. It was amazing, coming from such a small person.

“You,” Cerys hissed between hiccups of laughter. “You abandoned me. You promised to be here for my birthday, but you abandoned me for what? This group of stinky old men?” She glared at the witchers, or tried to, but her eyes spelled mirth.

“We’re not adopting another child,” Lambert said and Eskel jostled him. Vesemir and Crach were both smiling into their beards.

“My darling Cerys,” Ciri said and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose. Cerys howled in dismay and wriggled in Ciri’s grip, all in good humour. “How you’ve grown.” With that, Ciri let her go and pulled her cousin up with her. The girls regared each other for a long moment, then fell into a bear hug.

Geralt watched them, arms crossed, and felt his heart warm at the sight. He hadn’t realized prior to this trip, stupidly hadn’t realized, how much family Ciri still had, how many connections to the world. When he’d taken her in, the only thing on his mind had been getting her to safety. He’d thought she had no one left and now here she was, a bright young girl, on her way to become the first ever female witcher, with two families to call her own. There were doubts there too, of course. Should he have brought her here in the first place?

“You did good with her, wolf,” Vesemir said as he came up to Geralt’s side and placed a light hand on his bicep.

“We all did, even Lambert,” Geralt said. “But maybe it’s time to give her back to the world?”

“She would have your cock sizzling over a campfire for that if you even implied it.” Geralt’s eyes widened and he stared at Vesemir. Vesemir had his gaze fixed on the still hugging girls, but his moustache twitched. “She’s one of us now, Geralt.”

Geralt accepted that in silence. Right then, his ears pricked up as he heard two more people approach from a stairway to the right. One of them Geralt recognized instantly in his proud bearing and his weathered face. Eist Tuirseach, former Jarl of Skellige, King of the fallen country of Cintra, always bore himself with pride, nobility and mischief woven about his person like an invisible cloak. Geralt liked the old sea bear, even though he’d only met the man briefly at his and Calanthe’s betrothal. The day Geralt had claimed Ciri as his child surprise. He saw Geralt and nodded slightly, then his eyes fell to Ciri – who had finally let go of Cerys – and they widened, lips parting in a gasp as though, up until now, he hadn’t quite believed she would come.

“Cirilla,” he said, oh so quietly, but she heard. She’d been wintering with wolves, she heard. And in an instant, she was across the space between them, had hurled herself into his arms. Ciri shrank then, back into the girl Geralt had first picked up in the middle of the war and Eist’s eyes filled with tears as he crouched down to envelop her in his arms which were clad in furs. He buried his face in her hair and both sobbed quietly.

“Who is he?” Eskel asked under his breath.

“Her grandfather,” Geralt replied to put it simple. Titles would mean nothing to Eskel, nor to Lambert. His brothers actually cared as much about politics as Geralt pretended to care about them which was nothing at all.

“I had not known King Eist had survived the war,” Vesemir said to Crach. The two warriors were standing off to the side, heads tucked together while Eskel stood with Geralt and Lambert… Lambert sat cross-legged on the floor, caught in a staring match with little Cerys. In all of that, the broad but hunched figure of what Geralt assumed was Cerys’ brother, got lost somehow. He stood close to Eist, eyes trailed at the ground. Geralt dismissed him as unthreatening and insignificant, and refocused his attention to Eist and Ciri who were still holding onto each other as though the White Frost was about to sweep over the lands and they could only fend it off by hugging. Something barbed lodged in Geralt’s throat at the sight. He swallowed it down. He was not Ciri’s father.

As if she could sense his distress, Ciri detached herself and walked back to the wolves, beckoning Eist to come along.

“You’ve got to meet them all,” she said to the old king. “You can’t imagine what they’re like.”

“I really can’t,” Eist said. There was a healthy flush on his cheeks and he wouldn’t meet Geralt’s eyes. It was a good thing because if he had, they might have just both lost it over Ciri’s antics. It was like she’d de-aged by half a decade, childish excitement replacing the determined wolf she’d become.

“You have met Geralt. And this next to him is Eskel, my favourite uncle,” Ciri expained and Eist and Eskel shook hands.

“Hey, I heard that!” Lambert called and Cerys whooped, having won the staring match upon Lambert’s indignant outcry.

“I thought you weren’t my uncle,” Ciri retorted and they spent a moment sticking their tongues out at each other as Eskel and Eist briefly chatted about the sea journey to which Geralt hummed along. It was a lot, all these people in a room together, and he had expected them to clash, but somehow… it worked out.

At first, they’d all thought it was a terrible idea. They’d gotten word from the Skellige Isles, a coded message that had contained an invitation for the witchers and Ciri – if the rumours of her survival should be true – to sail to Ard Skellig and stay with the an Craites who’d become part of her family by her grandmother’s marriage to Crach’s uncle.

Vesemir had been completely against it, Eskel had refrained from commenting on the matter and simply gotten ready for another year on the Path, Lambert had kept spewing all the reasons why they shouldn’t at anyone who would listen. Geralt… Geralt had wanted to do good by Ciri and he’d known she needed it. To be with normal people, people that knew her in a way the witchers couldn’t. He’d also painfully understood Lambert’s arguments. It was dangerous for anyone involved. But in the end, Ciri had put on all her charms, had gotten out her arsenal of annoyance, and had convinced them to dare. They rarely did that these days, daring. They’d discussed it over the fire one night, and had decided, collectively decided because unfathomably, the girl wanted them all to come, to indulge her. And here they were.

“So,” Vesemir said as he approached Eist, both thumbs hooked into his belt and one eyebrow raised in his best impression of the hard teacher he used to be. Eist did not cower. “You are the reason this girl has been playing all manners of pranks on me.”

“I should hope so. Someone has to be around for her to fill their shoes with muck and put hair dye in their soap and so on. I would be direly disappointed in Cirilla if she hadn’t found someone to pester while he were separated,” Eist said and extended a hand. Vesemir glanced down at it, pretended to ponder, and Geralt and Eskel turned their heads down to hide their smiles. “Call me Eist.”

“Do you know, Eist, that I have woken up with my feet coated in honey and ants only yesterday?”

“That was Lambert’s idea though,” Ciri protested.

“Well, this Lambert must be an absolutely charming young man then,” Eist chuckled and from Lambert’s glare he did not cower either.

“I’m older than you, grandpa, I’ve had enough of this,” Lambert said. “You know what? That bridge looked funny. I think I’ll just go and jump over the railing it and see how many somersaults I can do on the way down. Aiden taught me a new way to get more spinning power.” With that, the youngest wolf got up, gave Cerys a pat on the head and made a run for it.

“LAMBERT, NO,” both Vesemir and Eskel shouted and gave chase, and Crach and Eist bellowed out laughter. Geralt and Ciri rolled their eyes at each other. It was then that Ciri finally noticed her other cousin, and only because Cerys stood by his side now. That close, the similarities were uncanny, brother and sister no doubt. They had the same long nose, the same hands. Hands that had wielded steel before and often. In a way, then, Ciri might fit in better now than she had before. Before Kaer Morhen, before the war. Before her life had fallen to pieces around her.

“Hjalmar,” Ciri said and approached the pair of siblings. Hjalmar shrugged, then walked away without sparing her a glance.

“He’s having a phase,” Cerys huffed. “We’ll hang out after dinner! Now that you’re apparently a fighter, we ought to spar. We can, father, right?” Both girls looked to Crach who seemed a little forlorn all by himself, eyes darting between where the witchers had disappeared to, where Hjalmar had disappeared to, and where Cerys and Ciri made puppy eyes at him.

“Cerys may fight, of course,” Crach said. “But I cannot decide for Cirilla.”

“Cirilla can damn well decide for herself,” Ciri said, fist clenching as if around the grip of an invisible sword. Back in Kaer Morhen, she would be scolded for backing down on a challenge and so she shook Cerys’ hand now before the girl trailed after her brother.

“I should… make sure they don’t set the place on fire. Eist will show you to your rooms once the rest of your family returns,” Crach said with a wave and followed his children with heavy steps, each a sigh against the carpet.

“Right then,” Ciri said and turned to Geralt and Eist, now the only people left in attendance. “What have you been up to, grandpa?”

“Oh, we’ve been spending our days on the terraces, watching for whales and counting seals. Calanthe has been bored out of her mind, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Geralt froze and so did Ciri. They exchanged a long look and Geralt could smell the tears prickle in Ciri’s eyes, but they didn’t manifest. Geralt gave an almost imperceptible nod and Ciri turned back to Eist, drawing a deep breath.

“She’s alive then.”

“She’s alive.”

“I want to see her,” Ciri demanded and held out her hand for Eist to take. To guide her. This was not a reunion Geralt needed to pry into, and so he inclined his head and gestured for them to go on.

“But Ciri,” Eist said and squeezed her hand. His voice had fallen to a quieter key and Geralt cocked his head to listen for his heartbeat. Not faster, slower if anything, but a certain tension was there nonetheless. There was something wrong with Calanthe. Something significant. “She might not be awake. She… rarely is.”

“What happened to her?”

“I think I should see how many somersaults Lambert managed,” Geralt interjected carefully and made to leave, but Ciri grabbed his hand before he could. Their eyes met again and hers were hard around the edges, softened on the inside. I need you, Geralt, the flicker in them said. And Geralt was not her father, not yet, he thought, and he didn’t know if he ever would be, but he would never deny her a request like this. She needed him, Geralt was there.

Eist glanced at where they held hands and his weary expression was washed away by a wistful smile.

“Knowing Calanthe, she should like to explain it to you in due time. You will see that she was wounded in the storm on Cintra and is still in recovery.”

“She’s the Lioness,” Ciri said simply. “She will roar and rise again.”

That she will, Geralt thought. And you right alongside her.

[anncanta]

English defence

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Explixit

Warnings: Rape, Non-Con

The English defense in chess is a kind of opening, distinguished by a variety of strategic ideas and the extreme flexibility of the schemes that are formed in it, as well as ample opportunities for various permutations of moves and transition to other openings.

This opening is used by chess players of the highest level.

Well... Now we have our couple in a very strange situation. Personally, I don`t think that there`s a real rape here, but warning is needed anyway.

Thanks to @khyruma​ for help with editing. I appreciate your support and guidance as a beta in all circumstances.

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @ravenathantum @flutteringphalanges

Read on AO3

Or read below

Agatha had a disturbing dream. Nothing definite, just some vague flashes and shadows. She remembered the feeling of a long wandering in the dark. When she woke up, she sat up in bed and lingered for a while, breathing heavily. It was strange that she had fallen asleep at all, she thought, getting out from under the covers and going to the table on which was a jug of water. It's strange that she could sleep here at all.

With a quick glance out the window, Agatha saw that the distant peaks of the mountains had already turned gold.

Dracula brought her to the castle last night. Looks like he decided to use her as a reserve for the future – which could last as long as he`d wanted, from a couple of weeks to several days. Agatha didn't ask. All the way to the castle she sat motionless in the carriage, replaying the same memories in her head.

Going out to the yard, she sees a black wolf there. Here the skin of a wolf rears, a cut appears on it, and a human hand protrudes from it. Here Agatha cuts her own hand and teases the vampire with drops of fresh blood. She leaves, confident that she has left the last word for herself.

Dracula appears in prayer, wearing a traveling cloak and holding a long sword at the ready. With a deliberately loud roar, he rushes at Mother Superior. She recoils, turns around, and runs. Then – memory gives to Agatha the picture of the nuns pushing and rushing about the chapel, screams, she feels again the awareness of her stupidity, and fear, flooding her mind.

She didn't run away. She forced herself to stay where she was. She walked through the crowd of frightened women, approaching him. Said: ‘Stop it, Count Dracula. Leave them alone. Please.’ Then she held out her hand. ‘We both know you don't need them. I have offended you – take me.’

He did. He sheathed the sword, accepted the offered hand, and, finally, baring his teeth towards the still heart-rending nuns, silently led Agatha behind him.

Deciding that she would not fall asleep today, Agatha washed and dressed, went to the window. It’s not very pleasant to be someone’s food. She chuckled, tossing back the hair that had fallen on her face. The veil was missing. Over the years, Agatha got used to it, and despite the fact that it was much easier without the dense fabric covering her hair and neck, she felt a little insecure.

‘I love it when the sun appears there, behind the distant ridge,’ came a voice behind her. Oh, of course. She turned around.  

‘The game of courtesy is over,’ she stated, looking around at Dracula, who had entered the room. On the way to the castle and then – showing her quarters, – Dracula, contrary to Agatha's expectations, behaved calmly and restrained. She even thought that it was due to fatigue – but most likely, his thoughts were just busy with something else. Now, probably... ‘Hungry?’ She suggested.

‘I just decided to find out how you’ve settled down,’ said Dracula.

‘At half-past five in the morning?’

‘I go to bed late.’

Agatha nodded. She thought that perhaps she was wrong – it was almost kind of him to start a conversation before... She might even feel something like gratitude if she was not so angry.

Turning abruptly, she walked back to the bed and sat down. She looked defiantly at Dracula.

‘You were not satisfied. In the evening,’ she remarked tartly. ‘And you hardly hunted at night. Don't be a gentleman. The table is set – what are you waiting for?’

Dracula looked at her curiously.

‘Do you think I only need this from you?’ he asked at last.

Something in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, in their brooding gleam, led her to a new thought.

‘You are a filthy animal!’ Agatha snorted. ‘I have no doubt that you will use me.’

Dracula raised his eyebrows.

‘Use? I like your line of thought.’

Agatha grimaced dismissively.

‘Nothing unexpected.’

For a minute he looked at her in silence, then walked over.

‘Agatha, did you expect something concrete? Something... specific from me?’

She watched in bewilderment as he stopped by the bed.

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘You understand, very well so. If you thought I was an animal... you should have expected me to behave accordingly.’

‘You have confirmed all my guesses.’

‘Agatha,’ Dracula smiled, ‘I'm glad to hear it, but I have to tell you... You don't know me at all.’

‘What I know is enough,’ Agatha snapped angrily. ‘Your propensity for violence is terrible,’ she added. ‘But threatening and intimidating me will only waste your time. Use my body if you have no one else to do this with,’ she finished with a scornful look.

The silence was long and soft.

Dracula suddenly laughed.

‘I love these games,’ he said, looking down at Agatha. ‘Are you sure that by doing as you say, I will become a rapist? But didn't you yourself... invited me?’

‘Empty speculation,’ Agatha said. ‘You know very well that I don’t really want to. Therefore, you are a rapist.’  

‘You don’t want to,’ he said slowly. He ran a finger over his lips and tilted his head. ‘But you won't resist?’ he clarified.

‘No, I won't,’ Agatha said with a shrug. ‘You are stronger than me. What would be the point of this?’

‘But what about the protection of a maiden’s honor?’

‘Such nonsense has not worried me for a long time.’

He smiled again, now anticipatory.

‘Well, will you lie down and endure?’

Agatha forced herself to chuckle contemptuously.

‘Obviously,’ she said.

‘Lie down then,’ he said calmly.

‘Didn't you think – What?’

However, Dracula no longer listened to her. Turning away from the bed, he was undressing. Without budging, Agatha stupidly watched his actions: vest, shirt, trousers, underwear.

‘You've already seen me naked,’ his voice interrupted the long silence.

Soundlessly nodding, Agatha got up and, just as, without a single word, quickly took off everything that was on her. She climbed onto the bed again and lay back. She closed her eyes.

Agatha did not know what she was expecting – in general, probably nothing. She knew theoretically about what happens in the bedroom between a man and a woman from the books she had read. Those were anatomical treatises, usually. They were quite good when you had to imagine volume, color, and size. As she understood, the average duration...

A warm naked male body covered her completely and at once. It clung to Agatha, touching every part of her skin, but without collapsing and falling with all the weight. Agatha opened her eyes. He... hugged her. If she could think of a name for it. Embracing her arms and legs, he pressed tightly, reclining on her. Agatha felt his elbows, knees, and hips, felt the hairs on his chest slightly tingling her nipples; felt him... down there.

‘What are you doing?’ She said in a low voice.

He didn't answer. Bending down, he pressed his lips to her neck and drew a wet trail with his tongue. He slipped into the depression of the subclavian fossa and froze, listening to the racing pulse. Agatha freed her hand and touched his shoulder, the back of his head. She shuddered when his palms gently cupped both her breasts.

‘Tell me when it’s unbearable,’ he smiled, squeezing her tense nipple between his fingers.

Agatha exhaled and inhaled, clutching the tangled strands at the back of his head. She leaned back exhausted on the pillow as his hands roamed her knees and thighs, her waist and abdomen. She screamed as he touched the core of her being.

Lightly stroking the damp doors, cruelly slowly he penetrated her with one finger. Agatha froze, trembling. Through the fog of pleasure, a thought flashed, which has been long flickering on the periphery of her consciousness.

‘You... if you... you’d cripple me,’ Agatha whispered, lowering her eyes. The place where he caressed her definitely had a name... a simple Latin word. Agatha knew it. She could remember it.

‘You were going to be firm and tenacious,’ Dracula said as he came out of her. She breathed quickly and unevenly. ‘I will definitely do it,’ he added, bending down; Agatha opened her mouth, but he pressed a finger to her lips. The same finger that he just used for... ‘Surely. You will love it when I do this, believe me. But not today,’ having said that, Dracula traced the outlines of her lips with a finger and, bringing it to his mouth, licked it. She groaned.

Agatha Van Helsing, warrior, fearless and proud, she thought. Always on top, always confident, and self-controlled. She despises her opponent's intemperance and weakness. And here she is – with him, allowing herself to be fondled in the most shameless way.

‘Agatha, I assure you, this is not the most shameless that I am capable of,’ Dracula laughed, clearly understanding what she was thinking about, and went down below.

Sitting between her outstretched legs, Dracula leaned over and kissed her.

Agatha made an inarticulate sound – something between a sob and a groan.

Smiling, Dracula raised his head and entered her again with one finger.

‘So tight…’ whispered and, bending down, lightly touched her with his tongue. And he didn’t speak again.

***

‘I want to die,’ Agatha moaned, burying her face in the pillow.

‘Better death than dishonor?’ asked Dracula.

Agatha did not move.

‘Anything is better than you,’ she muttered without raising her head.

Two large palms rested on her shoulders, pulling her along.

‘You are hard to please,’ Dracula laughed, pushing the hair from her back and touching her nape with his lips. ‘You are too obstinate. When we arrive in England –’

‘I'm not going anywhere with you!’ Turning around, Agatha tried to free herself from his hands. ‘Finish me here.’

‘What, kill you as a fallen woman?’ He laughed so loudly that Agatha was offended. ‘Agatha, harlots haven’t been stoned for a long time. Are you not attracted by the thought of traveling by sea? New knowledge, impressions... Distant countries. England gives people opportunities that many cannot even imagine. Many, but not you. I know you dreamed about it. Agree,’ he breathed into her neck, ‘I promise to behave myself.’

Pushing him and pulling the covers over herself, Agatha sat up in bed. She looked for a long time at Dracula lying supine – naked and carefree. She sighed.

‘When does this stupid ship of yours leave?’

[recurring-polynya]

@trulytaka​ asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀     🛹     💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

[enterprisetrampstamp]

General #1 Medbay Trio (platonic)

"I love you."

"Tell me that when you're sober," Christine said, laughing, and Geoff threw his hands out to his sides indignantly.

"I've had half a beer!" He protested, slouched comfortably back in his chair. "Unlike some people--"

"Bite me," Len said, not looking up from the comm that he had-- habitually, anxiously-- flipped open to check for incoming messages. Christine surreptitiously dropped a quarter into the ever-growing pile next to the massive, fruity cocktail she was drinking. (It looked orange but tasted pink. She wasn't much of one for the color, not like Nyota was, but it had its place, and its place was getting her riotously drunk on shore leave.)

Geoff laid a hand over his heart, his tone magnanimous and arrogant all at once. "I know how to express my emotions openly--"

"You know what?" Len pointed his beer bottle at Geoff, raising his eyebrows. "Bite yourself."

"--honestly--"

"Oh, this is all from the heart, M'Benga, don't you worry your pretty little head about that."

"--and without embarrassment." Geoff laid his hand on Len's shoulder, his dark eyes wide and sincere. His grin, on the other hand, was shit-eating. "You know, we're here for you."

"You know, I'm your boss," Len muttered. He turned his chin away from the table, long fingers drumming as he glanced towards the door.

(Not waiting for anyone-- just wanting to leave. Usually you couldn't pay him to stay shipside on shore leave, but tonight was special. Just look: all three of the Enterprise's senior medical staff were off duty.)

(All at once.)

(Christine didn't take it personally; she knew Leonard McCoy considered her and Geoff his best friends-- after his two particularly notable best-er friends-- despite all of his grumbling. She just also knew that trusting the kids to man the Medbay without them, even when the ship was practically empty with 90% of its crew on leave, was taking its toll on his nerves.)

She rested her chin on her palm, her lipsticked lips tipped into a mocking smile. "Aw," she said, engaging in that time honored distraction technique of annoying the hell out of him as she stirred her bendy straw through her drink. "It's cute how he tries to hide behind protocol when we're making fun of him."

Geoff cupped a hand around his ear, leaning teasingly towards her. "What's this 'we' you speak of, Nurse? The only dulcet tones I hear dragging his ass are mine and mine alone."

Len checked his comm again.

Christine dropped another quarter on the pile.

With a sudden wide eyed look of comprehension, Geoff burst out laughing, slapping his hand over his mouth. Len looked up, suspicious, and clipped his comm back to his belt. "What?" he demanded, his eyes flicking between Geoff and Christine as he tried to figure out what joke he'd missed-- clearly, rightfully suspicious that he was the butt of it.

"Nothing," Geoff wheezed.

"Don't worry about it," Christine told him, sipping at her drink as her eyes sparkled, and Len narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the edge of the table as he folded his fingers together.

"You sayin' that is what worries me more than anything." He prodded a finger at her from avross the table. "You sayin' that's gonna keep me up at night--"

"Better find some hobbies then." Christine smiled at him, sweetly. "Find a good way to use the extra time."

Len-- finger still hovering in the air between them-- glared at her for a long, long moment. "You," he said, "are distracting me."

Christine pointed her own finger at the stack of coins. "Evidently, not very well," she said, dryly.

"You--"

"I love you, too," Geoff told him, slinging an arm around his shoulders and-- gently-- settling him back into his chair before he could lean over and strangle Christine. "Man, do you trust me?"

Len, sniffing, slouched moodily into his chair and didn't look at either of them as he muttered, "You know I do."

"And you trust Chris," Geoff said, leadingly.

"And I trust my head nurse," Len agreed, rolling his eyes. "We'd all be dead from butting heads by now if I didn't."

"Yeah, well, me and Chris, and you, who you trust more than anyone because you're an egotistical jackass just like every other surgeon in this galaxy--"

"Including you--"

"--We trained those kids, Len." Geoff squeezed his shoulder. "You, me, and Chris. We're the ones who trained them. If you can't trust them, trust the three of us."

Len pursed his lips. "It ain't that easy," he said. "You know that."

"Are you kidding?" Christine laughed. "Of course we do! Why do you think my drink is this big, McCoy? I've got to give myself an undeniable reason within the next ten minutes-- like being too drunk to pass muster-- that I can't race back to the transporters and finish this shift myself!"

"Control freak," Geoff told her, fondly.

"Can it, M'Benga; that jittery knee of yours if shaking the whole damn table."

Looking between them, Len's lips twitched into a grin. "We're a mess," he observed, tipping his beer towards Geoff like the words were a toast.

Geoff clinked his own bottle against it, grinning, and squeezed Len's shoulder again. Beneath the table, both of their stupidly long legs poked across onto Christine's side, their knees and ankles bumping beneath the battered wood of the rinky dink table of the ugly, messy bar.

"Pool?" she suggested, turning and draping her arm across the back of her chair as she heard the unmistakeable groan of someone who had just lost, terribly, and may or may not have the money to pay up.

"We'll have to win the table to get hold of it," Len pointed out, "and that tall guy's a menace. He's run off like three different people just since we sat down with our first round of drinks."

"Aw," Geoff said. He pinched Len's cheek. "It's cute how you think that worries me. I used to play pool with Vulcans; just imagine what that's like, will you?"

Len clearly already was. "Oh, god," he said, sounding disgusted and impressed all at once.

"Have you ever had a seven foot tall stranger lecture you on how to calculate the appropriate factor by which to multiply a given billiard ball's momentum in order to determine its speed and distance of rebound for a given angle of deflection? I have." Geoff clapped Len on the shoulder, draining the last of his beer, and rose to his feet. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Buy me something pretty with your winnings?" Christine asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Don't encourage him," Len protested. "Don't-- he's as bad as Jim--"

Christine burst out laughing. "Lenny, honey, no one is as bad as Captain Kirk. And I know you know that, or else you wouldn't have made the righteous and practicable decision to come out with us tonight instead of him."

"Maybe I just like you better," Len retorted, eyebrows rising as he stood and drained the last of his own beer. "You ever think of that, huh, wiseass?"

"Aw, Geoff!" Christine spun around in her seat, rising up to one knee and cupping her hand around her mouth as she called, "Len just said he loves us!"

"I did not--"

"I'm so proud of you." Geoff drew a heart in the air with both of his index fingers and blew Len a kiss.

"I'm going to fire you both and ship you off to Siberia to freeze your asses off and die of hypothermia."

Christine-- massive drink in one hand and quarters returned to her pocket-- stood on her tiptoes to hook her chin over his shoulder and wrap an arm around his waist. She sipped from her bendy straw, and then she offered it to Len. "No, you won't."

She felt him heave a sigh more than heard it, over the general din of shitty music and worse conversation that permeated the bar. "No, I won't," he agreed.

He accepted the sip of Christine's drink, and they watched the tall guy's face drop open with shock as Geoff calmly, calculatingly ran the table.

"You're both too good to me," he told her. "Keepin' me distracted when you're just as nervous."

Christine shrugged, settling down off of her tiptoes and letting him tuck her into his side, under his arm. "Distracting ourselves, too," she pointed out. "Besides, you spend most of your time playing emotional outlet for Kirk and Spock, and every other person who's ever come to you with something on their minds; only fair someone does it for you in return."

He snorted. "Don't let Spock hear you say that, or you really might end up in Siberia."

"He wouldn't dare," Christine retorted primly. "I have immunity. I'm Nyota's favorite, relevant for obvious reasons--"

"Nyota is Spock's favorite," Len agreed.

"--And I'm Janice's, too. Kirk would gave to sign off, but she'd never file the paperwork."

Geoff whistled, drawing their attention as he stuffed a wad of bills in his back pocket and then tossed a pool cue in their direction. "Who's getting their ass beat first?"

"Len!" Christine shoved him forward. "Show us what those legendary hands of yours can do, Sawbones."

Len groaned. "Never gonna live that down, am I?" and in return they chorused, "Never!'

"Has anyone called Carol lately?" Geoff asked, leaning on his pool cue and oh-so-graciously letting Len break. "I miss her. Only person better than Len or the Captain at getting a rise out of Spock."

"She's off in deep space working on some crazy secret research project or other," Len told him, frowning at the table as he studied the pattern that had unfolded in front of him. "I'm solids, by the way."

Geoff hummed. "Fancy."

"Good for her," Christine said.

They continued to wait for Len to take his next shot. Geoff shifted from foot to foot, and then asked, "Anyone want me to recite that lecture on elastomeric collisions from memory, or--?"

"No!"

(I'm currently taking prompts!)

[thyra279]

At the Edge of the World

London, Bedford Place, Thursday 19th May 1814

...Aziraphale was running out of time, had perhaps twenty minutes before the end of the evening, and he really must – must – find her.

With practised ease, he inserted two fingers into the little pocket in his waistcoat. Empty. He drew them back out and patted stupidly for the chain, which ought to be poking out of one of his button holes.

It wasn’t.

He looked down at himself. Nothing. Then frantically around the marbled floor to either side of him. Nothing. He made a full circle, then started over again, mind spinning faster yet, and still- it couldn't- it mustn't- piece of the family, a precious part of- of them. He'd been entrusted with it, and now- now- oh how could he be so stupid. He loved it, too, it was one of the good ones, he'd been so proud, his grandfather's beloved-

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir, but might you perhaps be looking for this?"

It was a drawl he barely recognised, though he was certain whom the languid voice belonged to before he even looked up.

The young man from earlier, the one with those curious eyes, was dangling Aziraphale's beloved watch in front of him.

"Found it on the floor over there," he added, nodding vaguely towards a part of the room Aziraphale had barely been in. There was just the slightest tinge of pink to his sharp features.

"Oh. Thank you." Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, reaching out. Before the immense wave of relief subsided, the redhead caught the watch in his hand, bringing it close to his eyes to study it. The thin gold chain slid slowly off his slender wrist, serpent-like, to dangle like a pendulum below his spidery hand.

His amber eyes took in every exquisite detail from the tiny golden wings and laurels to the built-up grime in every crevice. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel a little defensive. The watch showed all the little tell-tale signs of everyday use, he knew, but he liked it that way, well-worn and loved.

"Beautiful."

"Erh, yes, quite."

"An heirloom?"

Aziraphale stepped a bit closer, flattening out his palm. "Yes."

"I bet it's very old? Fascinating story behind it?"

"I'm afraid not, no, not at all. It was my grandfather's, though he only had it made, ah, twenty years ago."

"Ah." 

“He’s diseased,” Aziraphale added, flustered.

“Pity.” 

“...Rather, yes.”

The taller man let the watch slip through his long, thin fingers, confidently gripping the end of the chain before it also dropped through, and raised the watch high, teasingly, in front of Aziraphale. It dangled between them, spinning slowly in the air.

"Well, here you are." He made no sign of handing it over.

Aziraphale blinked at him, forehead creased in a frown.

The man raised an eyebrow and, with the ghost of an upturned lip, gave the chain a little flick with his slim, pale wrist, eyes locked on Aziraphale's.

The chain swayed heavily back and forth between them. Aziraphale looked away for a moment, considering his options, then looked the man resolutely in the eye and caught the watch, stilling it with his own hand. He couldn't help a triumphant little pout, which caused those thin lips to break into an undeniable smirk. Unseemly. Absolutely out of order. Aziraphale pursed his lips further for fear of having them smile in turn, and the smirk grew into just the hint of a sharp-toothed grin.

Aziraphale, eyes growing narrow, gave the watch a quick, firm tug, forcing the chain out of the other's hand. He got a surprised half-chuckle in response, a much lighter, flightier sound than what he'd heard so far.

"Yes, thank you."

I am VERY EXCITED to share this art/snippet preview and shout to the world that my Regency/Victorian AU with beautiful ( 😭 ) illustrations by the wonderful @agardeneden​​ is finally starting up on Friday the 10th as part of the @do-it-with-style-events​​ minibang!

Tune in for:

Gentleman sailor Aziraphale

Bad boy Molly boy Crowley

The Earl of Shadwell

Decades of flirting, love and pining and them against the world

Madame Tracy in a giant wig

Archibald fucking Gabriel

All the tropes you could ever desire and then some

Aziraphale in a Royal Navy uniform and Crowley in... a lot less, frankly

Seriously, if you hate the sound of this, fair play to you, but you deserve to see Aziraphale in his Royal Navy uniform he’s so pretty y’all no wonder Crowley wants to...

...Find out what exactly Crowley wants to do to him by following the story over on AO3 from this Friday onwards!

[mentalpolaroids]

GH | 22. Live

GH 21  GH 23

It has been a week since Outer Banks was released on Netflix. We all watched the entire show in one long, restless night and I almost cried of how proud I was of my friends. I was sure the show would be a big success and I was so happy to have experienced it with them, they all deserved it a lot. During that week eveyone had their interviews via facetime or zoom and they were also asked to do some lives on Instagram. Since there wasn't much I could do for them I spent my "alone" time editing some photos of the photoshoots we did before the lockdown started. Also, Madison, JD and Austin decided to go back home and spend the rest of the lockdown with their families so the house was somewhat more quiet. I missed them but at the same time it felt good to have more space and not have to wait so much time to use the bathroom. Especially with Madison, she took the longest and somehow I was never able to use the bathroom before her. With Madi gone it also meant that Rudy fulfilled his wish of sharing the bed with me and cuddle. I, of course, wasn't mad about it. Rudy was iniciating an Instagram live on his phone. They would have Madison and JD joining them too. I wanted to go back to my room to keep editing so I wouldn't disturb them but they all insisted in me staying, especially Rudy. They claimed that some fans had actually asked about me and why I wasn't joining the lives since I was quarantining with them. It felt weird to recieve this kind of attention, even though I was kind of used to it from the comments on Instagram. I wasn't part of the cast so I assumed it was supost for people to not give two shits about my existence, but they did, and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. "Mic check, mic check.", Rudy spoke to the camera, sitting between me and Chase. Even though he had the phone facing him and Chase, I still tried to stay as small as possible. I don't know why but I felt nervous. Madison eventually joined the live and the three talked to each other and answered some questions from the fans. "Oh by the way where's Kelly? Tell her I kept her ring by accident!" "Oh she's right here!", I looked up at him from my laptop and he gave me a smile, as if asking me if it was ok for him so "show me". I smiled back and he leaned back, laying his head on my shoulder and there I was, live for thousands of people. "Hi Bailey babe!" "Kelly baby! I have your ring!" "It's ok, just take care of it.", I answered, trying to mask my shyness. The wave of comments towards the fact that Rudys head on my shoulder was making it difficult. "I will obviously!"

"I think you're covering the mic.", I whispered, noticing his hand clumsily holding the phone. "Oops." Rudy's head was still on my shoulder so I was pretty much co-starring on this live. Chase eventually laid his head on Rudy's shoulder so he could appear too.

What is Kelly doing?

"She's looking at pictures of me.", Rudy answered a comment, winking. "I don't have a choice and my eyes hurt already." Chase laughed stupidly which made Madison and I laugh too and Rudy pouted. I pinched his cheek, earning a childish moan from him. "For those who don't know, Kelly's our photographer on the show, you can thank her for the existence of all the dope pictures of the cast.", Chase answered. I blushed and akwardly made a thumps up to the camera making Rudy laugh. "That me." "She's amazing! Please go check her insta out!" "Aw, thanks Bails!"

I want someone to look at me the way rudy looks at kelly

We need a ship name for Rudy and Kelly cause my heart cant take it anymore

"Agree."

I gave an annoying look to the camera, more precisely to Madison, and she just stuck he tongue out, a childish smirk on her lips. "Yeah I'm kinda jealous to be honest.", said Chase. "Oh don't be, you know you have my heart.", Rudy pointed to his heart, his eyes on Chase. "Yeah, I mean, I'm totally thirdwheeling here.", I tried to hide a laugh. "Aw, thanks guys." "Yeah I ship Rudy and Chase more than Rudy and Kelly. No offense Kells." "None taken, same here. "

"Shyrup.", Rudy held a small plastic container in front of the phone camera that was now being held by Chase. "That's soy sauce, dumbass.", I mumbled. Rudy looked at me holding his laugh and pinched my side. I obviously squealed, which made Chase look at us and laugh, he then looked back to the phone and wiggled his eyebrows.

The three of them kept on answering questions and joking around, once in a while including me, not only because I played a part in those jokes but also because the fans asked about me too. I eventually grew more comfortable with the live and everything about it and even answered some questions myself. The comments about Rudy and I were crazy, I laughed at some of them and joked about it along with Rudy. It was a good thing we were comfortable with each other and were actually used to that kind of teasing, thanks to our friends, so it was more fun than awkward.

I love their friendship so much

Kudy would be a cute ship name

I want wat they have

THE SHOW IS SO GOOD

living for Rudy and kellys chemistry

I had tears in my eyes from laughing at a story Rudy was telling about something that happened on set. Maddie and Drew had joined us earlier and were laughing too, along with JD that had replaced Madison on the live. "And then in the back you can see Kelly hiding her laugh behind her camera while Jonas shook his head like a disapointed dad at us. It was crazy!", JD spoke. "Yeah you could actually feel Jonas regreting his life choices, like, that happened daily on set but that moment was just priceless.", I added, still laughing and having the others join me, and pretending not to notice Rudy staring at me through the phone camera.

The live ended, all of us still laughing at our jokes and the memories we digged through. It was now time to start making dinner, which was Drew and mine's duty because, as the others claimed, we were the best cooks in the house. From the living room I could hear Maddie and Chase teasing Rudy reminding him of the comments on the live. Drew decided it was a good idea to join them from the kitchen, pretending I wasn't there. "Kudy actually sounds good.", Maddie commented. "I like Chaselyn.", I said, not bothering to look at them but I knew Chase was blushing and Maddie probably wanted to kill me. Drew laughed beside me, highfiving me. Not that he derseved though. "Relly!", Chase yelled. "No! That's weird." "Rully!", Drew said. "Ew, no." "Maddie we need a ship name!", Drew complained, annoyed by her disagreement. "I think Kudy is the best option!" I looked at Rudy, who was shaking his head with a smile on his face and when he met my gaze he widen his eyes and mouthed a 'help' and I just shook my head too, not even bothering to tame my friends.

_________________________________________

kellyinwinterland Los Angeles, California

Liked by hichasestokes, rudeth and 12,312 others kellyinwinterland Stay home and stay safe 💕 We're keepin it smiley here

user whos here after the live? hichasestokes Shmiley -kellyinwinterland @hichasestokes shmiley shmiley user1 here after falling in love with her and rudy user2 So prettyyy rudeth Get off your phone and give me cuddles -kellyinwinterland @rudeth you're on your phone too 🤡 -user1 @rudeth @kellyinwinterland OH SHIT ASLJKDHBJ I JUST SPAT MY WATER user3 Rudy is not even trying to be subtle anymore JUST CONFIRM IT ALREADY -hichasestokes @user3 He was never subtle -user3 @hichasestokes IM SCREAMIIIING madelyncline Pweettyy -kellyinwinterland @madelyncline 😝❤ user4 I THINK KUDY IS REAL IT HAS TO BE

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Snow

The snow was coming down heavy. Heavy enough that you weren’t sure you were going to make it to the extraction point in time. And even if you did, you had to wonder if the quinjet was capable of taking off in the rapidly escalating blizzard.

You tromped through the drifts, grateful for the GPS ping in your suit. There was no way you could see where you were headed, you were going strictly by following the directions being fed to you.

Through the dark and blackout conditions, a vague shadow appeared ahead of you. You paused, wiping the snow from your lashes and squinted. The outline of a person emerged from just ahead of the tree line. Your hand went to the weapon holstered at your hip, and you drew it, aiming carefully.

You heard a voice call, but the sound was muffled by the snowfall. You slowly stepped behind a tree and tried to make out the silhouette. Your GPS indicated you were still at least a kilometre out from your extraction point, so this person was unexpected. Potentially hostile.

You stilled as much as you could, watching the form move toward you. In the swirling storm, you lost track of it, and tried not to shriek when there was a hand across your mouth suddenly. A face leaned close. Thor. You sighed in relief and annoyance.

The big Viking god was the last person you wanted to see. Aside from the enemy, that is. Arrogance and pride seeped from his every pore, frustrating you to no end.

“There is a Hydra patrol nearing, and Stark has signalled that the quinjet is unable the land at this site because of the weather. We are to find shelter and stay out of site.” His words were quiet at your ear and you nodded and pulled his hand off your mouth.

“There’s a cabin about three kilometres east,” you said. “I passed it a while ago.”

“We are not going to make 3 kilometres in this storm. You will freeze to death,” he argued.

“Any better ideas?” You snapped, knowing he was right.

“There are hills to the north, the trees are denser, and the mountain is high with steep terrain that is difficult to pass. There is little more than goat paths. We will undoubtedly find shelter there and are not likely to be followed, he explained quickly.

“How is that good for us?” You demanded, imagining broken limbs and icy crevices.

“It’s not Jotunheim,” he winked. “So I can keep you safe.” He took your hand and led you in a meandering pattern through the woods heading north. Just as he had said, as you got into the foothills, the terrain shifted, and the trees were closer together. To snow wasn’t falling as hard, you noted, and as you climbed, the flakes became fewer and further between. You paused to catch your breath after what felt like forever. It had probably only been fifteen minutes of ascent, but Thor had been right about that too. It was steep and treacherous.

Your eyes were well adjusted to the darkness and with the snow so light you were able to scan your surroundings. There was a darker gash behind some trees. The complete absence of reflection or shadows intrigued you and you carefully scrabbled across the snowy rocks toward it. Thor followed, a single protest dying on his lips as he finally saw what you saw.

“Let me go in first, and make sure there are no predators,” he offered. He pushed past you and entered the cave, hammer at the ready. After a moment he emerged. “It is a good find. There are signs of habitation by hunters but not for many years. The wood is dry, and we can have a fire safely.”

You climbed the last few meters to the cave entrance and pulled your flashlight from your belt, scanning it around the cave. There was a couple of cobbled together stools, a moth eaten blanket, and a well defined fire pit.

You moved toward the fire pit with numb fingers and started stacking wood and kindling from the pile near the back wall of the cave. It didn’t take you long before a small fire was cheerfully crackling and you could feel you extremities starting to warm.

“You look exhausted,” Thor commented. “Humans are fragile. You should sleep.”

You shot him a glare and rubbed your hands over the heat of the flames. “I’m fine.”

“You should get out of your wet clothes and lay them out to dry,” he suggested, pulling his armour off and propping it up near the fire. The arming tunic he wore underneath came off next and he draped it over the chest plate near the fire. He was just about the pull off his pants when you protested.

“What are you doing?”

“I have no intention of freezing to death in wet armour when I can dry my things and warm myself by this fire you’ve built,” he explained, pushing his pants down. He pulled his boots off and hung his pants between the tops of his boots.

You decidedly looked away. Apparently they didn’t wear underwear on Asgard.

The ragged blanket landed near your feet. “Midgardians are so prudish about nudity. Cover up, but for for Odin’s sake, get out of that wet gear.”

“I am not wrapping up in this stinky, filthy rag,” you exclaimed. Thor raised an eyebrow at you.

“What is it that you find so displeasing about me that every conversation feels like with you must feel like viper spit dripping on bare flesh?” He asked.

“You really want to know?” You asked.

“Truly.”

“You are arrogant, proud, dismissive of humans, think you’re better than everyone else, are always in my way, constantly appear out of nowhere, interfering with whatever mission I’m on, you’re stupidly handsome -“

“Is it my arrogance that bothers you, truly? My pride? Are those characteristics not deserved?”

“Humans don’t act like they own the world just because they’re ridiculously strong and annoyingly beautiful,” you protested.

“Is this because you feel inadequate? I assure you, you are more than adequate.” He looked genuinely puzzled.

“You think I’m jealous of you?” You asked, trying not to laugh. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m hardly worried about physical beauty. Brains are more my thing.”

“Perhaps the truth is that you find me desirable but feel as though I might not return the feeling.” His voice was softer, and lower. You furrowed your brow in denial.

“I could care less if you found me attractive.” Your protest sounded weak, even to your ears.

“And yet you are too modest to doff your clothing for your own safety, and you will not look at me. You dismiss me at every opportunity, and have thrown my physical desirability at me as an excuse to dislike me more than once, even in this conversation. I am no idiot, Ástin mín. I am sorry I ever led you to believe you were anything less than perfection in my eyes,” he said. You blinked.

“What?” You were so confused. He stepped closer to you and you bolted off the stool to face him. He placed a warm hand on your cheek.

“With your permission, let me show you,” he said. You nodded, and he dipped his head to brush his lips against yours. You pulled away slowly, your hand coming to your mouth.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“I am always in your way because I ask Steve to pair us. It is not a character flaw that you are weaker than I, it is what makes you human, and I could not bear the thought of you being harmed before I could make my feelings known,” he explained. “I appear out of nowhere because I am never far. I watch your successes and an mindful of your vulnerabilities. But I am afraid I have been a coward, and should have pressed my suit before now.”

“That’s an old timey way to say you want to take me in a date, isn’t it?” You asked, dumbfounded. He nodded.

“Although right now I am more concerned about your temperature,” he admitted, raising a hand to the zipper of your tactical suit. “I am done fighting with you. I am going to undress you now.”

“Kiss me again and I’ll even cooperate,” you sighed. With a soft smile, he dipped his head again and pressed his lips to yours.