#thats three times now in those scrubs

[hap-less]

Me at work tomorrow.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Comgratulations!!! Thats a interesting celebration!!! I can not put my mind around what are you going to birth with this 😚🙀 (sorry if sound weird english is not my thing but your writing are beautiful creations so the metaphor is alright)

Can this jedi (or medic) reader travel with Crosshair (It's a shame it can't be the twins or Maker bless us, all force 99) with soulmate as luggage to either Naboo or Alderaan? 😖

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Through Your Eyes

In a galaxy consumed by war, you find solace away from the medbay and injured troopers by painting your dreams. But a chance encounter reveals those dreams are more than they seem...

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: brief reference to surgery, good ol' soulmates trope, breaking and entering, Cross can never give a straight answer, softness, romance, first kiss, lil' innuendo.

Your brush swooped across the canvas, and green paint dragged across its surface to form a tree. There was no reference holo, just the memory from last night’s dream in your mind.

Over the last year, your dreams have taken a turn. Once focused on your life, they’d now switched to landscapes - deserts, snowy mountains, swamps - they were endless. But they all had one thing in common. They were all from great heights, as if you were a bird soaring through the sky.

As a child, you found peace in painting, locking yourself away for days at a time. As you grew up and left for medical school, it helped ease your frazzled nerves after hectic days. And now, with the war raging across the galaxy and the Kaminoans relying on your expertise in trauma surgery, it was how you chased away the images of injured troopers.

As you dipped your brush into the pot of water on your desk, your gaze lingered on the small mark on your wrist - your soulmate mark. It had appeared five years ago - late by society’s standards, given that most received them before puberty. That was until a literal army of men had been revealed to the galaxy a year ago. The forums you’d frequented on the holonet had exploded, thousands of people connecting the dots that their soulmates were part of the GAR.

It was why you’d jumped at the opportunity to work for the Kaminoans when they’d been recruiting at the Grand Medical Facility. You figured it would be easier this way to find your soulmate. Some people on the forums had been able to find their soulmates through their bonds – picking up on their thoughts, sensing their feelings, or knowing they were nearby. Unfortunately, you had no idea what your connection with your soulmate was.

And you were no closer to figuring it out a year and a half into the war.

As you were about to dip your clean paintbrush into the soft brown on your palette, your datapad beeped urgently. Spurred into action, you abandoned your painting, snagging your scrubs. You dashed out of your quarters, the sterile corridor a blur as you sprinted towards the medbay. What was the emergency this time? Another trooper injured on the front lines, or perhaps an existing patient who’d turned critical?

You burst through the medbay doors, adrenaline coursing through your veins, only to be met with a scene that halted you in your tracks. A trooper lay motionless on a stretcher, surrounded by a flurry of activity as medics tended to his extensive injuries. The damage to one side of his face was the worst you’d ever seen, blood coating everything in the vicinity, and what you could see of his eye under the swelling wasn’t promising – all evidence of an explosion he’d been too close to.

Three other troopers hovered nearby, worry etched onto their faces, armour dirty and caked in blood. You didn’t even register that they looked nothing like the other clones, but you could feel a heavy gaze from their direction lingering on you.

Without hesitation, you joined the team of medics, your training kicking in as you assessed the trooper’s condition. The severity of his injuries was apparent, and you knew that every second counted. As you worked alongside the other medical personnel, your mind raced, trying to determine the best course of action to save this soldier’s life.

The medbay hummed with urgency, the air thick with tension as everyone focused on their tasks. As you worked tirelessly to stabilise the trooper, Lyndsy - a trainee medic on placement from Bespin - pressed a datapad into your hands. It was filled with notes from the team that’d intercepted the squad’s arrival, including details of the trooper.

CT-9903.

You bit your tongue. They hadn’t thought to get his name.

“Name?” You directed the question towards the three nearby troopers, gesturing to your injured patient.

“Wrecker, ma’am.” The shortest of the three spoke up, his face half-shaded by a tattoo. With a nod of thanks, you updated the information on the datapad.

“Theatre. Now.” You barked the order, stepping back to let the other medics release the brakes on the stretcher and hurriedly push Wrecker towards the operating room. A bacta bath could cure many things, but in the few moments you’d been focused on stabilising him, you’d concluded it would take far more than that for him to survive.

“I’ll do everything I can.” You assured Wrecker’s brothers quickly, wishing you had more time to explain what would happen next but knowing every second counted. With a determined focus, you led the medical team into the operating room. As the doors swung shut behind you, you blocked out the outside world, immersing yourself in the controlled chaos of the operating theatre.

Time seemed to blur as you worked, your hands moving with precision as you repaired the extensive damage inflicted upon Wrecker’s body. Each incision, each piece of shrapnel pried free, each suture, was a calculated effort to save his life, and you refused to let fatigue or doubt get in the way. The beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of your colleagues faded into the background.

Finally, you completed the last suture. As you stepped back from the operating table, your heart pounded in your chest, and you let out a deep breath, shoulders dropping with relief. You’d done all you could; now it was the Bacta’s turn. He’d likely have some prominent scars for the rest of his life, and his hearing would forever be affected, but you’d been able to replace his damaged eye with a cybernetic one and give him a blood transfusion. He’d pull through to fight another day.

Leaving the operating room, you peeled off your gloves, gown, and mask, your mind still buzzing with the intensity of the surgery as you deposited them into the biohazard chute.

“I’ll tell his squad.” Lyndsy offered, noting the tiredness in your body.

As Lyndsy’s words washed over you, a wave of gratitude swept over you. Her offer granted you some reprieve. With a nod of appreciation, you managed a faint smile before trudging back to your quarters, the tiredness starting to creep in.

Entering your cabin, you let out a long exhale, feeling the tension slowly ebb away as you sank onto the edge of your bed. The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos of war.

Scrubs off and buried under the comfort of your blankets, you found yourself drifting into a restless sleep. Gone were the beautiful landscapes you’d come to appreciate, replaced with images of Kamino, particularly the view from a large window. Even in sleep, your mind was working to place it, and judging by the perspective, you could pinpoint which structure it was from.

The barracks.

In the quiet corners of your mind, a realisation dawned. You hadn’t been having dreams of random landscapes; they were glimpses into someone else’s life, someone intimately connected to you. It explained the shift in your dreams, the sudden focus on places far removed from your reality. They were the places your soulmate had been seeing, the moments they had been living.

As you awakened to the soft light filtering through your window, the remnants of your dreams lingered in your mind. The realisation hit you like a ton of duracrete, settling heavily in your chest. Your soulmate was here on Kamino. The change in your dreams now made sense, and you couldn’t shake the excitement and apprehension coursing through you.

Before you could dwell too much on the revelation, there was a knock at your door. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before pushing yourself off the bed and crossing the room to answer it. As the door slid open, you were met with the unexpected sight of Wrecker’s brothers standing in the corridor.

After brief introductions, Hunter spoke up. “We just wanted to swing by and thank you for what you did last night. Wrecker’s gonna pull through, and we owe that to you.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was just doing my job. I’m glad I could help.” You answered, tucking yourself a little behind the door to hide the fact that you were still in sleepwear.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the details of your quarters. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the messiness of your living space.

“You paint.” Crosshair commented casually, his tone betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind as he looked over the landscapes you’d committed to canvas.

You reached up to play with the neckline of your sleep shirt, a nervous habit that had developed over the years. “Yeah. When inspiration strikes.”

Crosshair’s lips quirked up in a subtle smirk as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the painting on the easel beside you. “You been there?”

“No. I paint what I dream about.” You admitted, trying to keep your voice steady despite your gut’s strange flicker of anxiousness.

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Funny thing about dreams,” he mused, “sometimes they’re more than just figments of imagination.”

His words hung in the air, but before you could respond, Hunter cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. “Well, we should get going to the debriefing. Thanks again, doc.”

You nodded, thrown off-centre by Crosshair’s comment. “Of course. Take care, and I’ll check in on Wrecker later.”

As they turned to leave, Crosshair glanced at the painting you were currently working on before leaning toward you. “When you get around to painting it, the third tree from the right was missing the bottom five branches.” He murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Then he followed his brothers down the corridor, leaving you mouth agape at the door.

For days, you couldn’t shake Crosshair’s comment from your mind. It added complexity to your interactions with him and his brothers, leaving you grappling with emotions you hadn’t anticipated.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your duties in the medbay, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time you passed him in the corridors or caught his gaze across the mess hall, you felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were tying you together.

It wasn’t just you, either. There were moments when you caught Crosshair watching you, his sharp eyes giving nothing away. It left you wondering what was happening beneath the surface and what thoughts were running through his mind as he looked at you.

Returning one evening to your quarters after another exhausting shift in the medbay, you found something amiss. The door to your cabin was slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilt into the corridor. Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You cautiously pushed the door open, expecting the worst, only to be met with an unexpected sight.

Crosshair was inside your quarters, standing by the easel where your latest painting was. His attention was fixated on the canvas as if examining every brushstroke with precision. His presence in your private space sent a jolt of alarm through you, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue that accompanied it.

“Crosshair?” you ventured cautiously, stepping into the room with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to suppress the hint of accusation in your voice.

Crosshair turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with those piercing eyes. “Admiring your work.” He replied casually, though there was a hint of something else in his voice.

You felt a surge of irritation at his nonchalant response. “It’s not polite to enter someone’s quarters without permission.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He shrugged, unfazed by your admonishment. “Noted.” He commented, his gaze drifting back to the paintings. “Figured I’d see if you were around.”

You felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension at his words. “Well, here I am.” You said, gesturing to the room around you. “Not much to see, I’m afraid.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened into a grin, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sent a strange sense of heat curling through you.

“How did you know about the branches?” You steered the conversation in what you hoped was a safer direction, shutting the door behind you before you crossed over to him, glancing at the painting.

Crosshair tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’m familiar with that species of tree.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes sceptically, not convinced by his explanation. “It was more than that.” You countered, gesturing towards the canvas. “You pointed out a specific detail you wouldn’t know unless you’d been there or inside my head.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say I have an eye for detail.” He said cryptically, his tone teasing.

You couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his evasive response. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest once more as you regarded him with curiosity and exasperation.

Crosshair turned to face you fully, a smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze intense. “Where’s the fun in that?” He replied, his tone playful.

You refused to back down. Holding his gaze, your lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, and anxiousness clawed at Crosshair. He’d thought he could play dumb. He should’ve known better. With a heavy sigh, he gestured to your painting on the easel. “Myrkr. The coordinates for that spot are 42.3814° N, 80.0889° E. I was there eight rotations ago. It’s where Wrecker had his accident,” he confessed.

“Bormus.” He stated, gesturing to one of your other paintings leaning against the wall. “51.5074° N, -0.1278° W.” He rattled off the coordinates before moving on to another painting, and another, and another…

You’d seen glimpses of his life.

“Does this mean...?” You began, the words catching in your throat as you searched for the right way to express the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Before you could finish your sentence, Crosshair took a step closer, closing the distance between you until barely a breath of space separated you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away, sending a jolt of electricity dancing along your skin. “I think it means we have a lot to talk about.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through your mind, but in that moment, you could only focus on the undeniable pull drawing you towards him.

Crosshair’s hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a shockwave of warmth through you. His gaze softened. “I’ve been dreaming too.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. “What do you dream of?” You managed to ask, although you already knew the answer.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Crosshair’s lips, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. “Surgeries. Sterile medbays.” He answered. “While you get the landscapes I see, I get the shot regs and operations that you see.”

“Our link is sharing what we see.” You whispered, the realisation washing over you like a gentle wave. “Through our dreams.”

Crosshair nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Seems that way.” He agreed, his voice soft with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I never imagined my soulmate would be a hot doctor.” He confessed, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you close, his fingers that had been against your cheek now pushing errant strands of your hair out of your face.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as warmth swept through you. One hand moved to rest against his chest. “And I never thought mine would be a handsome soldier.” You admitted, reaching up with your free hand to ghost your fingers across his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his closeness.

Lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside your quarters faded into insignificance. “What do we do now?” You asked quietly, entirely at a loss.

“I’d like to explore this further.” He confessed, his voice rough with emotion as his gaze dipped to your lips for a fraction of a second. “If you’re willing.”

You nodded, a smile playing across your face. “I’d like that.”

Pleased, Crosshair spared no time before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The galaxy ceased to exist. His lips were warm against yours, firm and demanding. You responded eagerly, your fingers dragging through his silver hair as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding.

Crosshair pulled back, and you found yourself breathless and dizzy, your senses reeling from the intensity of the moment as his hands snaked towards your ass. Holding his gaze, you gasped quietly as his slender fingers grabbed at the curvature of your rear.

A smirk crossed his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not bad for a first kiss,” he remarked, his tone teasing, “but I think we can do better.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah?” You challenged.

He leaned in closer, the scent of regulation soap and blaster cleaner filling your senses. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “These hands don’t just make perfect shots.” He whispered.

With a playful swat to his chest, you chuckled, feeling a surge of excitement and a healthy dose of nervousness. “You better be prepared to back that up.”

Crosshair grinned as he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh you can count on it.”

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[thatneoncrisis]

oooh ok feel free to ignore this since it isn't the ask game technically, but how do you feel tamsyn pulls punches with john? where do you think that could improve? i'm curious and i love hearing ur analysis of this stuff

ok so this is just my own personal opinion. but after reading the series like three times ive basically come to the consensus that tamsyn is much more in tune with writing john as kiwi and not as maori

and its not that is completely erased from the text. but you REALLY have to hunt for it as opposed to him being kiwi which is incredibly obvious in the way he talks about his old life in ntn. i dont think i would have even known he was maori if she didnt say gideon was and i was actively looking for it. but she kind of treats characters being indigenous as like a cool fun fact rather than an active part of their identity. and this is related to a much longer and more draining conversation about how race/ethnicity even WORKS in the empire which is set 10000 years in the future. we as a society Right Now cant even agree on what race cleopatra was do you like. get what im saying

anyway what im trying to get at is the empire, designed and run by One Guy, the Only person who remembers earth culture, actively deciding to model its systems of government, religion, military, language and aesthetics after staples of western imperialism (like most of the names are pulled from greek or roman or biblical figures) is one thing. because i understand the books are actively christian, tamsyn is catholic theres like Commentary on those elements. but there is no commentary as to why a polynesian guy would Actively gatekeep his own culture from a world HE made. they are clearly speaking english, gideons name had to be TRANSLATED to kiriona, theres a decent chance shes not even pronouncing it correctly. thats fucking insane. the characters in tlt are living in a cultural genocide by magnitudes that we cannot even comprehend and they cant even like. talk about it they cant THINK about it. the text hasnt given them time to. does he think theyre not worth it? why not? these are questions the text isnt interested in asking let alone answering

even when theres an opportunity for contrast, ie new rho, its all done in broad strokes of vague descriptions of Other cultures. we suffer speaks in accented house. what accent? pyrrha can speak 4 languages including house to varying degrees. what languages? she makes pikelets in the morning this is obviously a very nz/aussie thing, so this wartorn city Also has them theyre just a universal constant. new rho is just kind of described as Apocalypse Desert City, it could look like fucking LA for all i know and nothing would change

tldr tamsyn wrote very good kiwi characters and im obviously talking as someone who isnt kiwi but Is not white but her like aversion or indifference to writing inarguably indigenous characters in a way outside of their physical appearance wrt how it informs their ideals and motivations could be more. just More. this is literally one of the most insanely cruel things john has done and nobody in universe can even call him on it because hes scrubbed all traces of it from existence what if we exploded

[hi-im-dr-spencer-reid]

Heyyy, can i request a dr house x reader smut where she picks him up at a bar and they sleep together and then the next day is her first day at a new job and he is her boss (yes this is the plot of the first episode of greys anatomy)

HERE WE GO AGAIN I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this but i did and sorry about if i miss spell something That was my last night getting drink, and my first and last time bring someone Home. “wake up you have to leave and i have to go work” what time is it….8:07 Shit  “five more minutes” he groans “you need to get up and go, or i'm going to be more late than i am”  where is my bra? “I think you're looking for this,” he said as he held my bra in his hand. “Thank you but, seriously you have to go” shit it’s 8:19 “don’t worry about being late” he said as he put his shirt on “what do you mean ?”  i say as i make my way to the bathroom “don’t worry about getting in trouble” he claim as he limp toward me “when i'm done peeing i will leave” “I still don't understand” i said looking confused “you don’t need to understand, just have a good day, ok foxy” and with that he walks out of the bathroom and leaves.

“Dose anyone knows where doctor house office is” i really hope i don't get fired take the elevator two three floors up and take a right right down the hall” one of the nurse tell me “hi im sorry im lat…” you got to be fucking kidding me. “House this is good you have a six year old who had a heart attack, and just had a heart transplant” the brunette girl said “hold on cameron '' he said as he turned my way “see foxy i told you dont worry about being late”. He said with smirk. Flashback to last night

“You need to get out more and have fun” my friend said “you know i'm a homebody, i like to stay home and read, not being outside with people '' i hate it here. “Let’s play a game, it's called find your man” she said as she take a sip of her drink “alright” i said as i roll my eyes “look 3 o'clock” she said and oh my god this man was 6 feet, salt and pepper thing going on with his hair, and the scrub would be so nice in between my leg, and those eye are so blue and powerful i would do anything he asked. “Ok now what?” i asked “you get up go on the dance floor and dance and hopefully he’ll get behind that” she said happily “alright here i go”  i said as I took a shot.

I got on the floor and the DJ started to grind with me and I started to feel the music. I sway my hips from side to side running my hands through my hair. I feel someone walking behind me ‘I've been seeing you eye me from the side of the room, pretty bold” he says as he puts his hands on my waist and starts to flow with me ‘while I have a good eye for good things” I say as I back into him more. “Well  I like to play with good and pretty things” he whispered in to my ear “well how bout you come back to my place and play with me” i say as i turn around and wrap my arms around his neck “lead the way”.

Time skip

This man has a mouth on him i thought as he work his tongue into my mouth “mmm” i moan into his  “your lips are soft, i wonder if the ones between your legs are the too” he said as he makes his way down my neck “take this off” i say as a unbuckle his belt. Wow” is what i say when i seen his cock " Take a picture it'll longer” he said with a wink. I started with a long lick from the base to the top of the shaft “shit” he said as he looked down at me. I took as much as i could down my throat which as lot “fuck” he said as he throw his had back “mmmm” i started to hum.

on his dick which made him push hand father down his cock and i began to gag “thats a good girl, letting me fuc- shit- fuck your throat” his legs began to shake “fuck baby im bout to cum” i start to play with his balls to make him cum quicker “shit shit shit fuck” he say out loud and push my head down as his cum shot into the back of my throat “be a good girl and sallow it” i sallow it and open to show him “come on show me your bedroom”  he said as he help me up. I led him to my room “strip and get on the bed for me” I gave him a little strip and made my way to the bed. He takes the rest of his clothes and climbs on top of me. “You got a condom or something?” he asks “im on birth control” i say with a smile. He push the tip in and my god is it big “oh shit” i say as he pushes himself all the way in. he began to rock his hip back and forth into me shit “your tight” he said as he grunt into my neck “more please more” i moan out loud. This man is making my bed rock “fuck im going to cum” i tell him as i look him the eyes “come on cum on this cock” and thats all i need to cum “FUCCCCK!!!!” i just now that the neighbors are going to be mad in the moring “fuck im close” He say as he speeds up the paced “oh shit oh shit oh-” he filled me with all his cum and fell on top of my  “that was good.. I am crushing?“ he asks as he kisses my neck “not at all” i say with a smile. “Where are you going?” I asked as he got up and walked away “to pee” he said as he limped away. He return back with a towel and cleaned me off. “Can’t leave you all stick” he said as throw the towel on the floor. I move closer to him and laid my head on his chest. “This isn't bad for the first one night” i said as i closed my eyes “yeah me too” he said as drift to sleep. “I told you not to worry foxy” and that's how i ended up here if feel like this isn't my best work

[gerogerigaogaigar]

The Pixies - Doolittle

Way back when I said that Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain was the best rock album of the 90s I did a little google search to remind me whether this album came out in 89 or 90 to see if I had to amend that to second best. Doolittle is one of my top ten albums of all time. The atmosphere maintains a sense of apocalyptic intensity even at its calmest moments. From the manic screaming on Tame right to the surf punk of Wave Of Mutilation. There are deceptively intellectual themes running through Doolittle too. Death, and torment run through the whole album with a strong focus on biblical violence. Dead recalls the story of David and Bathsheba in brief which leads to the the most amazing lyric of all time "Uriah hit the crapper". Gouge Away is about Samson and Delilah, and Monkey Gone To Heaven alludes to biblical numerology. A lot of lyrics are also deliberately vague leaving the meaning of the songs obscured surrealist imagery. Wave Of Mutilation according to Frank Black is about businessmen driving their cars into the ocean to commit suicide and Here Comes Your Man is about homeless people dying in an earthquake. All of this says nothing about how catchy these cryptic songs are. The melding of punk, alternative, surf rock, and generous use of triads and Hendrix chords leads to a discordant but focused album that manages to be infinitely catchy despite being extremely noisy. More than anything Doolittle, despite being fairly eclectic with it's sound, evokes a very cohesive mood. It's a weird simmering anxiety that sometimes bubbles to the surface but is never relieved. All of punk and alternative music has come home to roost in Doolittle and honestly if music had stopped right after it released that would have been fine.

The Wailers - Catch A Fire

There were a number of reggae acts in the early 70s that managed significant international success, but none quite as universally as Bob Marley and his band The Wailers. Catch A Fire was their fifth album, but it was the first to make it big in the states. The production is slightly nicer and that definitely allows Bob Marley's soulful voice to shine through. Marley definitely had a richer texture to his voice than most of his contemporaries and that likely helped him become a household name.

Black Sabbath - Paranoid

I'm gonna go ahead and say it. This album is overrated. After War Pigs we get two completely throw away tracks before hitting a sort of stride and then ending on the fantastic Faeries Wear Boots. Honestly most of this album is good but not great. I like it, but I don't think it quite stacks up to their debut, Master Of Reality, or Heaven And Hell.

Madonna - The Immaculate Collection

Hey Rolling Stone, can i ask a question? What the fuck do you think you are doing? You already put two Madonna albums on this list and now you're saying a hits collection tops them both? Every album she released in the 80e was good actually. You could have put one of those on here. Her self titled debut, Like A Virgin, and True Blue are all worthy of being on this list. If you scrubbed some of the outright garbage from this list you'd have room for all three of them and more!

Adele - 21

An album that is bad all the way through is just bad, and an album that is bad with one or two good tracks is frustrating, but opening with two very strong songs and then delivering nothing but banal piano ballads for the rest of the album? Thats torture. It makes me so mad that Rolling In The Deep and Rumor Has It are really good songs that show off a blues rock side of Adele that she never ever visits again. If orgasm denial was an album it would be 21 by Adele.

[venusguks]

— saccharine boy

pairing : reader x jeon jungkook

summary : the new transfer student is a bit strange…

genre : yandere jk, future smut, angst, dark, obsessive/possessive jk

warnings : this includes DARK themes with heavy topics. i dont support this unhealthy relationship dynamic irl. a huge TW for suicide, suicidal thoughts, tendencies, coaxing, themes. this is pure fiction so please know that if you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts, this may be really really horrible to read :(( yn and jk both say shitty things

part 1 of ??

☽

i loved you before i even knew you

in days fleeting moments, the sun dipped into the ocean, casting a surge of honey waves to engulf the city whole.

it’s vast, golden essence poured through the mid-open windows and into the empty school hallways.

moments before, the laughter of the baseball team dissipated, and those who confessed to the whim of spring filtered emotions had left with tear stained cheeks.

it's empty enough that you can hear your own slip ons click against the floor.

click, click, click.

you walk up the stairs, stopping right in front of the rooftop door.

the rusted knob is cool under your skin, and bracing yourself for the wind, you twist it open.

the wind whisks past you ferociously, as if urging you to turn back. you should've heeded the warning then (how foolish of you not to), but instead, you open your eyes to the tangerine streaks of the sky.

that’s when you see him.

— ❝ hey, do you regret it? ❞

his silhouette wavered beyond the metal railings of the rooftop.

you don’t know why—what had possibly gone through your mind when you spoke. it wasn't your business—you could honestly care less for people like him,

because people like him were the same as you.

despite that, you couldn't stop yourself from screaming, "you're such an attention freak, you know that?! do you really want to be seen that much?"

his head slightly lifted.

would he listen to you? would he care?

because if it were you past that railing right now, you wouldn't stop for anyone.

but doesn’t he see?

if he jumps, right now, right in front of you,

doesn’t he know how much that would break you?

please, the wind swallows your desperation. i’m already broken enough, so please don't make it any worse.

when i muster up the courage like you someday, i need to die without the thought of you jumping in my head.

— ❝ oh, i see… you're scared of me.❞

"there are so many other ways to kill yourself. drowning, the rope—you can jump off literally any other god damned building for all i care—but don't you dare make it this building! don't you dare jump off in front of me."

you saw it, as the wind danced past him, just how lifeless his eyes were

it was as if the sun himself feared him—preferring to quickly drown into the blue abyss rather than be in his mere presence.

"i know this place is terrible—but the janitor is so kind. he's a single father of three children and if you jump, he'd have to break his back scrubbing your blood for hours. he'd come home and put on a happy face despite worrying if his children will turn out like you. so please, for the janitor's sake, deal with haunting this school a different way. your death would affect more people than you’d know, so please.”

he doesn’t move, so hesitantly, as if it would change anything, you quietly add, "ah, he gave me food one time too.”

the boy’s back quivered, and your own trembling heart ached for him—but what you thought was sniffing turned into a loud, hearty laugh

you stood there, dumbfounded as you watched him.

"you're..." he tries to say through his giggles. when he catches his breath, he finally turns to you with the biggest smile.

"you're really stupid."

— ❝ but would it help if i said i've always loved you? ❞

frozen, you can only stand there gaping at him.

"i was just watching the sunset, but your reaction was so funny. you don't know how hard it was not to laugh."

what…?

you blink once, twice—then turning your heel, you begin to walk away.

"h-hey! wait!" he called from beyond the railings. "i'm sorry, okay? i was having too much fun—i didn't mean to scare you. please forgive me."

"scare me?" you scoffed. "kill yourself for all i care. it doesn't have anything to do with me."

— ❝ since that day... ❞

you just blurted it out of spite. you knew it was cruel, you didn’t mean it. you were just so angry. how dare he make a fool out of you? make a joke out of this? in your eyes, he was far more cruel.

“fine then.”

you turn back with a vile glare, but your heart stops as he takes a step back.

the boy hums in viscous amusement when he sees the horror in your eyes. in front of the blazing red of the sun, wearing his wide smile, he resembled a demon.

"forgive me, or i'll let go."

"d-don’t be stupid," you scowl, but you could barely feel yourself breathe.

then, just like that, one of his finger tips leave the metal bar—then another, and another.

you don’t know when you started running or how you even got there, but as soon as you hooked your fingers around his collar, you gave everything to pull him back.

"are you crazy?!" you scream, hot tears trickling down your eyes.

his annoying fit of laughter only angered you more.

— ❝ i loved you before i even knew you. ❞

"like i said, forgive me—and i won't try it again," he chimed in a playful tone.

you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

it scared you, his carelessness.

he scared you.

“okay, okay! i forgive you!” you yell exasperatedly. “god, you—you think this is funny? what the fuck is wrong with you?! you could’ve—just because i—y-you could’ve…r-right in front of me…and i-i…”

"hey, hey..." he chuckles softly, interlocking his fingers with yours through the metal fence.

you refused to look at him, but you could still feel the tingling warmth of his skin. you were close, the bars only stopping at your torso. when you look back at it, you remembered the seeping reality of his beauty.

his voice, his touch, him...

everything he did made you feel so out of control, so vulnerable.

who was he? why did you have to meet him?

"i knew you'd catch me, its fine."

"that's not the point here you suicidal bitch! i mean—what were you thinking? are you out of your mind? i swear to god—if you jumped and i became a suspect of murder, i'd dig up your own grave and kill you again!”

the boy’s eyes widened, shock dancing with his own bemusement. they were the same lifeless brown, but golden specks glimmered in where he looked at you.

finally, he smiles, “you’re horrible.”

you give a viscious glare, but before you can retort something, he continues, his hand trailing up your arm.

"but at the same time, horrible people don’t try to save a horrible person from dying. no, you can’t be horrible,” a cold shiver runs through your body when his fingers brush against your collarbone. “you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you? an angel who saved me…”

he pulls you closer by your neck, his lips barely touching the shell of your ears. your breath hitches, and your knees suddenly feel weak.

“i’d love to ruin you.”

nothing comes out of your mouth.

all you can hear is your heart thumping against your chest. all you can feel is the unbearable heat blooming on your cheeks, and all you can see is him.

finally, his words settle in.

“get the fuck off me you creep!”

— ❝ you're never leaving me, my love. i won't let you. ❞

ː

a/n : i’m so so so sorry if this triggered some people. this may be poorly written as well as i’ve written this YEARS ago. as you might tell, i was suicidal then and i often incorporated that in writing—its a way to get it off my chest sort of. to have relatable characters is something thats always made me comfortable. honestly rereading it again nothing makes sense LOL but i thought i’d continue it just for fun. i hope whoever has come across this is having a lovely and healing day, stay safe starlights <3

[archer3-13]

Ingrid has good taste honestly. The songstress has no self-awareness of her own hypocrisy. Meanwhile, the holy woman reflect and grow just like the lady knight herself.

I'll put my hand up to not liking dorothea, but honestly the hypocrasy aspect of it doesnt really bother me at this point. A lot of my fave characters tend to be incredibly hypocritical in their own ways and thats part of why i like them. that dorothea tends to be hypocritical and the story never takes advantage of that or comments on it in any meaningful way is certainly a problem, but its not a problem limited to dorothea [and in fact its a problem that infects the game like a plague].

if i were to weigh my hat on whats up/wrong with dorothea in the character writing sense it would come down to two main issues: 1. shes aimless and pointless as a character in this plot, she has motivation for instance to marry rich but thats not something she needs the officers academy to accomplish and in fact could be better accomplished through the opera house i would imagine, especially as her character is suppose to be uncomfortable with violence. so not only does she have a weak motivation for attending the officers academy specifically, she has character traits that make her ill suited as a character at the officers academy and in this story in particular. its why instead of expanding on those motives following the timeskip they get largely scrubbed and she wallows in passivity/standing in the background. which all suggests to me that dorothea was designed and included with the academy phase entirely in mind, cause ya cant have SKOOL without a IDOL character, and then was basically abandoned post timeskip so she could stand there as useful or insightful as a coat rack. and 2. the writing shies away from portraying her as ever being particularly frivolous, even though doing so would have helped make her a million times more interesting. now a part of this lays at the feet of translation and cultural divides, dorothea is a comment on idol culture effectively, its why the opera house was even included as a detail in three houses to begin with. and in a japanese context her frankness and openness about money and sex would come across as more appalling/shocking cause as an idol your generally expected to not talk about that shit ever and come across as a pure lil angel baby whenever your in public. i would still assert however that overall they underplay the crap out of it to dorotheas detriment cause it makes her overall very wishy washy as a character, cause god forbid anyone in or out of universe begin calling her a harlot or worse. again, i think it would have been more interesting if those aspects of her character were more prominent however, play up that contrast of her public idol face and her personal drive for monetary security, have her worry more during the post timeskip about her marriage prospects and how being a soldier/general might hurt those prospects, have her worry more about money, stuff like that. houses ultimately doesnt capitalize on what they set up with her really.

but yes i do agree that ingrid/mercedes or ingrid/marianne is a lot more appealing as ships then ingrid/dorothea.

[jaskierek]

Wildflowers

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier had been friends for over two decades before Geralt forced them apart. Afterwards, he’d looked everywhere. The bard was nowhere to be found. Not even magic could find him. What had happened to his friend? ao3

--

Eight years into their partnership, Geralt was commissioned to rid a village of a nasty foglet that had taken up residency in a swamp at the centre of the neighbouring forest. The blacksmith, Filip, lived closest to the forest edge and had three young daughters who he feared for. He had collected money from the villagers in order to afford the Witcher’s services and had insisted on showing Geralt the way. He’d said the forest had many low-lying bogs and marshes, especially during this time of year.

Jaskier had been eager to join the Witcher, despite knowing that his outfit would return ruined, yet he’d been relegated to the role of babysitter.

“Come on, Geralt!” He whined, watching the Witcher swing his swords onto his back and collect the moondust he needed.

“No.” Came the simple response. Jaskier huffed.

“Honestly, why can’t Filip hire someone from the village for a night or leave the kids on their own? It’s not like they’re infants, and there’s three of them for goodness’ sake.”

“All of them have yet to reach the age of ten,” Geralt said in that rumbling voice of his as he walked up to the bard, gear on and a vaguely scolding look on his face, “and why hire someone to babysit when we’ve got a lovely and willing nanny here for free?”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped dramatically and he sputtered, trying to get past the offence and form a coherent sentence in response to Geralt’s shit-eating grin.

“You - I - listen here, Witcher - while I am lovely, there is no - how -“

The Witcher simply patted Jaskier on the head a bit harder than necessary, and stepped out of the room Filip had given them to get prepared.

“Ready?” The blacksmith asked. He stood in the doorway dressed in a thick, wool coat, hood over his head and straw-blonde hair peeking out from under his coif. He held a glass lantern in one hand and a sturdy, steel sword in another.

“You won’t need that.” Geralt grumbled, walking towards the man. Filip took what Jaskier knew to be an involuntary step back. The bard still winced. There was still a ways to go in Geralt’s image rehabilitation he was learning.

“I could help.” Filip countered weakly. Jaskier admired the man’s bravery, most tended to let the Witcher do what needed to be done with no care for his return or survival. Jaskier also didn’t doubt that Filip could have been of help. The man stood tall, with rounded shoulders from years of smithing, the thick coat only making him look bigger. He could definitely have been of help if-

“Silver swords kill beasts, your steel won’t do much harm.” Geralt said, walking past and heading to the door. “Better to just stay out of the way.”

Filip paused for a moment.

“Yes, well, I think I’d like to take it. For my own peace of mind.”

Geralt studied the man over his shoulder before seemingly accepting that there was not much else to say on the subject and the two left. Jaskier tapped his foot uncertainly before running to the door and swinging it open.

“Oi! Witcher! I am very much not willing and this is very much not for free! I am expecting compensation!” He yelled out to the shrinking figures.

“Fuck off, Jaskier.” Jaskier could just make out Geralt’s gruff but amused reply through the whipping of the wind. He smiled and returned inside, only to be faced with three pairs of large brown eyes. Startled a little, he smiled tentatively. Unlike their father, all three girls had reddish-brown hair and gentle features.

“You must be Filip’s daughters.” He said in way of greeting. He received an eerily unison blink. “Right uh…you should be in bed.”

“Where’s daddy gone?” The tallest one to the left asked.

“He…he went to go show his friend something.” Jaskier responded, trying not to worry the children.

“That man is a Witcher.”

Jaskier paused, not really knowing what to say and eventually settling on a slow “yes, he is.”

“Daddy’s not friends with Witchers.”

“Well, he is now.”

“But Witchers can’t have friends.”

“Now that’s just not true. Who told you that?” Jaskier asked, a bit peeved. They just blinked again and didn’t respond. “Ok, well, that’s not true because I’m friends with a Witcher.” He huffed, whether or not the friendship was mutual was still a bit in question for him.

The girls stared at him silently and Jaskier was honestly at a loss. He hadn’t had much experience with children, apart from singing the occasional fairy tale or nursery rhyme.

“Would you like me to play you a song?” He asked, fingers twitching to hold his lute.

“No.” They all said monotonously. Alright, really, were all children this difficult? And this…synchronised?

“You really should be going to bed then.”

“Can you paint?” The smallest one asked suddenly. Jaskier frowned at the question, a bit confused.

Thats how Geralt and Filip found him three hours later. Paints and unfinished artworks scattered around the floor and at the centre of it all, a very colourful bard. He sat on the floor, legs spread out as three auburn-haired little girls stood around him, paintbrushes in hand.

Filip laughed loudly. “I just bought them all paints and parchment two days ago.” He commented, taking his coat off.

“You don’t say.” Jaskier responded sarcastically as one of the girls poked at his temple with a green brush. He had rolled up his sleeves and trousers to give them some more space to work and also to avoid as much paint on his clothes as he could. It hadn’t worked very well as evidenced by the many drips and smears on his purple doublet. His face, arms and legs were covered in mostly yellow smudges, with a couple of green and pink accents here and there.

The girls hadn’t reacted much to their father’s return, nor to the intimidating presence of the Witcher. Speaking of, Geralt was currently leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking very entertained. Jaskier tried to communicate with his eyes that he was in dire need of aid, yet the cruel man did nothing but observe the multicoloured bard and the three little girls dancing around him.

“Ok, girls,” Filip said, coming over and kneeling beside them, gently removing a paintbrush from the youngest’s hand, “time to say goodbye and go to bed, hm?”

“Do you like our painting, daddy?” She asked, blinking those big brown eyes at him. They all looked very pleased with their work. Filip’s eyes looked over to Jaskier, giving him a once-over and smiling apologetically.

“Yes, love, it’s gorgeous as always. Now bed?” He tried again, reaching out to the others. Jaskier didn’t know how happy he was at being called an “it” but decided to hold his tongue for now. The brushes were all handed over. They themselves were smeared with paint as well, nowhere near as much as the bard though. He was more canvas than a bard at this point.

Filip told Geralt and Jaskier that he’d wash the girls - and their sheets - tomorrow and that they could have the bath for tonight, both men in desperate need of a wash.

Geralt, in a rare show of mercy, allowed Jaskier to go first. He sat by the wall, listening to the bard complain about how difficult the paint was to scrub off. He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff occasionally, earning a sour look from the bard.

“Oh, how you revel in my misery.” He muttered. Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Now we know that you’re not cut out to be a nanny after all.” Geralt teased.

“All things considered, I think I did an alright job.”

“Jaskier, you’re yellow.”

Being glared at by a wet bard sitting in yellow water was not the most intimidated the Witcher had ever been.

Not long after, Jaskier stepped out of the wooden bath and Geralt stepped in.

The Witcher melted into the tub as Jaskier’s nimble fingers threaded through his hair. Albeit, a bit rougher than usual. He had started using his own soaps and oils on Geralt, leaving his hair soft and shiny. He could tell Geralt liked it, despite his complaints that it left him smelling like rose water and cloves. It was a pleasant scent though.

“Why’d they paint you yellow?” Geralt asked placidly, eyes closed. Jaskier laughed softly.

“I told them what my name meant. I was meant to look like a field of buttercups, I presume.” He replied fondly. Geralt hummed. They bathed in silence for a while until Jaskier said softly; “the second eldest one is called Julia. She told me the name means strength.”

Geralt said nothing, sensing the bard’s mood had changed.

“I had a sister once.” Jaskier continued.  Though surprised, Geralt made no comment. “Her name was Julia.” Silence fell again as Jaskier gently pushed Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher moved at the pressure, allowing the bard to tilt his head back and rinse his hair off.

“Julka przed samotnością nie odczuwa lęku, bo to dziewczyna pełna wdzięku.” Jaskier said, more to himself than to the Witcher.

“What does it mean?”

“In the face of loneliness, Julka is not afraid,” Jaskier whispered, recalling the old saying, “because she is a girl full of grace.”

Geralt clenched his eyes tighter, not knowing what to say in the face of Jaskier’s gentle grief.

Geralt had stared down that same face of loneliness. Could he say that he’d confronted it fearlessly?

Jaskier ran his fingers through the Witcher’s hair one last time and gave it a hard tug.

“That’s for calling me a nanny again.” He remarked weakly. Geralt opened his eyes, watching Jaskier walk away and change into his night clothes.

The face of loneliness seemed to blur.

Filip allowed them to stay the night and they left early the next day. Geralt was prepping Roach when Filip’s three young girls ran up to him, the one in the middle holding a bag of coin. The blacksmith was crouched in the doorway, watching them with a small smile.

“This is for you.” The one in the centre said very seriously, handing over the payment with an air of importance. Not an ounce of fear showed on any of their faces. Geralt felt vague concern over their survival instincts.

“Er…thank you.” Geralt said awkwardly, taking the money. He was about to stuff it into Roach’s saddle before he thought better of it and placed it gently into his breast pocket, patting it to reassure the girl that he’d keep it safe. She smiled brightly at him and the three of them blinked at the same time. Geralt could only blink in return, not knowing where to go from there.

“Goodbye, Jaskier’s friend!” They announced and scurried off. Jaskier was just coming out of the house as they ran past, giggling. He jumped out of the way with a  yelp, eyes following them bemusedly. Looking back to Geralt, he raised a brow. The Witcher simply shrugged. Jaskier laughed.

No, loneliness did not feel as present anymore.

—

Eleven years into their familiarity, Jaskier asked a question.

“I wonder what it feels like to die.”

Geralt had sensed his miserable mood all day. He’d been quiet and he hadn’t touched his lute or hummed a melody and strangest of all, he’d done what Geralt had told him. He’d stayed at the camp when Geralt had taken a contract to get rid of a wild boar and he’d collected firewood with no complaints when told.

Geralt sensed Jaskier’s unhappiness, he knew something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. The very fact that he wanted to help, instead of revelling in the silence, came as a surprise. Jaskier’s statement was even more of a surprise. The casual way he said it jarred with the reality that this was the first thing Jaskier had said in hours.

They stared at each other from across the fire between them. Jaskier’s cornflower eyes lustreless and not expectant of an answer.

“I know what it feels like.” Geralt responded, own voice gruff from disuse. He could tell that he’d startled the bard. Jaskier’s blue eyes suddenly cleared and glinted with concern.

“How…how do you know what it feels like to die?” Jaskier asked and Geralt was surprised by the emotion behind his words.

“There are many ways to die, bard.”

Jaskier frowned.

“How do you know what it feels like to die, Geralt?” Jaskier pressed.

“I do not know what death feels like, but I am familiar with the journey.”

Geralt didn’t know whether he was skirting around the question on purpose. The initial response to Jaskier’s statement of a question had come unbidden and honest. Now he could feel heat under his skin and an urge to sneer and turn tail. He couldn’t do that though, not now, not with Jaskier as he’s been all day.

“Geralt, you-“

“Jaskier,” He cut him off, then stopped himself. He took a breath, “I can’t imagine a Witcher who isn’t familiar with the experience.” Jaskier shut his mouth and remained silent, an unspoken offer to continue. Geralt accepted the moment of quiet, taking the opportunity to arrange his thoughts and suppress the grief that had suddenly swelled in him.

“When boys were recruited to become Witchers, they underwent mutations that most did not survive.” Jaskier nodded, this Geralt had told him before, “They put elixirs, poisons and mutagens into our tea for days beforehand and when we were immobilised, they injected them directly into our veins. Most who did not die immediately, died by the third day. Those who did not die by the third day, went mad from the pain -“

Geralt stopped, hesitating, eyes drifting to the writhing flames between them.

He remembered their glassy eyes, unseeing. Nothing existed but their agony. They’d scream themselves hoarse, shredding vocal chords and vomiting out blood. He knew that he must’ve been the same but he could not remember anything he did while undergoing the mutations. Nothing existed, nothing mattered, but the torment.

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who’s gaze remained strong and level, though sad.

“After we went mad with pain, they injected us again. We were all restrained, of course, otherwise we would have torn our skin off to find some relief. This round of mutagens induced seizures, hallucinations, and in our weakened state, our body had to fight the viruses. On the seventh day, three out of ten boys woke with cat eyes, the rest were dead.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment.

“I did not…I woke up with human eyes. The mutagens hadn’t worked on me to the extent they had worked on the others. I was uniquely resistant.” The words sounded bitter. “They gave me a couple of extra rounds and that’s why you won’t ever find another white wolf, bard.”

Jaskier remained silent. Geralt saw tears had slipped down his face, the reflection of the fire turning them gold. Geralt couldn’t stand the thought of tears being spilled for him but he stayed quiet, he found he had no more words to give.

“That’s not dying.” Jaskier finally said, voice unwavering through the tears. “That’s not dying. That’s torture. That’s something that no one should go through, let alone a child. You don’t know what it’s like to die, Geralt, and you won’t know for a long time to come.”

Geralt didn’t know who he was trying to convince.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Jaskier,” The Witcher tried to make his tone gentle, “Witchers don’t retire. I know what it’s like to bleed out. That is likely my fate.” Jaskier flinched and looked down at his hands, clenched around each other, knuckles white. Golden tears slipped between his fingers.

“What does it feel like to bleed out?” He whispered so quietly that Geralt wouldn’t have heard him had he not been what he was. He frowned, but complied.

“You’re thirsty and your tongue feels swollen. Your vision becomes distorted and blurry. You feel a numbness as your head pounds with pressure. You can’t stand for long, so you’re left bleeding out on the ground, trembling and sweating, feeling like you’re going to vomit.” Jaskier’s shoulders were trembling. Geralt couldn’t stop. “You feel like you just want to rest your head forever.”

Finally, Jaskier broke, a sob breaking out past his lips, only for more to follow. It felt like the whole day had been building to this breaking point and Geralt itched to hold him. Let Jaskier release all that had been welling inside him. Geralt stayed, staring at him through the fire, sure that his own grief was showing.

“Geralt?” Came Jaskier’s small voice, head finally rising to look at Geralt. His eyes were red and tears fell freely.

“Yes?”

“Has this happened since we’ve met?”

A pause.

“Once.”

“You didn’t tell me.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, yet it sounded hurt.

Geralt suddenly felt guilty. He hadn’t thought it information that Jaskier needed, or wanted, to know. He’d clearly been healed and the next time they had run into each other had been months after the incident. Geralt himself hadn’t thought much of it. Yet now he felt guilty, it felt as if he had withheld something from the bard. He didn’t know why the thought of him keeping secrets from the man sparked a pain in his chest. He couldn’t stand to look at the hurt in those blue eyes so he looked away.

“I understand why you didn’t, Geralt, I don’t blame you…just - just please -“ the bard’s voice broke. He took a moment to breath in, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not. I can’t - I can’t be a part of your life and not know. I -“

“Okay, I will.” Amber eyes locked with blue, reflecting the same flame. They gazed at each other for a time. Then, the bard rose on unsteady feet, rounding the fire and sitting beside the Witcher.

“I meant what I said. You won’t know death for a long time, dear friend. You will live for a good while yet.” He stated with no room for argument. Geralt couldn’t help but smile.

“Does destiny will it?”

“No,” said his friend, “I do.”

And so they sat for the rest of the evening. Golden eyes and golden tears.

—

Fourteen years into their friendship, there was a meadow.

It was spring and the meadow was blanketed by buttercups and dandelions and daisies and wild lupine. It was a messy quilt of colours that beckoned the bard forwards. The Witcher had taken notice of Jaskier’s love for spring, he’d taken note of a lot of things. He watched Jaskier run into the field, voice bubbling with laughter.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.” He was grinning at Geralt in his faded blue doublet. Geralt ached at that smile. He reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

That’s how they’d spent an all too rare afternoon lying on a sunny patch of grass. Geralt listening to the bard talk and hum, feeling the gentle heat from the sun-warmed ground seep in through his clothes, and when he opened his eyes he watched. He watched birds flit between trees and leaves shuffle in the breeze. He watched the bard blow a dandelion, blue eyes following the fluff as it glided through the air. Then those blue eyes turned to him and Jaskier smiled.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to learn, dear friend?” Suspecting another long Jaskier ramble, Geralt closed his eyes and hummed noncommittally. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to braid a flower garland.”

“Hmm, you don’t already know?” What with Jaskier’s love for spring, Geralt would have assumed that something as simple as making a flower crown would have easily found its way into the bard’s skill set.

“I suppose I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“Hm.” Geralt responded, mulling it over. They lapsed into a calm silence, well as much of a silence as one can get with a humming bard collecting flowers.

It was noon and the sun was overhead, its brightness filtering through his eyelids.

The humming stopped and he heard an excited “Geralt?”

“What, Jaskier?” He sighed.

“Teach me how to make a wreath.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, you grumpy Witcher.”

“No.”

“But just look at these beautiful blossoms, it’d be such a shame not to put them to use.”

“Flowers have no use to anyone other than bees. Unless you’ve found some verbena or white myrtle.”

“How cynical of you, I can hardly believe it.” Geralt snorted at that. “Flowers have many uses, some of which I will detail to you now.”

“Please don’t-”

“Flowers are used for beautiful arrangements, placed at the centre of dinner tables or on mantelpieces, for magnificent perfumes that attract even the most stoic, and they create the most darling garlands, of which I am dying to learn the craft and am imploring my dear friend to teach me.”

Geralt groaned and opened his eyes to glare at the bard who was grinning cheekily at him.

“You are a pain in my ass, bard.” He acquiesced, knowing that Jaskier would take it as the acceptance that it is.

Sitting upright, he saw that Jaskier had already collected a bundle of wildflowers. Cornflowers and daisies and a myriad of others lay between them as they sat crosslegged, facing each other. Geralt’s hand immediately drifted to the cornflower nearest to him.

“It’s easier when you have a circle of string to wrap the stems around,” Geralt began, glancing back up at the sun-lit blue eyes looking right back at him, “but we’ve no string to spare. So once you’ve picked your starting flower, you pick another and wrap the stem a way’s down the stem of your first. Then you pick a third and wrap it around the stems of the first two.”

“A bit like braiding.”

“More like weaving,” Geralt explained, already a couple of flowers down his chain, “and then you keep adding more.”

Quiet settled between them once more. Geralt looked up every so often to check the bard’s progress, watching his nimble fingers weave his crown of flowers, rarely faulting. His eyes would wander up to Jaskier’s face, the bard’s brows frowning in concentration. The Witcher allowed himself a small smile. Jaskier had once told Geralt to alert him whenever he’d do this, hating the thought of wrinkles between his brows. Geralt of course never did. After all, it wasn’t his job to look out for the bard’s skin when it wasn’t being threatened by beasts or cuckolded spouses.

Geralt finished his garland first, realising that it consisted mostly of blue cornflowers and yellow dandelions and buttercups, broken up occasionally by reds.

“Complementary colours.”

“Hm?” Geralt asked, looking up at the bard.

“Yellow and blue. They complement each other. Honestly, Geralt, it’s simple colour theory.”

Geralt levelled him an unamused look, sending him back to work. Not long after, he watched the finishings of Jaskier’s own crown. An eager gaze slid up to Geralt’s face, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“No.” Came Geralt’s instant response.

“Please Geralt.” Jaskier whined. “No one’s here, your reputation is safe.” Geralt grunted, scowling at the bard whose big, blue eyes were pleading with him. With a sigh he reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

Jaskier’s own wreath was more varied than Geralt’s, with white daisies and purple aster and multicoloured poppies. Geralt let Jaskier shuffle closer, raising himself up on his knees so he could crown his Witcher in blossoms. Geralt watched his delighted face as he arranged the flowers just right, fingers grazing and pushing back the Witcher’s white hair. Geralt resisted the urge to lean into the touch. The gentle hands fell to his shoulders, warm gaze falling to look into yellow eyes.

“I’d write a song about this, a Witcher in a flower crown, if I didn’t think it’d be very unpopular.”

Geralt growled, glaring up at him.

“Ah, yes, and also because you’d gut me on the spot.” Jaskier added on. “I must say though, you look very dashing.”

Geralt didn’t say anything to that. He continued to stare up at the bard, glad that the man was happy, and content to be in his presence in a rare moment of peace.

“Now, my dear, I must wear yours.” Jaskier said. Geralt blinked then looked down at the wreath in his hands. Jaskier sat back, awaiting his floral coronation. Geralt smiled softly as he placed the crown on Jaskier’s head. It was a bit big for the bard’s head and pushed his fringe further into his eyes as it slipped down his head slightly. Snorting, Geralt pushed the brown hair from Jaskier’s face, fingers brushing his cheek as he pulled back. He found himself longing to touch him again but pulled away at the look of wonder in the bard’s eyes.

Jaskier went on to make another garland for Roach, making a show of crowning her “Lady of the Meadowland”. It was all very ridiculous so Geralt closed his eyes again and lay back onto the sun-warmed grass. He heard Jaskier amble over, felt his presence as he lay beside him with a deep sigh.

Geralt cracked an eye open to look at him. His eyes were closed. The sun turned his brown hair bronze, blue and yellow petals resting there crookedly. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier belonged here.

He belonged among the sun and the wildflowers.

—

Sixteen years into whatever the fuck they were and Geralt had been hired to kill a Griffin.

Fucking griffins and their fucking talons.

Geralt felt the ground pull at him magnetically.

He’d lost a lot of blood.

He stumbled to the ground.

He would have been content to press his feverish face into the cool, damp grass and simply lay there, if it hadn’t been for a single thought in his head.

Jaskier.

“Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not.”

Fuck.

He pushed himself up shakily, a stab of pain pierced through the pressure in his head. He tried blinking past the faded edges of his vision and the spots floating between the trees like black will o’ the wisps.

He stumbled forward, hands pressed to his stomach. They didn’t do much to stop the heavy flow of blood gushing out of him. His fingers were numb but the rest of him was warm, so warm. He had to make it back, he couldn’t die without seeing Jaskier one more time. He couldn’t die here alone.

The face of loneliness came into focus amidst the blurry forest.

Somehow he made it back to the camp. Jaskier’s back was to him. He was stroking Roach’s snout, singing to her softly. It was a lullaby Jaskier sang whenever either of them couldn’t sleep. Geralt smiled in relief, the pressure in is head lifting slightly at the familiar sound.

“Jaskier.” The bards name fell out of him like a breath. Finally, he let the ground pull him down.

He woke up again in rather large bed, head cushioned on a feather pillow. Looking around he saw a glass of water on the desk in the corner, a painting of a long-bearded, angry-looking man on the wall across from him and a silk sheet covering him up to his bare chest. He frowned. This was not the typical establishment he was accustomed to.

Shifting slightly, he felt a weight on his arm. Confused, he looked to the right to find a mess of brown hair resting on his bicep. Geralt blinked, eyes widening. Jaskier was clearly asleep, curled around his side, head on his arm and hand resting in Geralt’s loose fingers. The Witcher suddenly felt warm and couldn’t help but tighten his hand around the bard’s.

While closing his hand, he involuntarily closed his other one, feeling something hard and cool under his fingers. Lifting it to his face, he saw that it was actually a stone, vaguely triangular in shape, with a wonky hole in the middle. What was strangest however, were the smudgy yellow flowers that had been painted around the hole. He assumed they were flowers as he could just make out some petals and wobbly, green stems.

Putting the mystery aside for a moment, he placed the stone down on the bed beside him. Removing his covers gently so as not to wake Jaskier, Geralt felt along his bandaged belly. The pain wasn’t too bad, more of an ache than anything and that could’ve simply been from the blood loss.

He wondered where they were. Their camp hadn’t been too far from a town, but that meant that Jaskier had somehow lifted him onto Roach and galloped through the forest and into town in search of a healer. Geralt knew that the bard was strong, muscle lined his arms and legs, tightened his stomach when he stepped into cold water. Almost two decades of joining Geralt on the path had given him a rather large build. Nevertheless, a limp Witcher was no easy feat to lift, especially onto a horse.

He felt Jaskier stir beside him. His head was still towards him but he could tell he’d opened his eyes because he promptly covered the Witcher back up with the silk cover he’d peeled off earlier. Geralt shifted and suddenly big, blue eyes were looking up at him. From this angle, he could see that the bard’s feet had been hanging off the edge of the bed from his position on Geralt’s arm.

“Geralt!” He exclaimed, smiling brightly. “You’re awake.” Geralt gave a soft grunt in response. “How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, sitting up. He realised he was still holding onto Jaskier’s hand, so he let it go reluctantly, allowing the bard to pull it out of his grip.

“Like I lost most of my blood.”

“Ha ha.” Jaskier said humourlessly. Geralt sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked finally. He knew Jaskier was upset but he didn’t know what kind of upset it was. Angry? Sad? Annoyed?

“I was,” Jaskier began. Geralt’s jaw tightened and Jaskier grasped his hand comfortingly. “But then I realised that I had no reason to be upset with you, I think my feelings of fear and concern got a bit muddled. Geralt, I was fucking terrified.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault, it was just…a lot.” Geralt winced and looked back to the bard. He was looking at their joined hands, blue eyes hazy and far away. Geralt didn’t know what he was seeing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He gave Jaskier’s hand a tight squeeze, bringing him back. Jaskier smiled at him sheepishly.

“Were you surprised to wake up?” The bard asked. Geralt thought for a moment.

“No.”

“No?”

Geralt raised a brow, not entirely knowing what Jaskier wanted him to say. No, he wasn’t surprised. His only thought had been Jaskier. That he wanted to see him again. He wasn’t thinking much of being healed or waking later. Yet now that he thought about it, there wasn’t much doubt in him that Jaskier would help him in whatever way he could.

A thought came into Geralt’s mind.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising the painted stone. A blush tinged Jaskier’s cheeks pink.

“Ah…it’s a - it’s a hagstone.”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I see that, why was it in my hand and why is it covered in flowers?”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.” Jaskier said pettishly, reaching for it. Geralt pulled it out of his reach.

“No, I want it.” Geralt said, grinning. Jaskier dropped his hand and huffed, looking away.

“Remember when you left me to babysit those three girls a couple of years ago?”

Geralt blinked, vaguely recalling three sets off big brown eyes.

“They painted you yellow.”

“They painted buttercups, just…on me.”

“They painted you yellow.”

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes. “The hagstone dropped out of my pocket and they…painted that too.” He smiled sheepishly.

That was nearly a decade ago. Geralt couldn’t believe he’d held onto it for that long. He pulled it closer so he could examine it genuinely. He could make out the smudgy, yellow petals attached to green stems. They were dotted around the stone, growing in a cluster. The yellow paint had remained fairly unfaded. Geralt rubbed his thumb over the stone.

“You can keep it if you want.” Jaskier said. Geralt turned to find him already looking at him, eyebrow raised and smiling. The look of sincerity on the bard’s face had Geralt looking away.

“Why did you put it in my hand?”

“They’re for protection and healing. Surely you know that.”

Geralt knew what they were for, theoretically. The protective powers of witch stones were a myth though, just humans placing undue importance on an unusual rock. In reality, it was just that. A rock. One that had been eroded by water or animals. Geralt didn’t say anything though.

He didn’t know if he could say anything. Jaskier had carried this stone with him for a decade, maybe more, hoping for protection and now he was giving it to him. A Witcher who, by all appearances, didn’t want nor need luck. The bottom line was that the bard wanted him safe and Geralt had absolutely no way of dealing with that.

“They’re also used to keep witches away,” Jaskier continued, “useful incase we ever cross paths with Yennefer again.”

Geralt snorted.

“She’s a sorceress.” He countered

“And I’m a musician. It doesn’t mean I’m not also a bard.” Jaskier sniffed disdainfully. He pushed himself up the bed so he was leaning against the headboard and sitting next to Geralt. He continued to talk, allowing the Witcher to simply listen and think about how close their hands were between them.

—

Twenty two years since they met.

The wind bit at him, seeking to push him off his feet as he looked down at the snarling Witcher.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shovelling it?”

“That’s not fair.” He couldn’t help protesting weakly.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt gritted out between clenched teeth, amber eyes burning with emotion, he was practically shaking with it.  

Jaskier stood and watched as the Witcher turned and stormed further away from him. Tension and aggression written into the way Geralt’s shoulders tensed, fists tight, arms loose, ready to attack. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before, more times than he could count, but it had never been directed at him. No matter how many times he irritated the Witcher or inadvertently gotten them into trouble, Geralt never had more for him than a hard glare and some frustrated shouts.

This was different. This felt final. This felt like the end. The inevitable conclusion to his tragic love story because fuck him, he’d fallen in love with a man sworn to someone else.

“Right, uh,” Jaskier managed to get out, suddenly finding it difficult to breath, “right, then,” he tried again, looking away, eyes blinking rapidly, “I’ll - I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.” He turned and walked away, his attempt at casualness flimsy and transparent.

While Geralt berated destiny, fought against it and ignored it wholeheartedly, Jaskier accepted his fate because he had always known it was coming.

But, damn, did it hurt.

He didn’t get the rest of the story.

He stuffed all of his belongings into a bag, slung his lute over his shoulder, gave Roach one last, teary-eyed hug and ran. Geralt had walked away from him, both physically and metaphorically, and now Jaskier needed as much space between them as possible. He ran down the mountain, tripping on uneven paths and scratching his hands bloody. The burn in his lungs and chest felt poetic.

In the last two decades of his life, he and Geralt had always found their way back to each other after weeks or months apart. Sure, he’d keep an ear out for news of a Witcher but most of the time, Melitele save him, it had been a gods-honest accident. The romantic that he is believed it to be fate, and perhaps it was, but he knew now that it wasn’t the kind sort.

Fate was cruel and maleficent, making him believe that their hearts were intertwined when in reality it had been a ploy to torture them both in the end. Destiny left Jaskier heartbroken and Geralt with a life he didn’t want.

—

Some part of his mind registered Jaskier walking away.

Most of it was focused on containing the pain.

He had felt it slowly bloom in his chest at Yennefer’s weak “that’s why we can’t escape each other?” Anguish and bitterness in her voice. From there it had unfurled and spread throughout his body, the emotion burning him from the inside.

His being was now solely fixated on not letting it spread further.

Again, some part of him registered that it already had, it had spread to the bard, it had lashed out at him.

He felt like a flaming whip pulled taught. He felt in in his shoulders, his fists, his jaw.

He breathed in deeply.

His eyes were wet. He tried focusing them on the green valley below.

He breathed out and sunk to his knees.

He waited for the rushing noise in his head to stop.

His cheeks were wet.

He turned around. Yennefer was gone. Jaskier too.

So were their things when he returned to camp.

He breathed in and wailed.

—

The world was dull to him. The trees were not as green. The shades of blue across cornflower petals didn’t look the same anymore.

The world was quiet to him. Too quiet. Something was missing.

Never did he think the world would be dull and quiet. It had always been the opposite, too much, too loud.

He missed Jaskier desperately.

He hadn’t found him again since the mountain.

He could tell Roach missed him too.

Snippets of songs and melodies that had Jaskier’s mark drifted here and there. They were never him. How strange it was to hear others recount his own tales when he had grown so used to Jaskier being the only one.

For the first six months, he’d kept an ear out for any gossip of the famous bard but he had always seemed to arrive just a few days behind. Two months later and the chatter had dried up. No one had seen the bard, no one sang any new songs of his. He had searched the continent, gone to the coast, gone to Jaskier’s own town and found no sign of him.

It was like he had ceased to exist and so, Geralt’s world was dull and quiet.

The face of loneliness had never been clearer.

After those first eight months, he’d also started sleeping poorly.

Before, he’d been a light sleeper, ready to jump out of his bedroll fully aware and ready to defend. It came with being a Witcher. Although, admittedly, the nights spent in inns, on a relatively soft mattress, with a sleep-warm bard next to him had left him sleeping a bit deeper, waking a bit dazed.

Yet after those eight months, he’d slept restlessly. He’d dream of a weeping willow, drooping sadly. He’d dream of an open field and oddly wake up feeling caged.

When he himself found no sign of the bard, he’d gone to one of the few people he trusted, Triss Merigold. He had given her an old undershirt that Jaskier had forgotten to take with him. He made her try for three days before she had finally said “I really am sorry, Geralt, but truly, I can find no sign of your friend.” Geralt took the soft material back. “I fear he’s -“

“Don’t.” Whatever look he’d had on his face made her snap her mouth shut. Dark eyes looked at him with pity as he had turned, dropped some coin and left.

He’d go to Yennefer next.

“Geralt,” she greeted tensely, “didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Geralt had found Yennefer a few months after the dragon contract. They’d agreed that though they cared for each other deeply, it was best for them to have space, to move on. Geralt hoped desperately that one day they would become friends. Yennefer, though difficult and battle-hardened, remained fair and kind, one of the only people with whom Geralt shared easy conversation.

There was a longing between them, one that both knew was not falsified by the djinn. Neither knew what sort of longing they felt. One of friendship, companionship, understanding? Time and space would let them learn.

“I know,” He muttered apologetically, “I need your help.”

“You look awful.” She simply responded. Geralt winced. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

The Witcher opted for silence. He knew that she had heard him and knew that she was studying him, pondering his request.

“What do you need?” She asked finally, tone not one of acceptance but of curiosity.

“Jaskier.” The word came out sounding more distressed than he had intended. It was harder to maintain a mask through sleep deprivation. Yennefer’s expression briefly shifted to one of concern.

“What happened?”

Geralt’s throat suddenly felt compressed. Those two words somehow confirming that something had happened. Something had to have happened if he and Triss couldn’t find him.

Fear was a terrifying emotion because he truly didn’t know what he would do to end it.

“I…I don’t know. I can’t find him and neither can Triss.” Geralt pulled out the same shirt he had given to the other sorceress, gripping the folded fabric tightly in his hands. He looked up at Yennefer to find her looking right back with a sort of unease. “Please,” he said, offering the garment to her, “track him if you can.”

She stared at the shirt apprehensively, gaze snapping up to Geralt’s, looking for something. Finally, she sighed and turned to walk over to a large bookshelf, pulling out a thick, yellow-paged tome that had clearly not been removed for a good while.

“You’re lucky night is falling,” she said, stepping outside, not waiting for Geralt to follow. He did. “If regular tracking didn’t work, we’ll have to do it the hard way.” She walked to the middle of her large garden, sitting cross-legged in the grass, wine-coloured dress pooling around her. Geralt approached, ready to be told off and to step back, yet Yennefer said nothing as he sat down across from her.

The sorceress flipped the tome open to the centre, each side resting on a knee. Each side also being a couple inches thick. Tucked into the middle, between the two pages was a thin, silver geometrical compass. Yennefer lifted it with an elegant hand and placed it over one of the many configurations on the page. Geralt’s limited knowledge allowed him to surmise that they were astronomical. He looked up to the sky and the stars that he only knew to use for navigation.

“The shirt.” Yennefer said sharply, snapping his gaze back down to her and her outstretched hand. Shirt in one hand, compass in the other and tome on her lap, she began to speak. It was some variation of Elder. Geralt, only knowing the basics of the root language, was left clueless as the space above the book began to glow.

The light transformed the yellowed pages gold, illuminating Yennefer’s perfect features and making her look all the part of the powerful mage he knew she was. She dropped the shirt on the grass between them. Violet eyes looked up to the stars, compass travelling across the golden pages of the book. She flipped back and forth between the pages, her eyes shooting between stars. The compass twisted in complicated circular motions across configurations.

The light began to die slowly, Yennefer’s words slowing to a stop as she closed her eyes, clearly disappointed. Geralt’s stomach dropped and he felt like he might throw up the paltry dinner he’d had a few hours earlier.

“Yennefer, please -“

“I’m not done yet, Geralt.” She responded sharply before taking a breath, “I need something personal to him, something with an emotional connection. I may not be able to find his physical body,” because he may be dead was left unsaid “but I can perhaps find his spirit.”

Geralt tried to keep the devastation off his face at the implication.

An emotional connection. He knew immediately what to give her. A small pocket in the side of his leather armour held a painted witch stone. He gently pulled it out, rubbing his thumb over the messy petals of the buttercups. Yennefer didn’t comment on the item, though she looked at him with pinched brows. He placed the stone in the sorceress’ outstretched palm.

The golden light returned and Geralt watched as the sorceress studied the stars, measuring out constellations and distances in her book. Geralt had never been one for religion but he prayed, prayed for something.

Again, the light faded and Yennefer looked to him with a frown.

—

He’d been looking for tracks in the large forested area Yennefer had pointed him to. He’d been looking for two days and nothing had been found.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Yennefer had been unable to find his body but had found his spirit? Were they no longer attached? Geralt’s mind had been filtering through the different options of what that could mean, but even Yennefer didn’t know what to say. The thought that he might be dead was an unwelcome one in his mind.

It had recently rained and the ground squelched and shifted under Geralt’s boots. Most of the tracks had been washed away by the rain. Geralt lead Roach through the trees, eyes catching on imprints in the ground and broken shrub twigs. All signs indicating animal presence rather than human.

The forest was familiar to the Witcher, he’d been here before. He didn’t think much of it, he’d been to most places on the continent, the Path taking him wherever he needed to be. Yet when he tried to recall the memory tied to this place, it was not one of necessity or danger.  He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

Giving up on the meagre prints, he let the memory lead him. His feet found a forgotten path. Boots had flattened the earth so compactly, it was likely to last a long time. But it was littered with leaves and branches, clearly not trod on for a long while. He remembered the path, it had not looked so different the first time he had found it. It had soothed him that though this forest may once have been peopled, it was unlikely that they’d run into trouble.

They. He hadn’t been alone in the memory.

Vague and distant chatter tugged him forward, the line between reality and recollection blurring. He let go of Roach’s reins, trusting her to follow. He surged through the trees, pushing aside branches. Sunlight and grass filtered through the trees.

Spring.

Buttercups, dandelions, daisies, cornflowers.

A laugh ringing in his ears.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.”

The Witcher burst through the line of trees and froze. A field of green grass. It was familiar, but not just from the memory. A shiver down the back of his neck. Dread tightened his chest. His eyes landed on a weeping willow, its leaves pale. He didn’t remember it being here the last time.

Uneasily, he made his way towards it. It sagged so low that Geralt could not quite make out its bark. The pale leaves almost sparkled in the sun from the wetness of the leaves.

The Witcher crouched lower as he got closer, seeing a body through the drooping leaves. His hand hovered over his sword. He stopped before the wall of pallid green. The person behind had not moved, clearly unaware of his presence. He reached a hand out and pulled the leaves away, one hand still on the pommel of his sword.

His eyes landed on the man sitting on the damp grass, leaning back against the tree.

Geralt felt like the air had been punched out of him, body becoming immediately slack.

Wide shoulders. Soft, brown hair. Blue, inquisitive eyes.

“Fuck-“ the word came out sounding more like a sob than anything else, “Jaskier”.

Geralt took two steps forward and collapsed on his knees.  

“Jaskier.” He reached out to touch him, to feel him warm and safe.

He felt nothing. His fingers slipped through.

A shimmer and a blur and the bark of a willow tree.

[eddiemunsonwoofty]

Fix Me - Part Three

Summary: You reach out to the local "freak"/drug dealer for some kind of escape after your mom dies. Turns out he's the escape you needed.

Caution: drug use, talks of death, sex talk.

📝: not much of a note but I've just been inspired. I hope you've liked parts 1&2 so far.

..................................................................................

"Eddie!" I screamed, "You scared me! And stop calling me princess, Geez!"

"Why? It suits you." He said with a toothy smile. "Suits me?" I questioned. "Look at me, do I look like the princess of the school anymore?" You look down at yourself. You are somewhat disgusted by how you look now, compared to just 7 or 8 months ago.

You had really let yourself go. No semblance of a fashion sense. Your hair a wreck, and you kind of smelled. You pause to think of the last time you showered properly. Like full blown good shower. Not the half ass shower you take when dad yells at you for being like this all week. Those showers are tap in, scrub some shit, tap out.

You come back out of your thoughts, still seeing Eddie up against the tree, staring. "What. Munson?" You shouted. "Haven't you ever seen a depressed person in your life?" Eddie stops gawking at you. His toothy smile turns to a frown. "So is that why you hit me up?" He asked. "Yes, Eddie, I'm sad." I plopped myself back on the bench of the table. Eddie came and sat beside me and put his metal lunch box in between us. "I heard about your mom," he said softly, "I'm really sorry about that, y/n."

"So let's spark this baby!" All of a sudden Eddie flings open his lunch box. Sacks upon sacks of pot lay inside. His enthusiasm definitely snapped me back, but then I just wondered how he could fit all that in there. He dug around in his "drug box" for a few moments only to pull out a joint. "Wait a minute," I said to pause him from lighting that thing, "I thought...you know, you were just gonna sell me some and I'd go off and smoke myself."

"Are you kidding me, princess?" He grinned. "This is our first sale, I gotta know if you like my shit first!" "Plus, if you get high with me you can't bust me!" He exclaimed rocking his head back and forth to taunt me. I laughed as he teased me about it. I hadn't laughed in a long time.

How was he making me laugh? No one else ever could. Was it because we weren't close, so what he said didn't matter? What is going on here? Eddie "the freak" Munson and I were getting along?

"Come on, princess...I mean y/n." He said sarcastically, "Take a couple hits, and you'll be fine." He lit the joint, puffed it a couple times, then passed it my way. "Uh...honestly Eddie," I state the obvious, but I am DEFINITELY embarrassed, "I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

"Oh, so your a virgin princess?" Eddie cheesed at me. "Oh my God, Eddie!" I rolled my eyes, but answered him. "Yes, I'm a drug virgin. Now tell me what to do!"

"Uh, well....you just...suck it." He said as his cheeks turned red, realizing what he just said. I ignored what he said, but listened to what he said at the same time. I sucked in...too much! I began to cough uncontrollably. "What the fuck!" I exclaim in between bouts of my coughs. "I forgot to mention, suck...softly..." Eddie bust out in full laughter. He slaps the top of the table. Literally about to hemorrhage from laughter at my expense.

I give him back the joint, "maybe this isn't for me." "No, thats my bad," he says. "I should have went easier on you then just letting you go straight in." He takes the joint, and says "Lean towards me. I'll help you out." He puts the joint to his lips and inhales, and holds it. While still holding in the smoke he says, "Open your mouth."

Huh? Open my mouth? I was so confused, but I did as he said. I leaned in and opened my mouth, a little. He grabbed my chin softly and leaned towards me. I closed my eyes, because what the fuck is going on! I suddenly feel his lips on my lips. Holy shit! Then came the smoke, it filled my mouth and started rolling out of it at the same time. Eddie paused, "breathe in." I did, and he finished. "Hold onto it for a sec or two, princess."

I held the smoke as long as I could, then exhaled. *cough, cough* That time it wasn't so bad. But this guy just planted one on me...didn't he? "Did you just kiss me, munson?" I ask shyly. "Ah, don't flatter yourself, princess, its called a shotgun." He explained, "Its easier to take, huh?" "Um...yeah." I said quietly, I was so embarrassed of how clueless I was.

He hands me the joint back. "Ok, try again, but this time go easy." I did as he said, and it was smoother. We smoked there in silence together after that. The whole thing.

It seemed like no time passed but Eddie suddenly flung that lunch box open again and started searching around. "What are you doing, munson?" I ask. He said, "Well, we've been sitting her for like, an hour, so that shit worked on you." "I'm getting you more." "Uh. I don't think I need anymore. I feel like goo on this picnic table." I state, slowly and in a monotone voice. "Yeah. I know, druggie." He giggled. "This is for tomorrow and the next day, then you can come see me again." He hands me another joint. "Only half a day, doctors orders." He says looking into his lunch box. "How much do i owe you?" "This ones on me. You need it." He starts packing his stuff back in his lunch box. "Let's get you home, princess." He holds out his hand so I can get up. He probably thinks I'm going to collapse to the ground. Honestly, so did I. "I'm okay, Eddie." I slur out. "I can make it home on my own."

"Ha, yeah, okay. I'm gonna take you home." He demands. "You're in no shape over there, ya pot head." Teeth coming straight through that smile again.

We walk out of the woods to the parking lot where he helps me into his old rusty van. "Such a gentleman!" I say sarcastically. He just smiles and shuts the door and walks to the drivers side and gets in. "I live over on rox..." he cuts me off. "I know where you live, don't worry princess, just relax." Seriously. What is with the princess thing. I would've been lying to myself, to say that it wasn't growing on me though. I liked how he said it. It was...kind of hot. Wait a second, how did he know where I lived? I was too high to ask or even think about it more, so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

The ride back to my place was silent. As we got closer, I noticed both my brother and father were home. Dad works until six? What fucking time was it? I look at my watch. 5:15. Hmmm, why is dad home? "Can you drop me at the corner, eddie?" I asked still completely high. I couldn't have Steve or dad see me with Munson. They'd lose their shit. "Sure thing." He says and pulls to the corner down from my house. "Thanks for the afternoon, Munson." I smile at him. "Anytime, princess." He winks at me and smiles as I shut the door and watch him pull away. I walk the rest of the way home. As I walk inside I see my dad and Steve standing there both with stern looks on their faces and they're arms crossed.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, Y/N!" my dad shouts.

"Fuck...!"

[fallingfor-fics]

Teachers Pet-chapter 16: everything’s fine

All chapters

chapter 15

I had just got done in Transfiguration and was headed to Snape's class for our lessons, yawning as I walked down the hallways passing all the students headed to lunch. I was dreadfully tired, I had only gotten 4 hours of sleep and was barely making it through the day. The only things on my mind being sleep and Severus. The conversation we had last night still burned in my mind. Thinking over and over again about him giving me his robes, talking to me, and giving me advice.

 It was such a special moment to me, and now I had to see him after all that and my feelings for him having grown. I didn't think it was possible to fall harder for someone practically overnight, but now I was sure I more than fancied him, It was definitely a whole crush now. A silly schoolgirl crush I should remind myself. I continued to the dungeons and waited for the last few kids to shuffle out of his room. It didn't take them long, kids seemed to hurry out of there as if they were being chased by a dementor or something. I knocked on the open door signaling my presence as I walked in. "Good afternoon Professor." I said smiling and walking over to his desk. He hummed a response and was writing something in a book. After about three minutes of silence he looked up at me, I had taken my seat now and was using my wand to mess around and levitate some of my books to pass the time, I smiled and then looked over and saw he was staring at me with a stern face and they all fell from the air onto my table. "Heh oops" I said, wincing and shrugging my shoulders. "Have you come to play around Ms. L/n or are you here to learn?" he questioned with his usual student voice. "I've come to learn, and it's Y/n!" I said flashing a sarcastic smile, to which he responded with a scowl.

   "For this lesson I'm gonna have you do some chores for me, I need to work and we can study in our evening classes." he said turning back to his book. I frowned realizing we weren't gonna be talking much and got up lazily walking over to him. "Ok, what'll it be? Cauldron cleaning? Potion organizing?" I said in a sarcastic but somewhat respectful tone. "Make yourself busy, I don't have time to look over what needs to be done." He responded as he continued to scribble in his book. I looked at it trying to see what it was, "What ya got there? Is it your diary?" I teased crossing my arms. He looked up at me with an unamused look, "Make. Yourself. Busy." he said sternly. I guess he wasn't in a fun mood today, and he was back to normal ol' Severus. A thought crossed my mind, what if he was being like this because of our conversation last night? And that's why he didn't want to talk to me. I fiddled with my fingers not walking away yet as I continued to ponder on the thought, I felt his eyes on me and I met mine with his. "Can I help you Ms. L/n?" he said clearly not wanting to deal with my antics. "Did I do something wrong? Is it because of last night?" I spat out internally slapping myself for letting my thoughts slip out. He stiffened a bit and his face flashed with an emotion I couldn't put my tongue on, and it was gone before I could guess. "I assure you Ms. L/n it doesn't concern you." I looked at him and he went back to writing, that was bullshit, it may not be about last night, but he definitely has some sort of issue with me. I walked away and walked around the room looking for stuff that needed to be done. There were a few dirty cauldrons so I scrubbed those, his storage closet was still organized from when I had last arranged it, and everything else looked clean enough.

   Hmm, make myself busy he says, I looked over to one of the bookshelves and noticed it was all out of whack, every book had a place, but they were not in any pattern. I figured I could sort them into alphabetical order and began doing so, he had many bookshelves so I figured it wouldn't hurt to just use magic to sort them. I began on the farthest shelf and thirty minutes later I was on the second to last one. Books floating in the air as I found proper places for each of them. I lifted one and noticed its beautiful exterior, it was a rose color and had an anatomical heart on the cover, it was labeled "Amor Promerendae." It was Latin I knew that much, but I didn't remember much Latin, my father had made my sister and I learn at least three languages, but I haven't practiced my Latin in years and I had given up on it,  I looked over at Severus and he wasn't paying me any attention. "Amor" I whispered to myself, well that was obviously love. Any one would guess that, I looked back at Severus and he was still glued to his writing. I walked over to his other shelves trying to find any sort of language dictionary but only found ones for Greek and French. "Sir?" I said looking over at him. "What Ms. L/n?" he said annoyed, "Do you happen to know what the Latin word P-prom-eren-dae? Means" I said, struggling to say it correctly. He looked up for a moment to think, "Earning, I believe" He said going back to work. I thanked him and looked at the book again. "Earning love" I whispered as I opened the book up. As I opened it a flower fell from its pages and to the floor, my eyes went wide and I quickly picked it up and turned my back to Severus to hide my finding. The flower looked like it had been in here for decades maybe. I began to flip through but just as I presumed it was all in Latin. I grabbed my wand off the shelf I had left it on and put it to the pages, I muttered a Translation spell they had taught me at Beauxbatons and the pages quickly turned to English. I flipped through the pages to make sure it worked and stopped when I saw handwriting in the margins of some of the pages. I was very scribbly and barely legible, but some phrases and sentences where underlined and circled, one note read, "failed" hmm strange I looked to the phrase it was written next to "This above all: to thine self be true" Whoever wrote in this must have been having a tough time they were unable to succeed in self love when they were in the process of earning someone else's.

Soon the bell rang starting me and I quickly used magic to put the books on the shelf and looked at Severus, he had gotten up and was writing lessons on the board. I looked at the book and used a shrinking spell and put it in my bra. Quickly walking to the front of the room and grabbing my bag and robes, "Thanks Professor see you in a bit!" I said quickly rushing out of his room not waiting for a response. I rushed to my dormitory and hid the book on the underside of Hera's cage. She stared at me as I did so, "Don't give me that look!" I said rushing back out and heading to DADA.I got in the class as soon as the bell rang and quickly sat down. Things with Harry and I were back to normal and it wasn't awkward any longer. "Good evening class! Today we will be doing something extra fun, so if you will all push the tables to the edges of the room and line up on each side of the room." I stood next to Harry and Ron stood across from us as everyone lined up. "Ok now whoever is across from you will be your partner. I shot a look to Harry and Ron, "No I call r-" I began but was cut off by the hideous professor, "Ahh Y/n I see you are the odd ball out once more I guess that leaves me to be your partner" he said smirking and walking to stand across from me. I shot Harry and look, and he just stifled a laugh.  "Today we will practice the rather simple shielding spell that we studied yesterday. Its incantation is simple, does anyone remember what it is?" "Protego!" one girl said batting her eyes at him. "Yes, very good! Now you will take turns casting light and non harmful spells at one another and using Protego to block them, it's important to be careful and take your time, we don't want to have any incidents." he said looking at me to which I just gave him a sarcastic grin as I folded my arms over my chest.

"Now spread out and begin whenever you are ready" murmurs between students filled the room as they talked with their partners and began practicing. I looked at Lockhart and he stood smiling at me. He raised his wand and I raised mine as well. "You first" he said and I shot him a smirk to which he dropped his smile for a second "Aqua Eructo" I said and water began to spur from the tip of my wand, it shot in his direction, but he thought fast and deflected it with the protection spell. He smiled tensely at me as I gave him a look, hoping he'd catch on, I wasn't going to mess around if he insisted on continuing to single me out. "Good" he said regain his composure, "My turn" he said we raised our wands and I prepared myself. "Vermillious!" he shouted, and red sparks shot from his wand, "Protego!" I said and successfully blocked them. How dare her, that was most certainly not a non harmful spell! It was considered a light dueling spell for that matter! We continued on for the next hour of class.

   The bell rang and this time I hung back as everyone left to confront Lockhart. "What did you think you were doing?" I said as he sat and leaned back into his chair smiling, "That was not an unharmful spell! If I had not blocked it I could have lost an eye!" I said, raising my voice. I had had it with this man. "Oh please Y/n I knew you could block it no problem!" he said, shrugging. "Not when I'm caught off guard by a spell that's dangerous!" he looked at me with dark eyes and stood up, "Ok, here," he quickly raised his wand and my eyes went wide, not ready for what he was going to send my way, out of defense before he could say anything I raised my wand, "Expelliarmus!" I shouted before he could say anything and sent him flying back over his desk. I cupped my mouth realizing what I'd just done, not that it didn't feel amazing. He quickly got up and gave me a dark look. "Professor I didn't mean to, it was out of defense I swear!" I spat out walking over to him. He didn't take his eyes off mine and hovered over me, "Oh thats, quite alright, Y/n. Just be careful, you never know the consequences of your actions." He said in a calm deep tone, it was frightening. "Now you better go, you don't want to be late." He said never taking his eyes off me as I grabbed my things and quickly sped out, mumbling to myself "What on earth does that mean?"

[selene-tempest]

Mud bath.

"Erm..." Selene blinked, not really knowing what to say.

"I know."

"It's just that..."

"I said I know!"

"There's just so much..."

"I get it!"

"That's gonna take some scrubbing."

"I'm aware of that fact," Kayo's curt reply held a definite tone of warning.

Selene couldn't blame her, not really. She was covered from head to toe in mud, the dirt clinging to her skin, soaked into her hair and Selene was pretty sure she'd heard the sound of squelching whenever the other woman moved.

"Do you need any he-"

"I've got it, thanks." Kayo turned her back, walking stiffly from the hangar to the adjoined showers, knowing that Grandma would pitch a fit if any of them traipsed mud up to the main house.

Dismissed, Selene gave up the battle, knowing that Kayo, more than anyone, had moments where she just wanted to be left alone.

-x-

"Anyone seen Kay?" Virgil asked later that night when they were all in the lounge, spread out across the sofas in what Jeff called Sloth mode. Nothing was moving them short of an emergency call, which they all desperately hoped wouldn't happen.

"Not since we got back," Gordon answered. "She said she was pretty tired, maybe she went straight to bed?"

"Without eating?" Selene's inbuilt need to care for those around her pinged into life.

"I'm sure she'll get something if she's hungry," Gordon shrugged, not taking his eyes off the show on the holoscreen.

"Don't be mean," Selene swiped at his shoulder. "How would you like it if you got back and no one fed you?"

"It happens all the time," he protested.

"Not while I'm here," she said firmly. "I'm going to go and check on her."

"Your funeral."

It took her very little time to rustle up some left over mac and cheese and she took it, along with a glass of milk, up to Kayo's room.

She knocked on the door but got no answer.

"Come on, open up, I've brought you some food."

"I'm not hungry," floated through the door.

"Don't give me that shit, you haven't eaten since breakfast."

Nothing.

"It's mac and cheese," she wheedled.

Selene heard a sigh of defeat, followed by shuffling footsteps coming closer to the door.

"I'm warning you now," Kayo said through gritted teeth, "you'd better not laugh."

Selene frowned. What was there to laugh about?

"Promise me."

"Erm... OK, I promise not to laugh."

The door opened slowly, just enough for Selene to squeeze through, slamming shut behind her the moment she was inside the room.

"Where shall I put this..." Selene trailed off, catching sight of Kayo for the first time. "Oh lawd."

"Don't. Laugh."

"I wasn't going to!" Selene slid the tray of food onto the bedside table and turned to get a closer look.

"Yeah, right. I know how it looks, I've looked in the mirror."

"I honestly wasn't going to," Selene assured her. And she hadn't been. Her poor friend didn't need teasing, she needed help. Badly.

Her hair, that beautiful, thick, naturally shiny hair that Selene secretly lusted after but couldn't get without a mountain of products, looked like shit. There, she said it, even if it was just in her own head. It was fluffed up beyond all recognition, a mass of tangles and frizz the likes of which Selene had never seen.

"I'm sorry, I gotta ask..."

Kayo folded her arms, tapping her foot, daring Selene to say something shitty.

"How the hell did that happen?"

"I don't know," Kayo huffed. "I know my ponytail got loose from my helmet, that's never good because it gets all tangled then. Then the band snapped and it was a lost cause."

Selene nodded, she'd had a similar experience with her hair coming out of the back of her jacket while riding on the back of her Dad's motorbike and it had taken her and her mum the best part of an evening and two washes to get it untangled again.

"I've washed it three times, blow dried it and broken a brush on it but it's just made it worse."

"What type of conditioner did you use?"

"The one I always do, the one in the locker room and then mine up here. That one that Grandma buys in bulk."

Selene's eyes widened in horror as her friend described the torment she had just admitted to putting her hair through.

"Generic conditioner? You used generic conditioner? The same shit that Alan uses? That conditioner? And then you tried to brush it out?"

Kayo shrugged.

"What are you, a savage?"

"What else would I do to get tangles out?"

"Oh my gods," Selene clasped her hands over her heart and swayed dramatically. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. How? How could you think that would be OK?"

"It's always been OK every other time."

"No! No don't you dare dismiss it and pretend that you didn't just commit a cardinal hair sin!"

Kayo shrugged again.

Selene pointed at Kayo then the tray of food. "You, you're going to eat that while I go and get some emergency supplies, and then we're going to fix this mess!"

Selene didn't give Kayo a chance to respond, she just swept out of the room, having delivered her orders which she expected to be obeyed. Kayo wanted to argue but knew it was a pointless waste of energy. Her hair felt like straw, she was grumpy and now that the enticing scent of cheesy pasta was permeating the room, she realised she was hungry too.

By the time Selene returned, arms ladened with so many bottles Kayo was sure she had just robbed a salon, she had eaten all of the food, drank half the milk and could admit that she actually felt a bit better.

"Right," Selene declared, dumping her load on the bed and sorting through it. "This is a moisturing shampoo, it's my favourite, the one that Scott keeps stealing. We're going to wash your hair with this and then we're going to slap on this deep conditioning mask and leave it for the full half hour before rinsing."

"Half an hour?" Selene had never heard Kayo sound so shocked.

"Yep, while wearing this." Selene produced something that looked like deflated balloon that had mated with a wedding bouquet.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a swimming cap, ignore the flowers, it'll keep the conditioner in place and create warmth to help it soak in, we'll cover it with a towel, you won't see it."

It took some persuading, but soon Kayo was back with soaking wet hair. Selene helped her to smother her locks in an insane amount of the hair mask and wrestled it into the swimming cap then wrapped her whole head in a towel.

"I feel ridiculous."

"Ypu look it too, but beauty is pain and it'll be worth it in the end."

"I know at least six different ways to kill you without you making a sound, they will never find your body."

"But you wouldn't do that to me, would you? Because then you'd be combing that shit out on your own."

The witch spoke the truth.

"Urghhh," Kayo groaned, refusing to admit defeat but knowing she had to. "This is going to take forever."

"Nah, it won't, don't sweat it. We'll have a girly night. Look, I bought face masks and chocolate too, it'll be great."

There was protests, but Selene quickly bulldozed through them like she always did, going so far as to launch herself at the other woman and sit on her when she tried to escape to lock herself in the bathroom, holding her down while she scrubbed at her face with a cleansing wipe and then painted on the mask. Ignoring her outraged screeching as she flailed her arms in a defensive attack.

The door opened at one point, Gordon and Alan sticking their heads in to make sure everything was OK. In their house screaming was never ignored. They took one look at Selene straddling Kayo, holding a dripping brush between her teeth while Kayo tried to push her hands away, both girls faces smeared in bright green face mud, and backed right out again. Selene didn't blame them.

Kayo looked at Selene, her eyes narrowing as if she were about to shove her onto the floor, but then her lips curved in a smile and she started to laugh.

They both collapsed into manic giggling, unable to stop. The looks on the boys faces ahd been priceless, as had theirs when they had turned to look at the door, pausing in the middle of their fighting.

"Thats going to be all around the island in the next ten minutes," Kayo howled.

"Oh gods, yes. They're never going to let this be forgotten," Selene wheezed, easing up on her friend and rolling sideways to get off her.

By the time their hysterics had subsided Selene gave Kayo permission to wash out her hair.

Over the course of the next two hours Selene smothered Kayo's hair in detangler and painstakingly combed through the now thankfully not so tangled mass, working in tiny sections at a time, from the tip to the roots until she could run the comb smoothly through her hair.

As they worked, with Kayo sat on the floor in front of the bed and Selene perched on the edge behind her, they fell into an easy chatter, sharing the chocolate Selene had brought with her and catching up.

If anyone asked, Selene would say she was closest to the boys, and most definitely Scott, but she counted Kayo as a close friend just the same.

At first meeting the two women had decided that they had very little in common, although they had banded together, two girls in a sea of testosterone that was Tracy Island and had become close pretty quickly.

Selene was more of a girly girl, finding enjoyment in putting on makeup, dressing up in nice clothes and watching weepy movies. Whereas Kayo was a tougher nut. She didn't really like dresses and considered makeup to be a waste of time, but they had worked hard to find a common ground.

Kayo had been used to being the lone girl (apart from Grandma) on the island and Selene often wondered if her mother dying young and her moving to the island where she had had to hold her own with what amounted to a chattering pack of wild monkeys, had stopped her from exploring her feminine side a bit more.

Kayo was great for so many things, she and Selene often spent their workout time together and had found they both shared a curious fascination for real crime documentaries, especially those of a more historical nature like Ted Bundy, The Yorkshire Ripper and the Night Stalker, it was interesting to try to figure out how today's modern technologies could have helped with the cases.

They would be found by John, wide awake in the small hours of the morning, camped out in the lounge with blankets and unhealthy snacks that Kayo would never admit to actually eating, engaged in some debate or other, sharing theories on unsolved cases or giving their opinions on one's that had already been solved.

No, their Kayo could never be described as girly but she was awesome just the same.

As Selene worked Kayo regaled her was the story of the whole sorry rescue from start to finish, starting with the flooding and finishing with all of then wallowing around in knee high muck, slopping around, falling over and basically having a less than relaxing mud bath.

The boys had had it easy, they just needed a quick shower and change of clothes, but Kayo had not been so lucky.

But the time all the tangles were out of her hair and Selene had dried it with the hairdryer she'd borrowed from Virgil's room, both girls were laughing again and with each sweep of the brush through her friends hair Selene felt her tense shoulder relaxing, simply enjoying the feel of someone looking after her for once.

Kayo didn't like being looked after, where the boys were always happy to accept any and all attention, especially if it came in the form of food, hugs or tv buddies, Kayo was more reserved and less likely to seek out company when she felt tired or moody. Selene made a mental note to force her company on her friend more often.

"There, all done," Selene announced, running her fingers through it one more time just because it felt so soft and shiny now that it had had some TLC.

"It actually feels amazing," Kayo admitted, stroke a strand between finger and thumb.

"That's because your heathen head has finally been nourished with something decent."

Kayo ignored that dig as Selene started to gather up her products, leaving some on the bedside table for Kayo to keep.

"There, that wasn't too horrendous was it?"

"So you say," Kayo huffed, but there was just a tiny hint of a smile on her face.

"So you wouldn't want to make this a monthly thing then?"

Kayo rolled her eyes. "Obviously not."

Selene shrugged, turning to pick up her things.

"But, I consider you my friend so, you know, hanging out once a month wouldn't be that much of a chore, but only because you want to."

"Oh, of course," Selene agreed, trying not to laugh.

"So, what now?" Kayo asked, reluctant to admit that it had actually been quite a fun night that she wasn't really ready to end yet.

Selene thought about it for a moment or two. "Wash off this stuff," she pointed to the mask that had long since dried into a flaking, crusty mess, "and then shove the boys off the couch so we can watch the next episode of 'Crimes of Passion, the 80s years'?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Big thanks to @myladykayo for the picture prompt. Not sure what this turned into but I went with it.

[dw-writes]

Candied Harmony - Trevor “Bobby” Wilson x GN!Reader

SO HERE WE ARE!!! This is the fourth and final of the Harmony set!! I hope you guys like this one!! I realize its WAY angsty but??? you know what??? thats okay!!! Let me know what you think!

Based on the fact that the couple in episode 1 of JATP that was there with Reggie, Luke, and Alex ALSO died!!

More Julie and the Phantoms: Phantasmic Depression || Bookstore Harmony || Sunset Harmony || Hollywood Harmony || Candied Harmony || Resonate

You started noticing the guy at the cemetery two weeks ago. For a while, you thought he was just wandering the graves. He dressed like one of those weird goth guys that were at your school, so it almost made sense. But then you trailed after him, and watched him stop at three very specific graves, talking to them, leaving things behind, holding in tears for so long that he often dissolved into coughs and chokes.

You decided to pay them a visit after you were done talking with your brother. His grave wasn’t far from the first one on that guy’s trail – four over and five back, you counted – and it allowed you to see exactly where he stopped.

You left a Ring Pop at the base of your brother’s headstone, telling him that you’d be back tomorrow, and to say hi to his girlfriend for you, then wandered to the first of the three graves. You laughed the moment you saw the guy’s death date.

“What’s so funny?” asked the guy. You whirled around, stumbling over your feet, holding your sides as your breathless giggles continued. He was glaring at you, his fists balled up at his sides. “Stop laughing!” he shouted.

“I’m sorry!” you wheezed. You fell back on your butt, sitting on the mound of dirt on the grave. He lunged forward to yank you to the side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing about him dying!” you managed to get out.

He stared at you, kneeling in the freshly mowed grass around the dirt. “Are you okay?” he slowly asked.

You shook your head. Your laughs continued. “This guy was there with my brother!” you squeaked. You fell back in the grass, covering your face as you dissolved into breathless, trembling cackles. “He was there!” you gasped. Your voice hitched on a hiccup.

The guy sat down. He waited – waited until your laughter faded into faint sobs, waited until those faded into hiccups, and even until those just disappeared completely. You pressed your palms into your eyes and told him your name.

“My friends call me Bobby,” he said. You sat up in time to see his face scrunch. “Called me Bobby,” he corrected. He motioned to the tombstone. “They were my band mates.”

“I read that in the paper,” you mumbled. You sniffed and shoved your hair back out of your face. “My brother and his girlfriend were with them, eating those car motor dogs.”

“I always told them they were terrible,” Bobby muttered.

You snorted faintly. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out another wrapped Ring Pop. “You wanna tell me about ‘em?” you asked. You moved onto your knees and set the Ring Pop at the base of the headstone, right under the dates for Luke Patterson.

Bobby watched you all the while. “Why would you wanna hear that?” he asked. He cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes before you could see them welling with tears.

You plopped onto the grass next to him. “Well, this way I don’t feel so bad telling you about my brother,” you replied. You looked over. “And my therapist said that talking about them said that it helps sometimes.”

So, he got comfortable, and told you all about Luke, Reggie, and Alex, the guys who were practically his family. How they played bookstores, street corners, coffee shops, and bars until someone finally gave them a chance to play on a real stage. How Luke had gotten into it with his mom, and Reggie’s parents were fighting so much they never noticed he was gone, and that Alex’s parents never looked at him the same way after he came out to them. He told you all about the garage they rented from someone and turned it into a studio, and then a loft for all four of them when they couldn’t go home. How they were gonna make it big. How they were gonna live.

“Now it’s just me,” he muttered darkly. He picked up a pebble and threw it at Luke’s headstone. “Fuck!”

You hugged your knees as you watched him. “You said Luke wrote all those songs, right?” you hesitantly asked.

Bobby sniffed, and nodded, scrubbing the sleeve of his coat over his face. “Yeah. Why?”

You shrugged. “Well,” you coughed, “Sunset Curve might be gone, but you can share what they did with everyone.”

He was frowning when you looked back. “What?” He shifted to face you more. “Like steal the music?”

“No, no, not,” you scoffed, “No? You sing them. You play them. You write in the albums and on the track lists which members of the band wrote it. You?” You sighed and shrugged your arms uselessly in front of you. “You make a legacy for them.”

He slumped into himself. “Where do I even start?” he asked after a long while.

You shrugged again. “The beginning?” He shoved your knee for that. You grinned. “What’s the best song?”

“Now or Never,” he answered, “Without question. But it’s a song for all of us to play. I can’t...” He trailed off.

You scooted closer. “Then pick something that you can do,” you whispered, “And make sure that everything they put into it shines.”

He watched you, then bumped his shoulder against yours. “You wanna meet Reggie and Alex?” he softly asked.

You jumped to your feet and held out your hand. “Oh, of course I do!” You jiggled your sweatshirt. “I’ve got enough candy for the both of them.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

i’ve got you

Prompt: support, carrying

Whumpee: Nick Burkhardt

Fandom: Grimm

hi whats up welcome back to me hurting nick!!! i hope u enjoy this fic!

Nick, Hank, and Renard were chasing a man through the woods. This was odd enough as it was, considering that the Captain generally wasn’t the type of person to get quite so physically involved with a case. Never mind the fact that their suspect wasn’t even wesen.

He had killed two wesen, though, which was what had prompted the Captain to get involved. Surely, Nick reflected, jumping over a fallen tree, he hadn’t thought he’d get this involved. 

The suspect was, at the moment, outpacing the three policemen, but his lead was abruptly cut down by his tripping over an exposed root.

Hank took this opportunity to push himself even farther, and within seconds had his arms around the suspect’s waist, about to take him down. 

Right before that happened, Nick caught a glimpse of black metal, and shouted, “gun!” 

There was a bang, and then Nick’s left side was on fire. He crumpled to his knees, his hand gripping his side, already slick with blood. 

“Nick!” he dimly heard Hank shout. 

“Burkhardt,” said Renard, his voice much closer than Hank’s. “Nick.”

Nick looked up at his Captain, and then at Hank, who, he noted with relief, hadn’t been shot, and further, had the suspect in cuffs. “Yeah?” he replied, fighting to keep any indication of pain out of his voice.

Renard didn’t say anything, so Nick let his eyes close for just a second, fighting to remain in control. He could feel the wound pulsing in time with his heart, and he could smell his own blood, feeling it ooze warm and wet down his clothes and across his hand, which still pushed into his side, as though he could hold the blood in by sheer force alone. 

A second later, Renard did speak, but it was nothing good: “damn it,” he said, and he put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “There’s no service. We need to get back to the car.”

“Okay,” Nick said. He could do that. They weren’t that far into the woods...he’d be fine. 

To prove that fact to himself, Nick forced his body to stand up. As soon as he did, his side split open - not really, of course, some part of his brain acknowledged - but it hurt far more than it had before, not to mention how lightheaded he now felt, whether due to standing up so abruptly or blood loss, he didn’t care to know. 

Before either one of those things could cause him to collapse, however, an arm slid under his right arm and around his shoulders, and a hand pressed against his chest, stopping him from falling. 

“Why did you do that?” Renard asked, and Nick shrugged his right shoulder. “We’re going to the car,” he answered. 

“I didn’t mean you.”

Nick’s brain took a second to figure out what that meant. “Leaving me here to die?” he asked, meaning to joke but falling considerably short of that goal. 

“No,” Renard said, seriously. “Only one of us needs to get back to service and call 911.”

Nick shook his head. “Then they’ll have to come all the way in here,” he pointed out. “Better to all go.” 

“You sure?” Renard asked, but Nick could hear in his voice that he agreed.

“Yeah,” Nick said. It was definitely better to get out of here, and better to do it walking, which admittedly sounded like an insurmountable task, but the alternative of being carried sounded far worse. “Let’s go.”

And with that, he started walking. Or tried to. The first step he took brought absolute agony to his side, and he bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from crying out. 

“I’m fine,” he said, before anyone could say anything to the contrary. 

Renard sighed from next to him, and Hank said, “really?” from a few feet away. 

“Let’s just go,” he insisted. 

So they did. Hank led the way, pushing the suspect ahead of him, and Nick and Renard followed, the former supported almost entirely by the Captain, a fact he was loath to admit.

Every step they took felt like he was being shot again, and his left hand clung hard to Renard’s arm, his right still stubbornly pressing against his side, now completely bright red. He felt dizzy, from a combination of blood loss and pain, and he was pretty sure he could taste blood in his mouth. 

He stumbled against a branch, and this time wasn’t quick enough to stop the shout that escaped him.

“You really should-” Renard started to say, but Nick brushed him off, reaching his bloody right hand up to his face to scrub away the tears from his eyes.

Which was a bad idea for a multitude of reasons. The smell of his own blood that he’d been doing his best to ignore was increased tenfold, accentuating the taste of it in his mouth, and he only managed to stop himself from retching by the sheer thought of how much it would hurt. Additionally, the removal of his hand from his wound, though it hadn’t been doing much, did slightly increase the flow of blood down his side, causing him to go even more lightheaded. 

He stopped walking and felt his legs give out from underneath him, letting out an involuntary whimper at the jolt of pain which rocketed through him. He felt the edges of unconsciousness grab at him, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t collapsing, but he wasn’t standing either. 

It took him a second to process what had happened, and by the time he realized that Renard - that the Captain - was now carrying him, it was too late to protest (or maybe it wasn’t, but that was what he told himself. He would have kept walking, otherwise. Definitely). 

He made a startled noise as his only form of protest, and Renard told him, quite kindly, to not bother with that sort of thing.

“I’ve got you, Nick,” he said, the softness of his voice balanced out by his command to “deal with it, and get your hand back on that gunshot, I don’t need you bleeding out.”

“Okay,” Nick agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. He pushed back down on the wound, barely flinching at the additional pain that it brought, having grown almost accustomed to it in the short span of time in which he’d become a gunshot victim. 

“We’re almost there,” he heard the Captain say. “I had Hank go ahead, he’s probably calling 911 right now.”

That’s good, Nick thought, too tired to voice his opinion. He closed his eyes. He could almost ignore the pain, he thought. It would feel so much better to just fall asleep.

He was brought out of that line of thinking momentarily by Hank’s voice, shouting from where he was standing beside the car.

“Ambulance is on the way,” he reported, and Nick forced his eyes back open. He could hold on until then, he decided. He needed to hold on until then. But he was so tired, and everything hurt so much, and it would be so, so nice to have everything fade away...

--

He woke up in a place he thought he was becoming far too familiar with: the hospital. He looked slowly around himself as his mind woke up, reminding him of the unpleasantries he’d recently encountered with a twinge in his side. 

He was alone, was the first thing that he noticed. Which was expected, he figured, checking the time and seeing that it was still working hours. He sighed, and decided to try and fall back asleep, hoping that the next time he woke up, there would be somebody there.

This hope was proved unnecessary by the sound of someone settling into the chair beside his bed. His eyes flew open, and he shot up, then groaned, putting a hand to his side.

Someone else’s hand landed on his arm, and he turned to face them.

“Captain?”

Why on earth was the Captain there? He tried to remember, but the details of his getting shot were still fuzzy in the back of his mind. Maybe he needs me for a case, Nick thought.

“You alright?”

He blinked in surprise. That hadn’t been what he’d expected Renard to say.

“Burkhardt?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Sorry,” he added, though he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was apologizing for.

“Good,” Renard said, and the two fell into an awkward silence. 

“Juliette’s here,” he added, finally. “She went to the cafeteria to get some coffee, she’ll be back soon.”

Nick nodded. He wanted to see her, make sure she hadn’t been too worried, let her fret over him and touch him and reassure him that he was really okay. For the moment, however, he really wanted to sleep. 

“Will she-”

“She’ll still be here when you wake up,” the Captain said, and Nick wondered briefly whether he could read minds, before focusing on the more important part of that statement and once again closing his eyes.

He faintly heard Renard get up and say something like, “I’ll be back tomorrow,” which he didn’t quite believe, and then he let himself drift back to sleep.

Ok this ending was so so bad and i feel like i’ve kinda done scenes like that to death lmao,,,oh well idk what else to do so thats what you get. Hope you enjoyed this and thanks for reading!!

[merlination]

Tagged

30 questions tag game!

I was tagged by my everlasting crush @dollopheadsandclotpoles. Thank you for thinking of me.

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 10 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better.

Name/Nickname: Danny

Gender: Female

Star sign: Piesces. 

Height: 178 cm

Time: 10:43pm

Birthday: March 13th

Favorite Bands: Queen

Favorite Solo artists: fav? Cant think of one right now, sorry

Song stuck in my head: Chasing cars - Snow Patrol

Last movie: To the bone on Netflix

Last Show: currently watching Castle, the last show I watched completely was LBC 2

When did I create this blog: March 31th 2013 (thats the first post at least)

What do I post: have a guess ;) 

Last thing googled: diy lemon sugar scrub (and it turned out well)

Other blogs: ff rec blog @talesofcamelot and a chaos named @imdefyinggravity (and yeah Anja is to blame for this mess)

Do I get asks: From Nic and Anja, and those make me damn happy

Why I chose my url: well Merlin. I needed to come up with something, because the one I wanted, was already taken. 

Following: 193

Followers: a few, and those make me damn happy. Thank you

Average hours of sleep: 7-8

Lucky number: 13

Instruments: completely untalented

What am I wearing: comfy clothes

Dream job: no idea

Dream trip: Scotland

Favorite food: does chocolate count?

Nationality: german

Favorite song: Bohemian Rhapsody, thats a masterpiece, hands down

Last book read: Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: middle earth - LOTR, Soul Society - Bleach, hm and the Star Trek Universe is kinda cool.

I’m tagging once again @clotpoleincamelot, @pendragaryen, @sircolinmorgan,  @bellamyblakru and @three--rings (only if you want, obviously)

[dontasktheradiodemon]

I Love You (3/14/2021)

Buddy I don’t even need to summarize this thread, I can just tag it with tropes like it’s a fic, here watch me go: #angst #hurt/comfort #anguished declarations of love #tw depression #tw suicidal ideation

Immediate sequel to this thread but reading it is optional. Basically, it’s nearly impossible to spend very long in Hell without developing a guilt complex and fantasizing about whether it’d be better to stop being; Alastor and Telly @usedhearts open up to each other about theirs.

Frankly it’s a startling display of mutual emotional vulnerability and I’m proud of them both.

Sir Pentious

whenever he came back from that, what did he do

cause it said he went right to telly so 👀

Alastor

Initially? Probably just tracked him down in whatever he was currently doing and went “can I hold you”

Sorta, holding it together by a thread barely

Sir Pentious

telly probably noticed but just 'yes' and let him Hold Him no matter how grimy he was at the time

Alastor

And he’ll be content with that for about three minutes before that one thread starts fraying and he goes “... can you hold me”

Sir Pentious

thats all it takes for him to coil around alastor and hold him Tight

Alastor

Curls up tight in him and sobs on his shoulder.

Sir Pentious

telly just holds him TIGHTER

makes little comforting/soothing sounds

he doesnt know why he's upset but he will be there for him

Alastor

They’re just both gonna be grimy and that’s Fine.

Sir Pentious

so very grimy

they can take baths later

Alastor

When he’s finally capable of attempting coherent speech again the first thing he’s gonna get out is “I never, ever, ever want to leave you.”

Sir Pentious

telly just takes his face in one hand and cradles it so gently and just 'ok, alright, you don't have to.'

give him a kiss

forehead kiss bc he's probably snotty

Alastor

He’s definitely snotty. He’s full on ugly sobbing.

Sir Pentious

oh hes probably not smiling huh

i think thats probably the first time telly sees that

Alastor

NOPE, he lost that sometime while he was hiding in Telly’s shoulder.

First time Telly’s seen him with the mask off

Sir Pentious

god thats got him WORRIED and he just HUGS HIM AGAIN NICE AND TIGHT AND COILED

telly: ive got you. ive got you, im here, it's alright...

Alastor

He’s just gonna keep clinging as hard as he can, he got out One sentence and now he’s sobbing too hard to talk again.

It’s a lot of radio static and feedback noise

Sir Pentious

telly is just going to KEEP HOLDING HIM god himself couldnt pry this snake off this deer and would get bitten and injected with venom for trying

Alastor

He’ll gradually stop sobbing and the shaking will decrease to shivering

Sir Pentious

telly's just going to hold him through it all, pet his hair, massage at the base of his ears, everything he can do to soothe him

Alastor

Mumbles his gratitude and an apology for interrupting telly’s work

Sir Pentious

telly: no no don't apologize. i love you and i want to be here for you. my work will still be there. id much rather know that you're alright and have it be interrupted than you be upset or hurting and you not come to me for fear of interrupting me.

Alastor

Mumble mumble he could have handled it himself

Sir Pentious

telly: i don't _want_ you to have to handle it yourself. i'm here for you, alastor. i want you to know that you can come to me whenever you need me and i'll be here.

Alastor

Tries to say three different things but chokes on them all and just wheezes out another thanks.

Sir Pentious

he just gets a squeeze and a kiss to the nearest him surface

Alastor

He keeps holding on until he can get a small, tired smile fixed back on his face, and then he pulls back to say “Thanks” again.

Sir Pentious

he gets another forehead kiss and then telly gonna lead him to the bathroom and they are taking a BATH they are now both covered in grim AND snot

Alastor

You know, that’s fair. Bath time. Strips down to boxers, climbs in with Telly, and Clings again. ... and sorry about Telly’s clothes, he’ll clean them before the snot fossilizes

Sir Pentious

Those were his dirty work clothes, it's fine, the Eggs will wash them. But it is BATHTIME, and they are both getting a scrubbing. Moreso Telly than Alastor tho.

Alastor

... can Alastor get a scrubbing too

Sir Pentious

Absolutely!

A softer scrubbing than Telly gets

Alastor

He’s going all jelly-eyed again. It’s ok he’s fine.

Sir Pentious

He gets a nice wash cloth and a nice gently scented soap, and a boyfriend to hum to him as he kinda reverently cleans him.

Alastor

He gets self-conscious SO fast, he’s gonna hold his breath and slide under the water. It’s fine he’s fine

Sir Pentious

Telly just smiles and giggles bc that's cute, you're cute Alastor. Probably wraps his tail tip around Alastor's ankle to gently and playfully tug him thru the water.

Alastor

!!! Grabs Telly’s wrists to pull him down into the water.

Sir Pentious

Now they're both underwater!! Gonna tussle with a sea serpent in his natural element, huh, Alastor!! Play time, silly mode ACTIVATED

Alastor

GOOD he’s ready to wrestle. He’s trying not to laugh, he doesn’t want to inhale water.

Sir Pentious

Time to PLAY and WRASSLE!!

Tumbling and splashing and a big grinning snake!!

Alastor

Alastor’s got a surefire way to win this wrestling match! He’s gonna GRAPPLE THE SNAKE COMPLETELY. ... basically he’s just hugging him. Hi.

Sir Pentious

Grapple the snake and the snake grapples back. Now you're wrapped in a tail Alastor, and getting a mermaid kiss.

Alastor

Oh no, what shall he do. This definitely wasn’t his plan. Totally wasn’t. Not at all. Nope.

Sir Pentious

Kiss kiss fall in love, and he's rising up out of the water, because he wants that mouth OPEN for TONGUE.

Alastor

When they get out of the water, Alastor breaks the kiss—sorry, not going for tongue this time

Sir Pentious

Telly blinks and just brief pouting, but holds him close all the same. Kisses cheek instead.

Alastor

“Sorry. Just... tired.” Considering he sobbed about half the liquid out of his body earlier,

Sir Pentious

Wipes the wet hair off his forehead and then kisses it. "That's fine. Come on then, lets get out and dry off. Would you like a snack before bed?"

Alastor

“I need a drink. Not a drink-drink, just a drink. Fluids.”

Sir Pentious

"Of course. I'll get you some water, once we dry off."

Alastor

A nod. He’s still in a quiet mood.

Sir Pentious

Telly gonna carry him out of the bath and set him on a rug. Get towel and start drying him

Alastor gets dried first because Telly Must Care For Him.

Alastor

He puts up a token struggle against this but okay as long as he goes next.

Sir Pentious

He will. Alastor gets handed a Towel and offered his pick of head or tail.

Alastor

Head this time.

Sir Pentious

He Offers Himself on Alastor's drying alter.

Alastor

Alastor Shall Dry This Offering. And while he does he says hesitatingly, “You don’t have to ask if you don’t want to. But you can if you want.” Because it’s been weighing heavily on him as Really Fucking Weird that he just unloaded a hurricane on Telly’s nice jacket and at no point did Telly ask what that was all about

Sir Pentious

He considers it and shrugs a little. "That depends: Do you want to tell me, or would you rather not tonight?"

Alastor

He has to think about it a moment. “I think you should know.”

Sir Pentious

"Alright. Then tell me."

Alastor

Thinks about it; but then just keeps drying.

Sir Pentious

Telly just looks up at him and blinks. "Well?"

Alastor

Stops drying again. “You’re sure?” Listen, this is hard to share,

Sir Pentious

"Yes. If it had you that upset and you say that I _should_ know, then I would like to know."

Alastor

He shouldn’t have said that. He wraps the towel around Telly, hugs him, and sighs. Okay.

Sir Pentious

He's just going to lay there on the rug with Alastor, and the towel wrapped around him. And state with his big ole eyes.

Alastor

No... Not the big ole eyes... That makes this harder. He’s gotta look away. “I... don’t want to be... here.” YEAH ALASTOR GREAT START, SUPER CLEAR, RADIO HOST OF THE YEAR

Sir Pentious

A very confused furrowed brow. "Meaning what?"

Alastor

“In Hell. In—existence.” He swallows hard. “Hell wears you down. It—rubs your soul raw. It sandpapers you off a bit at a time. And I’m—I’m tired.”

Sir Pentious

A soft, concerned look and a hand cupping his face. "Oh, love...I can understand that feeling. I'm...I'm tired too. It is very tiring. Before I met Hel, I'd been close to giving up entirely. And then before I met you, I'd been ready to check myself into that hotel, just to see if it was possible. Something to change the tedium...."

Alastor

“I spend so much of my time going on walks. I don’t have anything else to do but go on walks.” He covers Telly’s hand with his own so he can press into it and shuts his eyes. “Almost every year, I wonder whether this is going to be the year that I decide to go for a walk when the angels come.”

Sir Pentious

And his heart clenches so tightly in his chest. "Don't." The word is soft and unbidden, desperate.

"There have been many a year where I've felt the same...where I thought it would be better to just end it. But I didn't. Mostly out of spite, but that can only get you so far. I like having love to live for better. Or exist for. Neither of us are living." A dry, bitter, short chuckle.

Alastor

His heart skips a beat at the word, so pronounced he flinches at the odd th-thump. Still not used to those. “I won’t. *I never want to leave you.*” He pulls Telly close. “And you’ll stay here?”

Sir Pentious

"I will." It's a promise, a swear, and he can't help but sit up to kiss him, at least once. "Don't leave me and I'll stay here, too."

Alastor

Alastor returns the kiss; it’s not a formal pact with magic and all, but it feels like one. “Then we’ll both stay.” He presses his forehead to Telly’s, eyes still shut. “It’s... heavy, though.”

Sir Pentious

"I know. Damn it, do I _know_. Humans like us, we weren't meant to be eternal. It _fucks_ with us, especially knowing that we've already died. But you have me now. And I have you. And if we share our loads, it won't seem as heavy." He may be crying, just a bit, and luckily only from the face eyes.

Alastor

“Knowing we’ve died—and knowing we aren’t *worth* eternity. I know I’m not. I know Hell is a punishment, but—sometimes it feels so *generous.*”

But he nods, slightly, with their heads still together. “But—I have you and you have me. And good God, am I glad I do.”

Sir Pentious

"I understand. I know exactly what you mean." Sighs and wraps his arms around him.

"I'm glad to have you too. I...I love you." A small kiss.

Alastor

"I love you, too." And it hurts like hellfire to say. It's the thing keeping him chained here, and it's also such a part of the reason why Hell hurts at all.

He presses his face to Telly's shoulder; this time, at least, his crying is quiet.

Sir Pentious

His breath catches and the tears come again, more freely. He can feel the eyes on his tail beginning to leak as well, can't control it in the moment. Telly's arms wrap more tightly around Alastor, and one of his hands moves up to stroke and card through his hair. He squeezes his eyes (on his face) shut again, he shakes with quiet sobs, holding Alastor to him as if everything depended on keeping him close.

Alastor

He holds Telly just as tightly, an arm around his back and an arm around his shoulders. Guilt twists in him at being the one to make Telly cry; but Alastor’s not crying hard, this time around he can support Telly through his sobbing.

Sir Pentious

They're not hard sobs, instead soft little things, hiccups more like, and along with them comes a soft chorus of "Love you, love you, love you." The amount of emotions that are roiling around inside of him, who knows if the crying is sadness, happiness, or something else. But there is an overabundance and he is letting it out.

Alastor

And Alastor will keep supporting him until it’s all out, the same way Telly did earlier. He briefly lowers one hand to Telly’s tail and gently tugs, encouraging him to coil around Alastor if he wants. He can deal with a dozen eyes crying on him.

Sir Pentious

The tail barely needs any encouragement, it is up and coiling in an instant, squeezing Alastor's lower half. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely very tight. Telly doesn't take too long to calm, the tears stopping and his breathing evening out. Then he's just breathing deeply against Alastor, still holding him tight, but with less desperation.

Alastor

Alastor rubs Telly’s back as the tears slowly stop coming. Once Telly’s breathing has steadied, Alastor murmurs, “How do you feel?”

Sir Pentious

"I'm not sure. I'm happy, but tired, and sad that you felt so tired, too."

Alastor

“I don’t want you to be sad on my behalf.” He sighs quietly. “But if there’s happiness in there too...”

Sir Pentious

"I can't help it, I love you, and knowing that you hurt, it hurts me too. But that's not to say 'don't tell me when you're hurting' because I _want_ to know. So that I can help if I can. Or just hold you, if that's what you need. But I'm happy because you love me, and you're here with me, and we can help each other. And that is what's most important, more than anything." A soft sigh in return, and a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

Alastor

“That’s the worst part of this whole thing, isn’t it? We’ve got to carry each other’s pain on top of our own—and then we feel guilty for paining each other.” Alastor laughs ruefully. “But I’m here for you. For whatever damage control we can do.” He returns the kiss.

Sir Pentious

"It's quite something: you want your love to not hurt, but then your hurt hurts them, and they don't want you to hurt, but their hurt hurts you, and it's just another fucking ouroboros." He laughs, a bit of a hysterical tinge to it. "But I'll endure it. For you."

Alastor

“I’ve always thought there was something beautiful in the image of devouring oneself alive.” There wasn’t anything beautiful in *this,* but maybe he could find it. “I will, too. As long as I give you more happiness than unhappiness.”

Sir Pentious

Telly pulls back just a tad, enough to see Alastor's face. He cups it and kisses him, pressing their foreheads together again. "You already have."

Alastor

“Make sure I keep it up.” He cupped Telly’s face as well, running his thumbs over his cheeks. “We’ve only just gotten started, and there’s a long eternity ahead of us.”

Sir Pentious

"I will. I hold you to that." A bit of a smirk, and he's uncoiling, and grabbing the towel again. "I'm mostly dry but still a little damp. Let's finish up and get some water, _I'm_ thirsty now too."

Alastor

Huff. “*Right.* Of course.” He retrieves the towel he’d wrapped around Telly’s shoulders and helps, taking special care with the tear streaks around his many eyes. “We can try out another one of your herbal teas, see if this’ll be the one I like. I can whip up something or other to go with it.”

Sir Pentious

Telly smiles and finishes drying, before taking Alastor's hand. He kisses it and then wraps it around his arm to start slithering towards the kitchen. "Anything in particular you want to try tonight? Or should I just try and pick something that I think you'll perhaps like?"

Alastor

“Whatever you want. It still all tastes like fruity tea to me.” He laughs self-consciously. “I’ll get there.”

Sir Pentious

"Maybe something with some citrus? For a zest? I have a few mixes like that." They are now in the kitchen and Telly's going to get the kettle on and then dig around for the teas.

Alastor

“Sure, I could use some zest.” He starts rummaging around to see what he can make that goes with something citrusy. He’s got this place pretty well outfitted by now, if he says so himself.

Sir Pentious

"Alright, I have a green tea with orange, clove, and ginger. It's very tasty, has a good bite." He hummed as he got out the clear pot that he'd used before, and two cups.

Alastor

Green tea, what goes with green tea? He’s got no idea what goes with green tea. He can slap together some tea sandwiches that go with orange, clove, and ginger, though. “How does chicken sound?” And perhaps a more important question: “When did you last eat?”

Sir Pentious

Cue him pausing as his brain starts to work, trying to remember. "Ahhh...this morning? Breakfast, yes, I think that was when." Oh look how concentrated he is on pouring the water into the pot he is now.

Alastor

Maybe something a bit more substantial than a rinkydink tea sandwich, then. “Would you say that tea’s more clove-y or ginger-y?

Sir Pentious

He lifts the dried tea to his mouth to blelele and hums. "More clove-y."

Alastor

“Then let’s make that beef instead of chicken. Compliments it better without having to toss in a dozen other spices—and we don’t want to overpower the tea, do we...” He presumes they don’t want to, anyway. He checks the fridge to see what they’ve got on hand. Watch out, he’s switching into Cooking Mode.

Sir Pentious

Telly loves when he switches into cooking mode. He's just going to move the cups and the pot to the table and then settle in to watch.

Alastor

Okay, keep it simple—he grabbed some roast beef, onions, watercress, mayo, and some odds and ends to mix into the mayo that will *hopefully* compliment the tea, passing each ingredient one by one to his shadow to find a place for on the counter. Alastor swoops by Telly to give him a quick squeezing hug on his way to start prepping sandwiches—maybe a slightly longer hug. Maybe he’ll linger here a moment.

Sir Pentious

Oh! A hug, yes, a hug is good. Get that snake purring like an engine. He's very tempted to coil but he won't, he's getting hungry just watching.

Alastor

Okay, no, no getting emotional. Twice in one day is enough. He’s got fancy mayo to prepare. He lets go and hurries to the counter. “So. What’s... What were you working on earlier?” Don’t mind if his voice is a little rough, it’s fine.

Sir Pentious

"Oh, just more repairs. Installing new parts and making some delicate calibrations that the Eggs can't handle." He's watching Alastor and not even paying attention to the tea, that's gonna seep for a good while.

Alastor

“I ought to take an evening or two to help out with repairs.” He’s talking as much to himself as to Telly. “I keep coming over and *watching,* there’s no reason I can’t pick up a wrench or screwdriver and pitch in.”

Sir Pentious

"I'd love for you to help, I can get instruct you what to do just fine, I know how capable you are." A smile, and then he's re-noticing the tea and pouring a cup. Adds a little honey for sweetness and takes a satisfied sip.

Alastor

He passes over the first sandwich. “If it goes horribly with the tea: I’m sorry, forgive me, I did my best, it’s not my fault.”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs. "I'm sure it will be fine, Alastor." He takes the sandwich and bites, and then takes a sip of tea, and then makes a very surprised and delighted noise. "Oh, that tastes wonderful."

Alastor

“Good!” He finishes his own, takes a bite—good—and pours some tea for himself to try—well, it still tastes like tea, but like, at least a tea that pairs well with the sandwich. “The good news is I think I’m starting to differentiate the taste of green tea from other teas.”

Sir Pentious

A smile. "Good! I'm glad. Maybe you're acquiring the taste for tea, at least a bit." A wink, and then he's back to eating. He finishes it far, far too fast-- Telly really does just inhale his food when propriety isn't a factor-- and then he's just sipping his tea. His tail slides over to curl around Alastor's calf.

Alastor

Alastor's taken two bites. He pauses before the third. "... Do you want another sandwich?"

Sir Pentious

Oh, shy snake look, and then a little nod. "Yes, please." And his tail retracts to let Alastor move.

Alastor

He waves his shadow over to do it and nudges Telly's tail with his foot. He's staying put.

Sir Pentious

Oh! Good, the tail is curling back around and holding him, and he smiles just so fond and bright. And another sip of tea.

Alastor

Alastor returns the smile—it still looks tired, but it’s just a little warmer when he meets Telly’s gaze. “I’m sorry I threw you off your schedule today.” Such as it was; Alastor was getting the distinct impression that Telly’s schedule was *however much I can get done today in as many hours as I can keep working.* “I’ll help you get back on track. And next time it’s your turn to have an emotional breakdown, all right?”

Sir Pentious

He laughs softly, and reaches over to take Alastor's hand, thumb stroking gently. "Alright, but you have to mop up after." A snicker.

Alastor

Alastor squeezed Telly’s hand. “It’s a deal.”

Sir Pentious

He hums and takes another sip of his tea, not letting go of Alastor's hand. "Is my other sandwich done?"

Alastor

Alastor glances over.

His shadow is just, sorta, standing there, awkwardly, holding a sandwich, watching this tender moment. Heyyy.

Alastor gestures. Go on, put the man’s sandwich down.

Sir Pentious

And he is devouring the sandwich, very happily. A contented snake.

Alastor

Well, for all Alastor’s flaws, at least he can help keep one snake fed—and that’s something, isn’t it? He continues eating his own sandwich. It’s a little awkward with one hand, but right now nothing could make him let go of Telly.

[weeniewrites]

Lost Connections

Zombie Kenma x g/n reader part 2 

part 1

1.8k words

tw: animal death (kenma eats a rat), descriptions of a panic attack, gore, general unsanitary things

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There’s so many things to ask him. How’d you get here? How’d you get hurt? Where’s Kuroo? But 

1. How would you even make that a yes or no question? and

2. Isn’t that rude? 

For now you’ll swallow the temptation, the ever present temptation, and pretend that those thoughts don’t exist. Continuing your antisocial rat shut in of a life with the addition of a much rattier appearing friend. Speaking of,

“Kenma, do you wanna clean up? There’s a river near here and it might feel better?”

His head lifts his from his staring contest with the floor, looking blankly at you.

“Right, too much at once. It’s hard to limit what you say when you’re not used to talking you know?” A head tilt

“Yeah I suppose I’m preaching to the choir. You can’t really talk anymore can you Kenma?” Unresponsive

....

Geez. Sometimes he really does feel like a corpse, he is one but, there’s those moments he’s more expressive. It feels like he’s actually understanding you. Right now you might as well be talking to the wall.

“You still there Kenma? Didn’t decide to actually kick the bucket this time?”

A nod

“Okay that settles it. We’re going out.” There’s no point in keeping him here, tied up like some animal if he gets nothing out of it, not because you haven’t cleaned up this space in a while and his general stench isn’t helping, but because he’s just, not moving as much and the silence without him shifting around is unsettling. How you’ve gotten so used to having another  occupant in your space so quickly is beyond you.

But how to go about this. There haven’t been any mishaps besides that initial misunderstanding with the shushing, and his discomfort with wearing a gag (assuming that's what that was?), how could you travel with him and stay safe despite his slower pace... hmm...

“Actually, wait here. I’ll be out for a bit, gotta check something.”

You grab your pack of essentials, paranoidly checking that the handle of your bat hasn’t started cracking or something since the last time you used it and wave him goodbye, leaving him alone for the first time.

GOD you reek! It made sense why you couldn’t clean off last time. Somehow you haven’t turned into a human zit despite the crusted blood from the last zombies you downed. You certainly don’t smell like you’re ready to entertain company, not that Kenma cares.

You’d fallen out of the habit of patrolling, realizing how fruitless it was when as a single person you could just hide, not needing constant supply runs like your previous group. But if you were going to take Kenma out you needed to make sure no undead would get in the way. Could another zombie make him more aggressive, like those ones in the hoards? Maybe they instinctively group up for strength. How does a virus give a corpse instincts anyway? You shake your head to get those unanswerable questions out of your head for the second time today.

    The towns dead silent, absolutely nothing creeping out on your usual path. The new found knowledge that they can indeed smell has planted a new worry that you’ll somehow draw them out just by existing. Your footsteps are quiet from ages of practice and the chatter of birds easily drowns you out. Your only company is the usual animals and the corpses you’ve already dispatched, decaying at an increased rate now that they’re finally gone for good. You... really need new pants. Kenma needs new clothes too with how torn up and gore covered his own are. You shiver. It’s hard to avoid thinking of how painful whatever happened to him must’ve been, whether in life or death.

    So new clothes. The houses along the street are fairly intact, only general wear from the elements affecting them. None of them look boarded up but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be inside. You can handle a couple undead, a living person would be a whole ‘nother ordeal. But it’s not exactly hard to pants a zombie. A squishy squishy ooze of a previous person covered in a buzzing layer of insects. You’ve got this. Risking an encounter alive or dead by breaking into  a house isn’t worth it. So just, pants. the zombie.

Considering you crushed the head, its bottoms are fairly clean. Please don't be commando, pleaaaase don’t be commando please- you squeeze your eyes shut, grab the ends of the pants legs and pull, removing it in one surprisingly smooth go. YES, it's wearing underwear! Nothing to see besides, oh god it shit itself, god thats, ew ew ew ew ew WHY DID YOU THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA! Into the plastic bag it goes. Hightailing it to the river is sounding more appealing by the second

Stepping carefully around the edge to find a shallow slow moving area is easy enough, though the rocks crunching underfoot make you cringe. Kneeling at the side, you rinse your hands off before you even dare touch your bag to grab the soap. Geez it's a relief to start to feel clean. Have you been neglecting that? First the space you sleep, now your body, avoiding going out out of fear of the few undead you ever see. File that away for later, focus on the now. Around the nail beds, under the nails, stripping off a shirt, get the pits, dunk your hair in, carefully scrubbing where the crusted blood’s basically sealed to your skin. Pants, underwear, socks, walk in fully and try to focus. Can’t get lost in your thoughts with an overwhelming full body chill forcing you to stay in the here and now, fully aware of your body and where you are. A slower moving part of a river, in a nice forested area, in the middle of the day. Surrounded by birds' songs and squirrels running around you. Bugs skip along the water's surface and twigs and leaves rush past you in the faster paced sections.

After a few minutes spent standing there, steadily getting colder, you move on to washing everything you wore there as well as what you took from the zombie. The pants look like they’ll fit Kenma? The waist is a drawstring one at least. It's calm repetitive work. There’s satisfaction in allowing yourself to be outside, clean and present.

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    Your clothes are still wet as you make your way back but they’ll probably dry before you get home... probably. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Kenma and you’re getting antsy, both from nerves and curiosity if he’ll even be willing to change into new pants. At least you’d have a spare now.

    Creaking the door open, you’re about to announce your presence but pause at the sound of rapid shuffling and creaking metal. It’s so dark compared to outside that even with squinting it's hard to fully make out what's going on inside but his limbs are scrabbling, flailing in their attempts to pull him across the floor. The rope around his neck and chest is more taught than you ever hoped to see it. The pipe he’s tied to creaks under a surprising amount of strain. Throwing caution to the wind you rush in, able to more clearly make out the growling and huffing he makes in his efforts to, scratch that, success in catching a rat that was scurrying past him. His hand latches into the poor thing, nails biting into the flesh. Before you can even react it’s between his teeth, tearing in as it squeals, flails, attempts to scratch back as its last twitches of life leave. He’s ravenous, the one pupil blown out as gore coats his face from his small feast. And then, once every ounce of gamey meat is gone, he stills, not reacting to the blood dripping off his face and fingers or to you.

    Slow breathing. Slow steady breathing. You need to stay calm. Need to either run out of here or close the door before the smell of blood attracts something else. Slow breathing, steady breathing so he won’t hear. Stay. Absolutely. Calm. One step back. Two steps back. Three-

Kenma’s returned to staring at the floor, fingers tracing patterns in the places he’d scratched before.

Four? Your heart is pounding but this behavior, it's predictable, a little different, much different with the scent of blood in the air but its, he attacked a rat. He didn’t attack you but he could but he didn’t but he hasn't, not even while you’re asleep he hasn’t. He hasn’t tried to hurt you once just BREATH.

You don’t notice him staring at you as you slide to the floor and shudder and cry.

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The sun has started setting by the time your panic attack reaches its end, the floor wet under your ass from your clothing. Shivering from the aftershocks of adrenaline as well as the cold you stumble up to slide the door closed. The air is crisp and almost fresh inside now. Too tired to berate yourself, you cross the room to your blanket pile across from Kenma, grab two, and pull it without the motivation to pick it up, instead letting it drag behind you.

    “Kenma” you croak “I’m about to do something really stupid, so don’t, don’t break my trust okay. You don’t want to hurt me?” He nods, no hesitation. “Then hold still.”

    The blankets are dropped a few feet away from him and you kneel at his side for the first time since tending to his wrist. Palms open, approaching slowly, your arms enter his reach to undo the first knot. The rope slides away from him easily and you shimmy if off just enough to dump it on the floor beside him.

    “I don’t know if you get cold I don’t, I don’t care just, here.” You present a blanket to him and want to cry all over again when he doesn’t react. Why would he. What part of him even remembers what it's for. Idiot. He twitches as you start to wrap it around him but otherwise obeys your request. Still. He’s staying still.

    His head tilts as you wrap yourself in a blanket too, plopping ungracefully to the floor next to his good side. Energy finally running out with no dinner to speak of, you lean on his shoulder and enter a restless sleep.

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    It’s always hard to get motivated to get up. Nothing to look forward to. No change, just the dull monotony of survival, fear, and paranoia. Why get up. Why wake up at all? There’s a crick in your neck and you grumble at the pain as you shimmy a little closer to whatever your head is resting on, readjusting to be more comfortable. In your barely conscious state you can’t catch the way Kenma’s eyes move from the door to you, before continuing his stare down with the one entrance inside.

You fall back asleep easily, morning can wait until later.

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