#this is kind of killing two birds with one stone because I’m writing more fic and I needed some real sprites

[catatonicatnap]

Huge spoilers for Ghost Trick endgame in the sprite edits below. Proceed at your own risk!

Sissel-as-Yomiel's sprites are really expressive, so it bothered me right from the start that his cat sprite really... isn't. Here's my interpretations of all his sprites in cat form! Can you guess which one's which? (I tell you the answers in the alt text, so it's not that hard of a game! 😅)

Bonus: I doodled little Sissels to draft what I wanted each sprite to look like and I'm just really happy I got to draw a bunch of cats.

[iratetourist]

study buddy // eddie munson x reader

featuring my fave eddie gif 🥰

summary: eddie munson wasn’t much of a good study buddy, but he had other ways to make it up to you… 👅 aka eddie’s tongue is a bit of a menace

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: idk girlies i wrote it on my phone, it’s not too long

author’s note: this man got me so obsessed that i wrote a fic for the first time in nearly a decade because of him… so this shit is ROUGH (sowwy) and the concept kind of got away from me, but regardless, i had fun just writing away for a few hours!! also, if any of the formatting is off, i apologize, like i said, i’m only just getting back into this lmao

warnings: a little sauciness, nothing explicit, only lightly implied

________________

“So, of course, I was thinking that if I introduced, like, a… a dragon-blooded drow priestess, the entire idea would come together so well. I think I want her dragon lineage to be a secret, though—”

You nodded absentmindedly at your boyfriend’s random D&D musings, humming at him in response, though a small, contented smile rested on your face as you listened and flipped through the textbook on your lap. Eddie, completely enraptured within ideas for his next campaign, continued to ramble from his spot lying next to you on the floor, his own textbook having long been tossed God-knows-where and his papers scribbled with D&D notes.

“Dustin would lose his goddamn mind at the reveal, I bet, but would still probably try to recruit her even if she killed off half the party—” Eddie shot up instantaneously at that, yet another idea that had to be written down dawning upon him.

Needless to say, this studying session wasn’t exactly proving to be successful.

Sighing, you set your book to the side and just watched him for a few moments. It was difficult to be annoyed at him when he was talking about far more interesting things than anything your textbooks had to offer and was this hyped up, because frankly, it was downright adorable. Not an adjective pretty much anyone would use to describe Eddie Munson, but entirely applicable right now, in your expert opinion as his girlfriend.

He had a contagious smile plastered on his face, his dimples deeply on display… a boyish sparkle of excitement to his eyes… his curly hair splayed wildly across his face, and his hand was writing away a mile a minute as he attempted to get out every idea he had before it disappeared. Every few seconds, he would look up at you and his face would light up just that much brighter, and you could feel your heart ache all the more, and it took everything in your power not practically pounce on him.

It was the way he was so comfortable with you, so happy to have you just be with him and listen to any and all passionate rants and ravings he had, that you wanted nothing more than to just grab him and go at it right then and there—

But no! You had come here, to his trailer, with the express intent to study while spending time with him. You hadn’t gotten to see each other that much over the past few weeks, what with studying for finals, so you figured, two birds, one stone - you both could get some studying done while getting a chance to chill and catch up with each other…

…Yeah, you’re not really sure how you convinced yourself this would work.

Inevitably, Eddie Munson didn’t give much of a shit about studying when he had barely seen his girlfriend for three weeks and you both were alone in his trailer. You couldn’t exactly blame him (you weren’t feeling particularly studious yourself that late afternoon, among other things), but the fact was you promised yourself you would at least finish reviewing up to Chapter 31 of your physics textbook before you let him… uh, actively distract you too much.

And yet, you were only barely done reading through to Chapter 16, and had already been there for three and a half hours. Oops?

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you made a new promise to yourself: at least get to Chapter 20 today, that’s it. You could do that, easily - only four more chapters to go, and you knew the eighteenth was shorter than most. Perfectly attainable goal.

Then you heard a groan to your side, and opened your eyes to find Eddie stretching his arms high above his head, muscles taut and tattoos enticingly on display. Add the fact that his tongue - it was always that goddamn tongue of his - was sticking the slightest bit out past his lips, running along them, and you felt every bit of resolve you had just mustered flush out of your system in an instant, only to be replaced by an immediate surge of heat and longing. You exhaled forcibly, but couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

When he opened a single eye a second later at the sound, he gave you a long, knowing smirk and then changed his stretching position, throwing one arm across the opposite shoulder and pressing his hand to his elbow, making sure to go slow as he did so.

“See something ya like, sweetheart?”

Oh, good Christ, you didn’t know how long you could keep this up, not when he brought in the nicknames. Looking down, you saw a flash of his smooth skin, the briefest peek of toned abs, as his shirt riled up from the action, and your mind went blank yet again. Your eyes shot up to his, and you could feel your cheeks flush instantly at the cocky glimmer in his own - caught red-handed and by God was he revelling in it.

Stupid cute, annoying boyfriend… he knew exactly what he was doing and you both hated and loved him for it.

“I… I need…” You could barely swallow down your embarrassment at how breathy your voice came out. Coughing a bit, you shifted a little away from him, and then purposefully grabbed your textbook and made a show of sticking your nose in it. “I need to finish reading… um, this… yeah. At least… to Chapter 20.”

Wow, super convincing, Y/N, good job.

Eddie’s smirk only grew that much more smug at your strained tone. Oh, he liked a bit of challenge.

Crawling over to you, he leaned his head down on your lap, turning so he was looking directly up at you through the window your textbook made. “Hm…” He ran a hand up the back of your forearm, sparking goosebumps across your skin, and reached for your textbook. “I think what we both need is a bit of a break, don’tcha think?”

Despite the increasingly distracting mood, you couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. The warm sound reverberated through your body, and Eddie swallowed thickly, trying to keep his own composure - were it not for the fact that he was trying to wind you up as much as possible first, he would have hiked you over his shoulder at that and taken you to the bedroom. But… not yet, not yet.

“Tell me, Eddie Munson, how do think you’ve earned a break, considering I know for a fact you haven’t read past chapter three in that textbook of yours?” Passively, you began to play with the ends of his hair - you knew he loved that more than he was willing to admit.

Eddie put on a fake pout at that, pressing a hand to his heart. “Y/N, you wound me!” he began, running his tongue across his lower lip again. Despite your best efforts, you once again found your eyes trailing after it, and the shiver that ran through you at that was quite acutely felt by man laying beneath you, earning yet another self-satisfied smirk. Good God, you were gonna let him have it…

“I have spent the the better part of nearly four hours tirelessly working out potential ideas for our next D&D campaign, and you don’t believe that warrants a nice, long break? Well, I’ll be damned. I think I more than deserve it…” He pushed himself up at this, knocking the textbook you were very much so just staring blankly at out of the way, before nudging you to the ground, hovering atop you.

That goddamned smug grin of his grew that much more at how easily you let him do so, and the sight stoked further at the coiling sensation in your gut. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear, a husky whisper leaving his mouth, “…and I think you require it.”

“Mm, you think so, do you?” Your hands came up to ghost your nails down his back, and he let out a throaty noise at the contact, causing a cheeky smile of your own to grace your features. “Well, I think what you require is just one good thing to really focus on…”

“Just say the word, sweetheart,” he breathed, turning from your ear to drag his lips across your jaw and down your neck, pressing hot kisses to the exposed flesh.

You felt a hand snake its way up your shirt, and smiled to yourself before reaching down and running a your thumb across his chin and up to his lips, pulling his face to yours. He peered up at you - eyes dark and half-lidded, tongue, as always, poking past his lips oh-so temptingly - and you knew he was utterly at your command.

“I suppose this,” you whispered, brushing your fingertips lightly across the blade of his tongue, “could be put to better use than just teasing me.”

And that was all it took before he was crushing his mouth against yours, pressing that distracting tongue of his to your quite receptive own.

The suddenness and force of the kiss caused a broken moan to leave you, and whatever cheeky resolve you had left began to succumb to the greater desire to just be close to him. Reaching up, you eagerly threaded your fingers into his long hair and gave it a quick, sharp tug, and a stuttered breath fell from Eddie’s lips.

“Fuck…” His eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, savouring the sensation, before a wicked grin broke out on his face and he shifted himself downwards, pressing kisses down your much-too-clothed body.

Settling just before the hem of your pants, he hooked his thumbs in your belt loops, and then proceeded to flash you a look from between your legs that had your heart skipping a beat and your toes curling in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, love, this tongue has more than one way to go about teasing you…”

…And just like that, it was safe to say that you didn’t bother getting anymore studying done that particular afternoon.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Messy Gifts

AN: Hi, lovelies. This is my entry for the Happy Hoelidays challenge by @navybrat817 @stargazingfangirl18 ad @drabblewithfrannybarnes. At the bottom you will find my recipe card. Dialogue prompts are in bold.

This is my first time writing for Andy, and in fact my first non-Marvel fic since I recommenced fan fiction earlier this year.

Beta'd by the wonderful @christywantspizza who appears to be beta-ing nearly everything coming out of the Thot Neighbourhood Discord Server

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Find my Masterlist here

Not suitable for minors, as usual.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Wordcount: 2.6k

CW: Cheating (technically), Angst, Needy Andy, Smut (inc unprotected sex, although Reader is probably on birth control, but not explicitly stated), unrequited love, hopeful ending.

Messy Gifts

“Hey sweetheart. What’s going on here?”

A deep, syrupy voice broke through your concentration, making you jump. You span around, clutching the piece of card to your chest, like it could shield you, but you relaxed when you saw who it was. Your boyfriend, Andy.

“Jeez, Andy, you scared me!”

He moved towards you, looping his arms around your waist and drawing you in close, unheeding of the gold glitter on your cheek that rubbed off onto his tie.

“I’m sorry, but you did leave the door unlocked.”

He looked at you with a slight frown, his thumb coming up to swipe away a smear of red paint off your nose.

“You really should be more careful, baby girl. Anyone could walk in.”

“I’m sorry. I swear I’ll be more careful.” You reached up, on your toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the tickle of his full beard against your chin and cheeks. “And as to what I’ve been doing, just some festive crafting.”

You moved to the side, so he could see the fruits of your labour. Card, glitter, and pom-poms littered the table. As a kindergarten teacher, you always had to try out your various projects for the kids at home before carrying them out with your class. And, to kill two birds with one stone, you had more decorations for your house.

Andy took a step forward, lifting up a star headband made from gold card and covered in glitter. He had a small smile on his face, but it didn’t meet his eyes. You pressed up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He was thinking about Jacob. You remembered when the boy had been in your class, all those years ago. He had played the Angel Gabriel in the school Nativity that year, wearing a similar headband to the one in Andy’s hand. And now he was lying in the hospital, still comatose from the accident with Laurie.

And Laurie herself. She had physically recovered, but all of the stress has caused some kind of mental break within her. Andy had tried, he really had, but in the end the best thing for her, and for him, was to place her in an institution. The prognosis wasn’t good. It was unlikely that she’d ever fully return from whatever mental space she now occupied, which led you to your current quandary.

In the wake of all those traumatic events, you’d stopped by the Barber house to offer a friendly face. You’d always remembered Jacob, he’d been a joy to teach. So you’d offered Andy a few kind words, brought him a lasagne so he’d have something easy just to heat up, and then made your good-byes.

But the universe had a strange sense of humour, because from that point on it seemed as though you were always running into him. In the grocery store, in the coffee shop, in the library. The stares from other people made you mad. The judgement, and the ‘holier than thou’ attitude levelled at a man who had gone through something so awful. So you’d always made a point to sit with him, or at least pass the time of day. You wanted him to know he had a friend.

Then came the night that he’d popped by to return your lasagne dish. You’d invited him in for a coffee, which had turned into him staying for a takeaway and some wine. Which had transitioned into watching a film together, and then the next moment he had been kissing you. And you knew it was wrong. He was married, but he’d never divorce her, nor would he ever really be with her again. He visited Jacob every day, but from your previous conversations you knew his visits to Laurie were much less frequent. You’d never probed much, but you knew he was lonely in that big house all on his own.

The kiss hadn’t lasted long. He’d pulled away, mumbled his excuses and left. You’d thought that was it, the end of your fledgling friendship, but, like the plot of a cheesy rom com, he’d returned to your house a few nights later, the rain pouring outside and him, soaked to the skin. When you opened the door, Andy had stared at you for a couple of heartbeats, eyes dark, water dripping down his nose, his hair and beard plastered to his face. Then he took your face in his hands and kissed you again.

But this hadn’t been the kiss of a man who was lonely and confused about his feelings. This had been the kiss of a man feral with need and when you’d grabbed onto his sopping shirt and pulled him in closer it was like a dam had burst. He’d pressed you backwards, kicked your front door shut and eased you down, taking you right there on your hallway floor. And you wouldn’t, couldn’t, regret it.

The pair of you had been more circumspect since. This town didn’t need any more fodder for the gossip mill, and it wouldn’t look good for the kindergarten teacher to be dating a married man, despite the extenuating circumstances. Still, Andy still came over nearly every night, sneaking in to avoid prying eyes, and you were thankful that you lived on the edge of town, in a less densely populated area. You’d offered to come to him, but he’d told you he preferred it at yours, and you understood what hadn’t been said.

Here, in your house, he could forget for a bit. Not be constantly reminded of the trauma he was suffering. Over the last few months a lot of his clothes had migrated here, taking up half your meagre closet space, but you didn’t mind.

Returning to the present, you pulled yourself away from Andy’s back and started to clear up your mess. He moved, absent-mindedly, to sit on your couch, still holding the headband, lost in his memories. You didn’t disturb him. He’d come back to you at some point, he always did.

That moment came about half an hour later. You’d started to prepare dinner, when he came up behind you, arms around your waist and his head resting on your shoulder.

“Mmmmm, smells delicious baby.”

“Just doing a meatloaf.”

“I didn’t mean dinner.”

He pressed a kiss behind your ear, before giving a small nip to your lobe. You giggled and playfully swatted at him, making him laugh, before he untangled himself to get a beer from the fridge and set the table.

That night he made love to you sweetly and gently, a touch of melancholy about him, and a plan started to form in your mind as to how to cheer him up.

A week later, 7 days before Christmas, your plans had come to fruition. You’d always been artistic, a skill that served you well in your job, but this was your best work yet.

Upstairs, in your guest room-come-painting studio, you’d once again had not heard Andy enter the house.

“Sweetheart, you did it again, you left the door unl-”

You turned, a cry of surprise leaving your lips as you tried to shield the canvas with your body.

“No, you can’t see, it’s not done yet and it’s for Christmas…”

Your efforts to hide his gift were fruitless as Andy easily moved you out of the way.

And just stared…

The scene on the canvas had not come from a specific photo, just your memory and snippets of all the pictures you could find. A younger Jacob, in his nativity outfit, being held aloft by Andy, both of them smiling and laughing.

Andy clamped a hand over his mouth, and you could see the tears swimming in his blue eyes as he turned to look at you.

“You made this for me?”

“Merry Christmas?”

You were hit with a wave of uncertainty, now unsure as to whether this had been a good idea or not. Would it actually make him happy, or would it make him feel even worse? You watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Look… Andy, I’m so sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but…”

You tried to apologise for your completely off base gift idea, but your words were cut off, suddenly, by Andy’s mouth on yours, his large body crushing yours up against the wall. The kiss was demanding, Andy taking from you what he wanted, what he needed. And you let him. Because it was what you did. Giving him solace in a world that appeared to have taken everything from him. The last time he had been like this was that very first night, driven by pain and barely the restrained undercurrent of violence, seeking something to cancel it all out.

You opened your mouth to him, letting him inside, hitching a leg over one of his thighs so he could press in closer. He hands scrambled at your flannel shirt desperate to remove it, some of the buttons falling victim to his haste. You helped him, by pulling it down your arms, discarding it to the side. His lips never left yours as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his own shirt, whilst you pushed down your yoga pants.

You pulled at his belt, unzipping his fly, and you were glad he had already removed his shoes at the door. With the pair of you now clad only in your underwear, Andy gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you with ease, and you clung on with your arms and legs. He rushed through to your bedroom, still kissing you like he would suffocate if he stopped, crashing down onto the bed on top of you.

Your legs were still wrapped around his waist and your hips jerked up to rub along his length, despite the two layers of clothing still between you. His hands palmed at your breasts through your soft cotton bra, and his lips finally left yours, but only so they could trail down your jaw and your neck, nipping and sucking with aggressive need. You arched up in response, offering yourself to him, mewling his name, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

His mouth trailed down your skin, sucking at one of your breasts through the fabric, pushing the cup down on the other side so he could pluck at and roll the nipple.

“Fuck!”

He pulled back with a shout, tugging at your bra, until he managed to remove it from you, before latching back onto your breast. A hand, large and calloused, stroked down your ribcage, across your abdomen, and eased under the elastic of your panties. His fingers slid into your folds, smearing around the evidence of your arousal, before he pressed two of them, so thick, inside your pussy. His rough thumb settled on your clit, rubbing practised circles onto it.

It never failed to amaze you how this man had easily found every sweet spot on your body. He could play you like an instrument and you knew he revelled in watching you fall apart under his touch. So you never tried to fight it, just gave into the pleasure spiralling through you, until you were writhing and screaming as your muscles clenched and your mind soared.

Given the mood he was in, the lust that had taken over his mind, you knew bringing you to one shattering orgasm wasn’t going to be enough for Andy. You were still recovering, panting and shaking, as he slid down your body, pulling your panties off as if the fabric offended him. Despite your sensitivity, he latched his mouth over you, sucking your clit into the wet warmth of his mouth and you almost came straight away, given how you still throbbed.

His fingers dug into your upper thighs, and you knew you would have bruises in the morning. Only the pair of you would know they were there and that knowledge sent a thrill through you, making you jerk your hips.

“Fuck sweetheart!”

His voice was muffled against your cunt.

“Do it again, fuck my face! I want you to take what you want from me.”

His beard burned your thighs and your pussy lips as he continued to suckle on your nub, and the friction was delicious. Your hands made their way down so your fingers could tangle in his hair, pulling tightly to give you the leverage you desired. You could feel how wet you were, how your juices were soaking into Andy’s beard. And it was intoxicating. You didn’t think it could get any better, and then he slid one of his fingers back inside you, pressing on your g-spot from the inside, and torturing your clit on the outside.

“Shit! Andy! Fuck! Gonna cum…gonna cum again!”

You could feel the pressure building inside you and you screamed as it burst. You felt a rush of fluid between your legs, heard a grunt of surprise from Andy before he moaned and sucked you harder through your climax.

As you collapsed back on the bed Andy surged up your body, beard drenched with your release. He captured your mouth again and you could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue.

“Look at that mess you made….”

His voice was deep and gruff.

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

He kissed you again, deep and passionate and you felt his cock, thick and heavy on your thigh as he shimmied out of his boxers. You slid a leg up one of his, hooking it over his hip.

“Andy, baby, please.”

“I know, honey, I know.”

He took hold of himself, guided his way to your entrance, and sank in with a groan. You enjoyed the stretch, every single time. No-one had ever made you feel the way Andy did. Your other leg came up, drawing him in closer, no space between to show where you ended and he began.

He pressed kisses to your neck as he started to move, rocking into your sensitive body, whispering endearments to you, telling you how happy you made him, how wonderful you were. His movements sped up, but he still maintained that precise angle, the one he had perfected to ensure you could come when he’s inside you like this. And you knew he could feel you clenching him, from the punched out moans that made it past his lips as he rambled his feelings at you.

His hips ground in circles, his groin rubbing over your clit, bringing you to your third orgasm, and through the dizzying sensations you felt him swell inside you, his movements stuttering before he spilt into you, a sound almost like a roar leaving him as he buried his head into the side of your neck.

You kept him enfolded in your body, stroking his hair and pressing kisses to wherever you could reach as he came back to himself. You loved him, you’d known it for a while. You didn’t know if he felt the same, although it was evident that he cared for you very much, at least. So you would continue to hold him, love him, be there for him, through this most difficult stage of his life.

You may never get exactly what you’ve always dreamed of, but you would accept that, for now at least, he needed you. That no-one else could do this for him. Be this for him. It was a gift you were allowing yourself, this feeling of being wanted and needed, and you tried not to think of how messy the inevitable end would be.

You realised Andy had fallen asleep, his body half covering yours, arms tight around your waist, head resting on your shoulder, and you let yourself believe that all this was enough.

Before succumbing to sleep yourself, you pressed a final kiss to his temple.

“I love you, Andy.”

Maybe, just maybe, you saw him smile in his sleep.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Hi! So, um,, I know this isn't something you should ask a writer so please feel free to ignore this. I was wondering,, , your "the white wolves" story has brought me so much joy and I am grateful that you wrote it! I was just wondering, if you're not going to finish it (this isn't meant to pressure you. If you don't want to finish it that is 100% fine and your choice and I'm thankful for the five chapters you gave us!!!) so, anyway, I was wondering what the conclusion was going to be? If you're comfortable answering that. If not, that's absolutely fine of course and I'm sorry for asking.

Thank you so much for your lovely stories and I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Okay first off, we're totally cool don't even worry about it. I am always touched people still care about and think about an unfinished piece from like 10 months ago. And now that I have seen that it's almost been a year I feel it is important to point out that while this fic has clearly been physically abandoned, it has not been emotionally. Or Else I would not have spent the last hour pacing back and forth angrily lamenting that I do not have more hands. I do not want to provide you with an unsatisfactory summary in an undercut about how the story was going to unfold. It is not that I mind sharing these details - I have done so to others who have asked. It's just that admitting something I still love so dearly may never get done hurts.

Hopefully one day I will find that voice again.

Spoilers for a fic that will (probably) never get finished under the cut. It is 2.6k and includes most of the final section.

The next sequence in the story is them all taking a nap on the side of the road. Jaskier gets up and calls Yennifer for help. Do you know that part in the books where Yennifer saves Dandelion and he doesn't know why? Because I owed you one. You kept him from being alone. I think about that alot. I think that's why she comes. Not then. She meets them at the keep in a few days time. She is too tired to arrive before then.

There is a scene of the four of them in an inn. Of Ciri, afraid to sleep least she destroy the inn like she destroyed that forested grove. We have a moment when he looks at candle on the inn nightstand and remembers a inn fire that almost killed him and how he hadn't wanted to sleep in an inn ever again. (I foreshadowed it. It's allowed. I once read that Regis saved Dandelion from an inn fire. I thought it was canon. I know its not. I think. I only ever read the short stories. They sit on my shelf. One day I'll read them.) He understands. Still he tucks her in and tells her it will be alright. That is the empty words of adults who lie to children that they think do not know better. No. It is the empty words of a bard whose job is to write lullabies that get children to bed on time. Besides it will be fine. Even if things go bad, we will be with you the entire time.

These are the two scenes I largely blame for the fact I stopped writing this fic. I got stuck on Yennifer's conversation and then wasn't sure how to get that inn scene to actually play out. Anyway. Back to the part you were actually asking about. What's the deal with the wolves? Both of them.

They arrive at the keep. They are greeted and loved and yeered at and pestered. Jaskier is nervous and concerned as he eyes the silver in their blades. It is strange they believe the doppler. But he was a very good Doppler. He digs his fingers into white fur. Remember you promised. You promised you were him. Don't let it be a lie.

And oh I have lost the voice but they are in the great hall with Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert and Geralt and Geralt and Yennifer. She peers into his eyes and does not reveal him. Silver medallions brush against skin and he does not flinch or melt. Geralt of Rivia is Geralt of Rivia. Of this there is no doubt.

The conversation turns to Ciri and Jaskier quietly slips out. It is snowing, just a few flurries on the still air. The wolf flows him to the room they set their bags in. Geralt's room.

This was not how it was meant to go. This is not how it was meant to go. Yennifer was supposed to look at the doppler and then at him and go what the hell and they would slip away and break the curse on the wolf - on Geralt. And they would quietly change hands. The Doppler into the wolf. The wolf into Geralt. Ciri would not know of the quiet deception they had pulled. The magicians trick with revolving mirrors.

Because clearly the doppler loved them. Because clearly the doppler had chosen them. Do you ever think about how in the short story Geralt is ready to kill the doppler that wears his face and it knows this because it is also him so it turns into Dandelion. Because he Knows Geralt would never hurt Dandelion? It's falling in with a lie. It is so easy to in love with a lie. Jaskier knows this.

It was supposed to be like this. Laying in a bed in the Keep with a white wolf next to him. Playing ballads for Geralt and Yennifer and Ciri and not hurting. Because he'd lay next to the wolf at night and bury his face in its fur. And in the spring they would run off to the coast together. You can wear a different face, whatever one you'd like, and will prove to you again and again that I still love you.

I am good at loving people. You know this about me. I might not be able to love you first. That might be why you love me. Because I loved Geralt of Rivia first. So completely that whatever motive you had you abandoned for the sake of it. For the taste of it. I know what it is like to want so desperately to be loved. Wearing different faces and personalities in the chance that someone might.

I know that very well.

But unlike you I'm always still just Jaskier.

The wolf slips in the door behind him.

Jaskier rounds on him. 'What the actual fuck? What the fuck are you? You Promised me. You Promised me you were him." The medallion bounces off his chest and he hates it. Rips it from his neck and brandishes it like a weapon. "I kept this for you! I thought you were him! You promised me you were him! What are you?! I told you I would help you even if you weren't him! Why?!"

The circle of the medallion cuts into his hand.

"Is this funny to you? Bringing me all the way up here and making me look a fool?! Making me watch Geralt picker her Again? Is this funny to you? You and this sadistic game?!"

And he throws the medallion. It hits the wolf dead on. Hit's his bowed forehead. Right between the eyes. Just in front of his flattened ears.

He has always been a good shot.

It is snowing outside. Just a few more flurries. The winter stretches out, immeasurably long in front of him.

He knows who Geralt chooses. That those 'I love you's are lies. No. Not lies. Geralt did not mean to lie. Not intentional. But it was so easy when your heart is broken to bury yourself in someone that does. Love you. Drowning men love life boats but they'd much rather be on the ship that cast them out.

He knows. It exactly what he was doing too.

I love you doppler. I could love you too.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

"I can't do this." There is a bag in his hand. A case. "I can't do this."

There is a whine but he does not hear it as he rushes out the door. He can't do this. Down the stone hall. Wind whips through a hairline fracture in the Keeps walls and cuts his cheeks red where they are wet. He can't do this. Out the doors. Through the large wooden gates. He can't do this.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

In the great hall a sickening feeling curdles in Geralt's gut. Honestly its seeing Yennifer again. This is all so wildly out of hand. Even if he knows they need her. That Ciri needs her.

"It's startin' to snow. Your idiot better come back soon."

"What?" He turned to Lambert who had curled up in a mountain of blankets in the window nearest the fire.

"Said it's starting to snow, dumbass."

"No the other part."

"Peacock left a while ago. Think he had the right idea. If I'd know she was coming I'd have stayed down south."

"What?" Snow was coming down hard. Big wet flakes. Could hardly see the keep walls through them. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!"

He shrugged. "His dog went after him."

His gut does a funny thing then. It eases in relief before his brain catches up and yanks tight in terror.

The wolf went after Jaskier.

Jaskier is alone.

With the wolf.

In a snow storm.

Jaskier is is alone in a snow storm. He walks down the mountain alone. As he knew he would. Why did he think it would be any different this time? Why does he never learn? He is a fool.

The wind picks up. The snow buries the path. He huddles in a protected alcove and wishes he'd been thinking clearly enough to steal one of Geralt's cloaks. Just to be petty.

He is probably going to freeze on this mountain. Walking down it alone. He might die. But even if he doesn't something will have died. Something in his chest that he cradled like wounded bird.

How many times must you touch fire, how many times must you be burned before you learn? How many times Jaskier? How many times?

He pulled his doublet tighter around him.

Just the one more time it seemed. Just once more.

Barking. Just one voice barking. Barking into the snow and wind in the distance.

Are you looking for your pack? Did you get lost? Separated? I hope they find you. I hope they answer you. I wish I had a pack to call out to.

The snow drifts down in heavy blankets and there is nothing to do but sleep. All he wants to do is sleep.

There is warmth in his dreams. Heavy and warm and soft and reeking of wet dog and something deeper. Something less domesticated and tame.

"You found him?"

Geralt's voice. Deep and soft. Reaches him. Buried in the snow. Cruel and kind in equal measure. To make him hear that voice before he, probably, dies.

"... Thank you."

There is a gasp. He recognizes it. That shocked little inhale of Geralt's.

"I think... That druid overpaid."

He wakes up to a stone ceiling. To thick and heavy furs covering him. to a wolf pressed into his side. To a man known as the white wolf pressed into the other.

Words will find him soon. But for now they are held back by a dam of confusion and exhaustion.

Geralt reaches an arm over him and scratches at the wolf's forehead. "Hm." Got it. The hum says. The same one he uses when Jaskier reminds him to pick something up in town. Hm. Got it.

The dam breaks.

"Oh so you're just okay with each other now? Everything is hunky dory? Jaskier goes out into a snow storm and you drag him - Unwillingly mind you - back here and now you're best fucking friends?! Well it's not all A-O-Kay over here so perhaps you might let me up so I can demand Yennifer do me the solid of getting me out of this godforsaken keep?" He wiggled under the mountain of blankets that held him captive.

"Wha-" Geralt's hand pressed down on his chest. Preventing escape.

"Or you know just go back to the love of your life, take your one goddamn blessing and leave me be!"

"Jask-"

"Oh don't give me that- you're gonna run right off after Yennifer and we both know it and you," Glared. Bared his teeth at the wolf. "Are a lying manipulative bastard and I hope she turns you into a gnat or a pigeon or - or something!"

"Jaskier!"

His jaw clicked closed. He did not soften his gaze.

"We- He - it's not. He didn't lie."

He scowled harder at Geralt.

"You remember that druid Ciri told you I helped?"

"... Vaguely."

A woman and woman who was not her wife. But was. In his story, in his song, he would tell it as if she was.

You saved my heart, I don't know what I'd have done if she. She. Witcher how can I ever repay you?

What food do you have on you?

Uh.

Fine. We don't have time. Don't tell them which way have gone.

No that's not- perhaps the law of su-

No. No. Lie. That will be enough.

It's not!

"He," Nodded to the wolf. "Was how she decided to pay."

He studied Geralt. Then the wolf. Their matching golden eyes.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Geralt grimaced. Hair falling over his face. "He's a familiar. She made him for me. Of me."

He studied the wolf again, distrustingly. "How does that work?"

Shrugged a shoulder. "You'd have to ask Yen."

"Don't care that much." He tried to wave his hand and the idea off but couldn't get it free from the covers. "Shouldn't you have known then? If he's made of you?"

"We weren't... connected. You have to. Touch."

"Oh and she thought you'd just go out of your way to touch a big white wolf? Honestly what was the plan there? You'd have just killed the damn thing."

"Mhmm."

"Seriously what kind of mad man goes out and pets a two hundred pound wolf? Could have at least tied a note to its neck for explanation before setting it loose on the countryside, wandering around looking for you."

"It wasn't..." He hummed his prodding question. "Looking for me. That's not what it was supposed to do."

"And pray tell what was it supposed to do?"

Geralt was quiet. The charged quiet that said he knew the answer but didn't want to tell him.

Eventually. With a fair bit of glaring and wiggling on his part, he answered.

"She was repaying the favor."

"Oh and what's that supposed to mean?! What you saved her partner and she sent the wolf to go out and save yours?" He scoffed. "What did she magic you 'a white wolf to protect your heart when you could not?' as you did for her? Is that it? Absolutely absurd, I wouldn't write that drivel."

Neither Geralt met his eye.

"Geralt...?"

"That's..." He ducked his head. "Hm."

Right.

"But then why-"

A wolf appears in the darkness. All white fur and golden eyes. Protects him from the bandits. Brings him a rabbit when his stomach growls.

I love you Jaskier. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize.

They lay on the bedroll and Geralt kisses him like a thousand drunken kisses. Like a thousand sober ones. And the wolf follows after Ciri and comforts her when they cannot.

The wolf seeks him out in that ruined clearing while Geralt cradles Ciri. While Geralt debates with Yennifer and Vesemir over Ciri's fate. Her training.

I love you Jaskier.

Protect his heart, white wolf, when he cannot.

"Oh."

He let his head fall to the side. Watched Geralt watch him with those golden eyes he had memorized decades ago. Listened to the sound of his breathing that was more familiar than his own.

"Tell me again."

Geralt cocked his head a fraction. Brow furrowed in confusion.

"Tell me again, what I did not believe. If it is true. Tell me again. Geralt of Rivia."

"Tell you...?"

"I love you, Geralt. Despite all sense and reason. Do not lie to me. Do not pretend if I am fated to walk down that mountain alone again. Do not lie to me."

His eyes widened. He pushed himself up and over him. Caged him in his muscular, scarred arms. Shoved the wolf aside.

It grumbled. Huffed. Walked out of the room. Towards Ciri. Towards his heart.

"Jaskier. I love you." He said again.

And this time. This time he believed him.

"Then, You absolute fool and dullard." With only Geralt to hold him down he worked his arms free. Held Geralt's head in his hands. Traced the stubble of his jaw that he could, if he needed to, shave blind. From memory alone. "Kiss me. I have waited long enough."

Geralt leaned down and did.

He remembered the barking of a single wolf. It's howls into the storm. Searching for its pack.

I hope your pack finds you. He wished to its unseen form.

Mine did.

[salmon-sushi]

woops | aobajohsai & fem!reader

summary: Iwaizumi’s day isn’t as bad as he thinks, especially with his friends.

genre: crack(?), just teenagers being teenagers, also platonic relationships!

words: 2.1k

a/n: this piece is largely inspired by @akasuns​‘s amazing manager!fic and i just couldn’t resist writing something for seijoh boys! thank you very much to @dokifluffs​ for giving me helpful advices and proofreading this! i hope you enjoy my first piece aha mwah 🥺🥺💕💕

index

The crispy cold, the mist-ridden foggy morning and the melodious whistle of the winter birds makes the winter morning most charming, in Iwaizumi’s honest opinion. Icicles glittering from barren tree branches in the sunrays, light reflecting off the icy ground and bringing crystalline joys to pedestrians such as himself as he walks to school. Nuzzling his face into his red woolen scarf, Iwaizumi huffs when the frozen air delicately nips on his nose. The warmth of his scarf makes him even drowsier than before and Iwaizumi allows himself to close his eyes for a little bit.

But this is clearly a mistake as he fails to notice the slippery surface of an unsuspecting puddle. He opens his eyes in shock, and he is falling. It suddenly feels like 10 years of his life are gone as he lays, groaning in pain on the wet stone pavement, his heart racing in his chest as his nose and forehead burn. It didn’t help that he is suddenly hyper aware of the people walking nearby him with their footsteps becoming audibly louder than before.

Is he embarrassed that he fell on his face? Yeah. But he’s glad that none of the other pedestrians are bothered to help him up. Sure, he heard some snickers and giggles here and there, but he doesn’t mind it, knowing that he isn’t going to meet any of those people after this.

At least, that’s what he thinks until he sees you, his club manager and classmate, looking at him with a worried face and ready to fret over him.

“Don’t come here! I can handle this alone!” he screams in his mind while giving you the sharpest glare he could muster, hoping that you would get the message.

However, you are already used to all of his glares. You ignore his scowl and run towards him with your hands already rummaging the inside of your bag for a tissue to help him wipe his wet face. Before Iwaizumi could warn you not to run, you suddenly feel your body shifting forward, your legs no longer supporting your body. To your horror, your bag’s contents are sent flying towards Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi cringes as your body drops with a thud, your heart pounding loudly against your chest and you can feel the adrenaline rush in your legs. He merely stares at you when you slowly lift your beet red face to meet his subtly panicked eyes as if to say, “See what happens when you don’t mind your own business?”

You can feel your cheeks grow warmer as you press your lips into a thin line. Covering them with your ice cold hands in an attempt to cool down, you stare back at him with teary eyes, “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan!”

Time feels much longer as you stare at each other, until the both of you pale when you hear two familiar voices approaching, discussing intensely about the latest episode of their favourite variety show that airs every weekend on the local television channel as the sound of their footsteps grow closer. “Out of all the people here, why is it always them?” Iwaizumi slams his face onto the ground, making you hiss, “Iwa-chan, stop it!”

“Oh? What do we have here?”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa stop their tracks when they find both you and the team’s ace sprawled on the wet pavement with your belongings scattered around Iwaizumi. What makes it worse is that the both of you didn’t make a move to get up and leave the place like normal people would.

This is embarrassing, Matsukawa thinks.

Hanamaki snickers as he takes out his phone to snap a picture of their manager and the ace’s shameful display in public. Hell, he will even make sure to take a picture of Iwaizumi’s red face. “Iwaizumi, nice fall!” he laughs as Iwaizumi groans into the pavement.

Matsukawa sees the threat lies underneath your glare as Hanamaki proceeds to make comments for you to look at the camera and decides that risking your wrath is not worth the fun, even if there would be no blackmail content as good as this. Wrapping his arm around Hanamaki’s shoulder, Matsukawa tries to drag his friend away from the scene, “We should leave them alone, Hanamaki.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving without blackmail material!” Hanamaki cackles, obviously enjoying himself.

While he is busy crouching to find a good angle to capture Iwaizumi’s faceplant on the wet pavement, his left leg suddenly spreads itself to the side and out of panic, he grabs Matsukawa with him.

Their impending fall, however, is cushioned as they land on top of Iwaizumi, who only whimpers in pain.

Widening their eyes in horror, they scurry away from the poor boy in the speed of light before flipping him over. “Shit!” Matsukawa curses, “Iwaizumi is as pale as a ghost!”

“Iwa-chan, no! Don’t give up just yet!” you shout before crawling to grab your heating pad next to Iwaizumi’s legs in order to give him some warmth. You can feel the jagged edges of the pavement scratching your knees, but nothing is worse compared to your friend’s likely death. In the corner of your eye, you could see Hanamaki grabbing Iwaizumi’s hands, rubbing them between his own as he sobs dramatically “You still have a lot more to live, man! Stay with us!”

Iwaizumi didn’t expect the situation to escalate so quickly.

Only a few moments ago, he was hoping for a quiet incident. Like, “Oh, you fell?” then the subject would be dropped and never be spoken again. A one time thing. Only now that he realises that he hoped too much, something he should fix soon. He should have known that he could never have a quiet incident, not when he has the three of you wailing and begging for him to survive.

I kinda want to crawl in a hole and die right now, he muses. His eyes catch several students from the basketball team laughing at the four of you and a group of girls whispering and giggling to each other. He sighs deeply, his whole chest heaving and he closes his eyes.

“Iwaizumi!” “Iwa-chan!” you scream with Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

Matsukawa’s body stiffens as he points a shaky finger at Hanamaki accusingly, “You killed him, bro.”

Hanamaki gasps, turning his face away from Matsukawa in disbelief while raising his hand defensively, “Stop it. Don’t say it, bro!”

You sit up, hands covering your mouth as you gape at Iwaizumi’s still body, “Iwa-chan..”

Matsukawa quickly brings a hand to your back, rubbing it silently in a comforting gesture while Hanamaki slams his fist on the pavement, before turning to Matsukawa with a crazed glint in his eyes. “Fine! But I’m not the only one at fault here,” he begins.

Matsukawa raises his eyebrows, feigning confusion, “What are you talking about, Hanamaki?” He tilts his head, “You’re the one who ended his life.”

Hanamaki growls, “Don’t play dumb with me! You’re just as guilty as I am! If anything-” his voice drops lower, “-you’re the one who ended his life.”

Gasping, you slap Matsukawa’s hand away, feeling betrayed by the boy you called friend. “[Name]-chan, listen–”

“Save it, Mattsun. I never thought you of all people would do this kind of thing,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear anything from Matsukawa. He grits his teeth before turning to Hanamaki, raising both of his hands. A sign of surrender. He looks at Hanamaki with regret in his eyes, sighing, “As expected from my best friend. You got me good, bro.”

Hanamaki kneels in front of Matsukawa, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. His eyes are suspiciously glassy, Matsukawa notes. Perhaps, Hanamaki is a good friend after all.

“Bro..”

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi is fed up with your impromptu drama session. He quickly sits up and readies himself to berate the three of you but the world has better plans to make Iwaizumi’s day worse when a couple of rings startling all of you back into reality. With you helping Iwaizumi up by supporting his slightly throbbing back, thanks to those two, he is not surprised to find Oikawa pedaling on a bike towards your group.

“My, my, what are you guys doing here on the floor?” 

Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa is purposely making his voice loud so everyone would watch their circus show- not that everyone hasn’t already seen the soap opera between you, Matsukawa and Hanamaki, but still!

In one tiny corner of Iwaizumi’s heart, he wishes something bad would befall to Oikawa, just because he is grating Iwaizumi’s already thin patience. He also conveniently forgets the old saying that goes, “Be careful what you wish for.”.

Oblivious, Oikawa continues in his airy voice, “I don’t know what you guys will do without me, your very reliable captain. Here, let me help!”

Oikawa clutches the brake of his bicycle and he raises a delicate eyebrow when the brake is not in effect. He clutches the brake harder and only then the realisation sets in- the brake is faulty. I should have walked to school instead, Oikawa smiles in acceptance before his bicycle crashes a bench at the pavement. His body feels very light as he is flung across his friends, seeing their shocked faces and mouths agape makes his heart pound wildly against his chest. Time seems to slow down when you’re falling, he muses. In the seconds it takes him to reach the ground, he knows that it is going to hurt.

His body drops with a loud thump, worrying the four of you. Hanamaki whistles slowly, “Oof, that’s gonna hurt.”

You quickly collect your belongings and shove them into your bag while Iwaizumi and Matsukawa help the poor captain up who might have damaged his pretty face, Hanamaki silently grabs Oikawa’s busted bicycle.

“Oikawa!” he looks at you with a dumb expression when you grab his face in panic, “What? What’s wrong, [Name]-chan?”

A trickle of warmth suddenly drips from his nose and the captain unknowingly sniffs it back. With a disgusted noise, Iwaizumi knocks the captain’s head, “Don’t do that, you idiot!”

Before Oikawa could complain about Iwaizumi’s brute force, you gently plug his nose with a tissue and give him more tissues for him to wipe his bloody hands once Matsukawa and Iwaizumi let him stand on his own. Although Oikawa’s injuries only consist of his bloody nose and hands, you’re pretty sure that he has more injuries on his legs- especially his knees. “I think you need to visit the nurse’s office, just to be sure.”

“Will you be taking care of me, [Name]-chan?” he asks, mustering his saddest face. You only give him an unimpressed look, “Nope, we have class. But, the nurse will take care of you, though.”

Unsatisfied with your answer, he whines and Iwaizumi is quick to knock his head again, which you proceed to scold the both of them, “Leave it, both of you!”

Matsukawa smirks, “It’s what you get for being a dumbass. Who told you to speed down the pavement?”

“I tried to slow down but the brake wouldn’t work!” Oikawa retorts.

“And who told you to not check your bike before using it during winter?” Hanamaki adds in with a grin. He and Matsukawa give each other a high five when Oikawa deflates, failing to come up with a comeback.

“Well– who told you guys to create a soap opera in the middle of the road, huh? I’m only acting as a caring captain would, like, stopping all of you from making a fool of yourselves!” Oikawa glares at his friends and looks at you for backup, which you look away guiltily, making him gasp in betrayal. “[Name]-chan!”

“Sure you are.” Iwaizumi replies, ending the conversation as the five of you continue the walk to school completely poker faced, as if you didn’t cause a scene earlier. Despite the embarrassing incident, Iwaizumi manages to look at the bright side of it. The soft wind gently caressing their cheeks, the red tinges on their noses and ears, which he is sure from the incident, and most of all, he grins into his scarf, the warmth and memory he made with his friends.

Extra:

Just before the gradual slope that leads to the crime scene, Kindaichi and Kunimi stand still as they witness their captain being knocked out from his bicycle. Wordlessly, Kunimi walks the other way to school, perking Kindaichi up.

“Oi, that route is farther to school.” Kindaichi informs his friend.

“Do I look like I want to join them down there?” Kunimi frowns as he jerks his head towards their senpais.

“I bet they’ll rope us in to save themselves from the embarrassment.” He waves his hand dismissively before turning to the other direction to school. Kindaichi looks back at his scrambling senpais before following his friend with no hesitation.

[jawritter]

30 Minutes In Heaven

Summary: Your life, like many hunters before you, was cut short. You had no idea at the time the Fates that were at play in the universe were really those of dick angles and egotistical assholes with massive god complexes. And you also had no idea that they were really the reason you lost your life, and you had no idea why… Until around 30 minutes after you made it to Heaven.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader (Y/N), Jack Kline

Warnings: SPN SERIES FINALE SPOILERS!!!! IF YOU LIVE UNDER A ROCK AND HAVE NOT SEEN IT YET DO NOT READ THIS FIC!!! Brief use of Christian biblical text at the beginning as a reference. Language I’m sure, because hello, it’s me. Slight angst, mentions of character death all over the place, past, present, and upcoming. Some fluff. I don’t want to give too much away.

Word Count: 2722

A Huge fucking thank you to @miss-nerd95​ for Betaing this fic!! You’re a lifesaver!!

A/N: Okay, this was a fic I started before the Series ending, then when it ended I dropped it like a hot object because I just couldn’t finish it, and struggled with the fact that I could easily tie in the canon Dean Winchester ending. Then one of my Patreons requested an ending that placed the reader, Dean’s soul mate, given to him once he made it to Heaven to give Dean the happy ending he deserved, well that’s when I decided to go back and finish it, give Dean and the reader a reunion over there. I was originally going to just post this to Patreon, but I feel like we ALL needed this, so I’m going to be posting it to tumblr and wattpad as well! I hope you all enjoy this one, as it was a bitch to write I’m not gonna lie.

**MASTERLIST**  ��**BECOME A PATREON**

2 Peter 3:8 Says But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 

You had never known  the gravity of that one verse of scripture from your time on earth. It was the only thing that resounded to be true in all that you had experienced once you had made it to Heaven. There was no way of truly knowing exactly how long in earth time you had been here, but something deep down in your heart knew that it had been a very, very long time. You would venture to say it had been close to ten years, but again you couldn’t be sure. 

For you, it had only felt like 30 minutes. 

In that 30 minutes a whole lot of things had taken place. You hadn’t even gotten settled into your little cubicle here before the place began to shake. Then talks of falling angels and power flickering were happening. There were whispers of new gods and old gods, there were whispers of the devil and his death. There were whispers of all manner of things as you stood with your head to the wall of your childhood bedroom. 

One name you kept hearing was Dean. 

Dean Winchester. 

You had been a hunter in your former life, and you had heard of the Winchesters before. Part of you wanted desperately to know what was happening on earth, what could Dean Winchester have done to literally cause Heaven to quake? 

You had tried to find a means of escape, but you seemed trapped in this room, no matter how much you tried to find a way out. 

Then before you even had time to panic, another rumble shook Heaven, and people were saying something about a 'darkness' that had befallen of old. A darkness that had overtaken Dean. That were the longest five minutes of your life. The angels talked of the righteous man that had once shed blood in hell now bathed in it on earth to save the world. 

Over and over again you would catch snippets of stories, passing and confusing glimpses, while you remained trapped behind the all too familiar walls of your prison cell. 

You screamed and pounded, but it all went ignored until a sudden bright light consumed you, almost blinding you completely. 

The next thing you knew, you were standing in a little cabin type of house. One you had always dreamed of having-one you had always hoped for but were never foolish enough to believe you could have due to your lifestyle, right down to the stone fireplace in the corner of the little living room that oozed warmth, and the bookshelf that lined around that, upon closer inspection, had many of your favorite books. 

There were birds chirping outside the windows, and the sun was shining. There were beautiful mountains off in the distance, and for the first time a profound calmness fell on you. You didn’t have time to ponder your sudden release from your prison before a voice behind you made you turn on the spot, old hunter instincts kicking in like they had never left. 

“Hello,” it said, and you turned to find a young boy in a white jacket standing with his hand raised in an almost alien-like greeting and a warm smile on his face. 

“Um-hi,” you responded, slowly taking a step back, more than weary of everything, for it could be an angel or even a demon in this place. 

“Oh, don’t be afraid of me. I’m Jack, Jack Kline,” he said, settling himself against the arm of the old leather couch in the living area of the cabin. 

You had heard whispers of his name before too, but knew very little of him aside from the fact that he seemed to be in the same circles with the Winchesters. His name had been whispered a lot amongst the angels passing down what you could only assume was a hallway by the small room you were trapped in. 

“What do you want?” you questioned him defensively, looking around for anything you could use in case you had to defend yourself against, uh-whatever he was. 

Jack nonchalantly clasped his hands together in front of his lap. Looking around the little cabin fondly, almost like a proud decorator would look at his finished product before his eyes traveled back to your own. 

“This place is cozy, it’s perfect, it’s everything you and he deserves,” he said, grinning at you in an almost childlike manner. It was confusing, and you wanted to run, but for some reason you held your ground. 

“I asked what do you want?” you asked again, and this time Jack nodded before meeting your gaze knowingly. 

“You have no idea who you are, do you?” he asked, the same kind smile on his face. 

You said nothing, just waited there ,watching him for any sudden movements. Jack stood and made his way around the cabin, and looked outside the window next to you, admiring the scenery around with innocent wonder you had forgotten could even exist. 

“You were cheated out of life, Y/N Y/L/N. You were cheated out of a lot of good things you were meant for. You were killed before your time because my grandfather was angry with Dean and couldn’t control him, so he took you away from him before he could ever even have you. In doing so, he took away Dean’s only chance to have any happiness or peace while on Earth.”

Jack turned to face you while you froze up, him seemingly unfazed while you tried to make sense of this riddle he was giving you. Sensing your confusion, Jack gave you a moment before finally speaking again. 

“Do you remember how you died, Y/N?” he asked, and you tried to. It was all really hard to remember. You knew you had been on a hunt that was supposed to be a simple Salt and Burn, but since the Winchesters had opened up the gates of hell a few years back, it wasn’t always what it appeared, just like it wasn’t that time. It was a trap set up by demons, and while you couldn’t remember the pain you went through, or the details of your death, you know that they had been your end game. 

“Chuck sent those Demons to kill you so that Dean would never meet you in this life, and he intended to keep you locked away here forever so you two couldn't get together even in heaven. You were Dean’s soulmate, see. A rare and beautiful thing in the cruel world my grandfather built. You would have grounded Dean, given him a family of his own, a reason to fight against the darkness that he never should have been forced to take on in the first place. If you would have been his, the way you were intended to be, then Dean would never have become a Demon, he would have never had to let go of Lisa or even go to her in the first place, and he wouldn’t be on his way into a warehouse right now to die alone with his brother as witness on a crude piece of rebar.”

Your eyes widened as you struggled to keep up with what this teenager was telling you. You were Dean Winchester’s soulmate, and this Chuck had you killed so that you would never meet him. There was supposed to be no tears in Heaven, or at least that’s what you were always told, but you could feel them slipping down your cheeks as images of what could have been flashed before your mind, no doubt controlled by  whatever power Jack had. 

Images of a little boy in Dean’s arms, images of sensual touches, passionate filled moments, images of yourself and Dean old and sitting on a porch in a rocking chair with your grandchildren played in the yard with a dog that Dean called Miracle. It was all stolen from you. It would never be yours, you were robbed of this man and the life you could have shared together, it was earth shattering. 

“What happened to his Chuck?” you asked, sudden fear gripping you that he would find you free of your prison, and destroy you utterly. 

“Dean defeated him, he’s cursed to live life alone and die as a lowly human. I promise you, it’s more than what he deserves.”

Jack made his way to the front door of the cabin, opening it and stepping out on the porch, leading you to sit down on one of the old wooden rocking chairs, as he took a seat next to you. “He should be here any moment now,” Jack said, smiling at you before looking down the long dirt road almost longingly. 

“What happens when he gets here?” you asked him, following his line of sight, your heart already longing for a man you never knew you missed. 

“He gets to have the heaven he deserves, with you.” 

The ground underneath you seemed to rumble lowly, and Jack’s smile widened as he stood from his perch in the chair next to you before looking at you excitedly. 

“He’s here, Dean’s home,” he said, giving you a smile before stepping out into the open driveway, looking back over his shoulder before yelling at you, “Wait here!” and disappearing on the spot. Leaving you alone with birds singing happily, and your heart pounding in your chest. Images of what should have been still fresh in your mind, and for some reason no doubt at all that he’d be happy to see you here, a reassurance residing in your soul you never understood until now, but knew it was meant to be there all the same.

“Come home to me, Dean,” you whispered to the passing wind, settling down to wait on the man that had saved the world, and now was finally ready to lay down his weary, war beaten heart in the hands of the one person he always longed for, but was forced to do without, you.

Dean’s POV: 

“Right here!” Sam said from the passenger seat of the Impala as Dean turned the wheel into a driveway of what looked like the perfect little farmhouse in the middle of a beautiful clearing not far from where his parents little place was nestled. 

As soon as Dean put Baby in park Sam threw the passenger door open, the front door of the house opening to reveal Jess in a long white dress. Dean had a hard time suppressing the smile as he watched his little brother run into the arms of the woman he had always loved. He was finally home. Sammy was finally happy, and that made him more happy and at peace than he ever thought would be possible. Dean waived to his little brother before he and Jess disappeared inside his new home, leaving Dean alone yet again in the Impala. 

This place, it was almost perfect, but even still Dean felt like a vagabond. Putting Baby in drive he made his way down the road a little ways back to where he’d started, Bobby no longer sitting on the porch, but he was sure he could hear him and Ellen laughing just off in the distance as he killed the engine. 

Everyone had their place, but Dean. Dean didn’t have a home or a long lost love waiting for him, and he felt something he thought he wasn’t supposed to ever feel again in Heaven. He felt lonely. 

“Hey Dean,” Jack’s voice cut into the fog of his self pity, and Dean spun in the driver's seat to find Jack smiling at him in the back, a smile breaking over Dean’s weather beaten features, revealing the eye crinkles deep in his sun kissed skin that Jack had missed seeing, and didn’t get to see nearly enough while they were both on Earth.

“Jack! You’ve done a great job man! This place is everything anyone could dream of, you and Cas really outdid yourselves.” 

Dean’s gaze locked with the boy in life he’d hated almost to the point of death, and all he could find now was utter and complete peace staring back at him, and he wondered if he would get to the place where he could feel the same peace everyone else seemed to feel.

“Dean, glad you finally made it,” Jack said, leaning forward in the seat and looking around to the road and pointing for Dean to drive up the gravel path hidden in the trees. Dean did so without question, putting his beloved Baby in drive, and pushing onward until a little cabin tucked away in the hallow appeared just in sight. You were sitting on the porch, watching, as if you were waiting for him, and as he turned to Jack in confusion Jack just smiled as he once did when he tried to give Dean his first Christmas present, only more deep and with more pride. 

“I don’t remember her,” Dean murmured, turning back to look at you as you were  standing up slowly and making your way to lean against the rough cut railing of the porch, eyes tracing over Dean’s cars almost fondly. 

“That’s because you never got to meet her while you were alive. She was stolen from you Dean, long before you ever got the chance to find true happiness.” 

Dean’s face contorted with confusion, but Jack simply placed his fingers to Dean’s forehead lightly, showing him all the things that could have been, and should have been, but never were, just like he did to you. When Jack was done, one giant tear rolled down Dean's face as he uttered the only thing he could have thought would possibly have been able to take something so precious away from him, so willingly. “Chuck.” 

Jack nodded  and looked back at you where you were waiting for Dean to finally get out of the car. 

“This, Dean, this is the Heaven you deserve. This is home. This is peace. You did good Dean, and now it’s time for you to have everything without any terms or conditions.”

Dean’s eyes traced over your features and his heart swelled in his chest. He could feel it, the magnetic pull, the piece of him that was always missing beckoning to him to come home and lay his weary soul to rest. “Y/N,” he murmured before looking back at Jack. “How do I know her name?” he asked. Jack just smiled, looking into Dean’s eyes knowingly.

“Go home Dean, she’s been waiting for you for a long time.” With that Jack disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the car. 

Slowly, Dean pushed the door open, and his eyes met yours as a smile spread across your face. He was perfect. He was everything you had missed and didn’t know you needed. He completed you.

You were the deepest piece of his soul that he had always missed, you were the reason his heart was beating now, and had always been the reason he got up and fought every day to get to the rest that he had found now. You were home, his home. 

Dean placed a large hand to the side of your face as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him, and brushed your hair away from your face. His green eyes bore into your own with more emotion and love than you had ever felt in your life. There was no darkness there. There was no hurt, or self loathing, there was no weight of the world, there was no more fight and heartache. There was nothing but love and resounding peace that would last for the ages. 

“I’m sorry I took so long, sweetheart,” Dean said, his lips brushing yours as you melted into his hold, humming at the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

“S’Okay Dean,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as the two of you just held each other there in your little piece of Heaven. You finally had all you’d ever need. Dean had you, and your warrior was finally home.

Forever Tags: 

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[tundrainafrica]

Hey Sav! I hope you’re doing well! So I was rereading chapter 137 (wow, what an emotional chapter man), specifically Levi’s part when he kills Zeke, and I remembered a few theories about how Levi felt while he did the act and I’d like to know your opinion on this too since your analyses are always super objective and you always support them with facts which is a big plus (in short I really love your metas!!).

So I’ve seen many people say that Levi only killed Zeke to fulfill his promise to Erwin, and while I agree with that, I personally don’t think it was his main drive anymore. I’d say at this point he killed him to put a stop to the rumbling like Hange had predicted since he looks very done and very very broken (it’s really painful to watch ngl). So yeah, what do you think about this?

I also wanted to thank you so much for running this phenomenal blog, your analyses about Levihan and Hange and just anything at this point are so beautifully crafted they’re always such a joy to read! They helped me feel so much better and also feel more validated about how I see certain aspects of life, especially when I went through a harder time, so thank you so much for taking the time to feed us with such quality content (and fics too your fics are So Good dude you’re so talented!!) and for being such an incredible person!!! 🥰💗💗

Omg anon, Thank you so much for this ask and for your kind comments. 

Apologies for taking my sweet time. My laptop recently broke and I only got it to work just recently.  I’m happy to hear that you enjoy my fics and my metas. I got into a Levihan during a tumultous time in my life and I guess that’s why I like to explore both the fluffy and the angsty parts of the relationship and I tend to use it as some sort of means to explore a lot of themes in life because Levihan just has so much potential as a ship. I recognize that Yams just can’t turn his war anime to a romance so I do what I can to make some sweet sweet lemonade from the lemons Yam gives us.

So moving on to your question...

So I’ve seen many people say that Levi only killed Zeke to fulfill his promise to Erwin, and while I agree with that, I personally don’t think it was his main drive anymore. I’d say at this point he killed him to put a stop to the rumbling like Hange had predicted since he looks very done and very very broken (it’s really painful to watch ngl). So yeah, what do you think about this?

I feel like I have done a meta on this already  but whatever man, I’m just gonna word vomit again because that take just makes me hurl. Because I think it really does such a disservice to Levi’s character. Why are they reducing Levi to some vengeful mercenary? 

When? And here’s one thing I kept on pointing out.

Let’s compare this to one of the most iconic revenge arcs in Anime history: The Sasuke and Itachi arc. And low key, as a Naruto fan, I enjoyed Sasuke back when I was like 12 but rewatching Naruto recently, damn Sasuke was the epitome of revenge and hate.

And let’s think back to another more iconic vengeful person: Jet from Avatar. 

These are characters where a huge portion of their narrative was built on vengeance and I guess we can see similarities and Jet and Sasuke’s characters during their revenge arcs. 

But when I try to consider any similarities? When I try to think... is Levi the same way? And I try to look back at all the Levi scenes in Season 4... I can’t help but think...

WHERE. 

Literally, where in the whole show, did Levi imply at all that his whole point of existence was to take revenge on Monke. Literally, he was supporting Hange when they opened up Marley, he cooperated with Zeke to save Eren, he watched Zeke at the forest and calmly listened to Zeke’s confession on what happened at Ragako. 

Would Jet have been able to calmly listen to fire nation soldiers? Was Sasuke capable of talking to his brother WITHOUT trying to kill him? 

I’m sure you guys can come up with other trope-ey harbingers of revenge type of characters. These are the first two that just comes to mind as I write this. 

And if Levi really as vengeful as people are making him out to be...

WHY DIDN’T HE KILL ZEKE WHEN HE GOT THE CHANCE. Literally, Zeke was a pig ripe for the slaughter in the raid at Marley and back in the forest. 

Levi is strong as fuck and he had so many chances to kill Zeke. 

So really??? Where is everyone getting the crumbs they’re using the cheapen Levi’s very complex character??

And we saw him when he had to kill Zeke right? I mean this may be my shipping self talking but I am really more convinced that Levi decided to kill Zeke then because Hange guessed that that was the way to end the rumbling and before that, the reason why Levi was so calmly able to RESIST or just decide not to kill Zeke just yet was because Hange was still very much interested in the ideas Zeke was bringing the table. Hange could have very much been a reason Levi didn’t kill Zeke yet.

Actually you know what, I removed my shipping glasses already. The fact that Levi only brings up the option of killing Zeke again AFTER 126 where I suspected Hange talked to him about how to stop the rumbling, really convinced me that it was Hange that planted in him the idea of killing Zeke again. 

And it just so happened that conveniently, Levi got to hit two birds with one stone when he killed Zeke. 

But really? Did he look happy about it? :)

[msbelmonttepesbelnades]

Hello there! I hope You're doing well, even if You're busy 💦I was wondering if you could write something (short fic or HC) about a shy s/o who tries to befriend with Alucard & Hector, but they being cold or even a little bit aggresive (after What happened in s3, no spoilers if you didn't watch it yet!) but s/o is determined to helps them even receiving nothing in exchange; because s/o loved them after all & just want Hector & Alucard to smile genuinely again 💔

A/n: I added issac. Since I’ve been gone so long I’ll be doing bonuses ;)

Befriending Alucard & The Devil Forgemasters

Alucard

He’s cold.

Colder than dry ice.

You wandered onto the grounds of the castle.

Wounded and weak.

He was going to leave you there.

But, he’s not a monster.

Yet.

He stood over you, looking down with a vacant expression.

You smelled like blood, sweat and ... horse piss.

He knelt down to roll you over on your back to look at your face.

My my, aren’t you a cute one.

He’ll take you in after all but, only until you’re able to stand on your own two feet again.

When you finally come to, he’s leaning against the canopy bed post.

“You’ve been sleeping for 16 hours. Once you’re fed and smelling...better. Leave.”

You had no recollection of how you ended up there.

Even so, you weren’t ready to leave.

He seemed lonely. He wore it on his sleeve, despite the cold exterior he sported.

You found yourself in the kitchen, he was nowhere in sight but, a plate of freshly foraged food and cooked fish sat on the table.

Alu watched from the shadows, fighting the faint smile threatening to crack his stone face.

The way you swallowed and inhaled the food reminded him of a child.

He frowned.

After you ate the food you moved to bathe.

You gawked around to make sure you weren’t being watched.

Ever since you arrived you felt as if eyes were on you.

They were, he was just good at hiding.

He watched you bathe, so serene and beautiful.

When you finally dressed, he confronted you.

“Leave.”

He didn’t want you there. He wasn’t smiling and well, it’s not like you could defy him.

He wasn’t above killing you just because he can.

Cause he would and will if you refused.

‘No?’

He genuinely wasn’t expecting you to say that. He believed he looked scary enough.

You stood your ground.

‘You’re all alone here, this place is like the catacombs..’

He creased his brow, he didn’t care if you were right.

His sword came flying at you, the tip pointing at the side of your temple.

You flinched, you couldn’t hold up that front anymore.

He saw past that, and it amused him.

“Leave I won’t ask again.”

You weren’t going to take your chances with a sword pointed at your head.

You left.

Albeit, you stayed in the woods.

He couldn’t stop you from living out there, he caught sight of you trying to fish for yourself one day. A comical sight.

During the early morning he halted in his tracks. At his feet was a small pile of foraged food.

Was this from you?

Everyday, for the past week you left food at the foot of the castle doors for him.

He ignored it each time.

It wasn’t until there were no more signs of your presence in the forest did he care about where you were.

Never miss something until it’s gone.

He didn’t bother looking for you though. Assumed you just gave up.

It’s expected.

One cold night there was a loud crash in the depths of the wine cellar.

He wasn’t in there, he wondered if an animal got in.

That’s when he found you, in the corner under a table, sleeping.

It was freezing but, it didn’t compare to being outside.

He left you there.

At least you weren’t dead.

That same morning he caught you rummaging around his pantry.

You didn’t have time to process anything.

He pinned you down to the table and hovered over you, baring his fangs.

“I knew you were a thief.”

You stuttered out, but nothing coherent spewed forth. You could only shake your head, trying to reach down into your satchel.

He did it for you, still holding you in place. As he looked into your bag he saw a bird, a small wounded bird.

It reminded him of you.

He let you up with a frown.

“You were making sure it didn’t freeze and starve to death, I see..”

He was now conflicted, he almost killed you for being a good person.

He was turning into his father lmao 🚩

“Fine. You and the bird can stay here. Just..leave me be.”

He left again.

As weeks went by Alu kept his distance, you tried your best to close it but that proved to be difficult.

You knew you were getting somewhere though, because he smiled.

“You named the bird Lisa?”

Hector

He’s got a nice little room for him, it beats laying naked in a cell right?

Lenore gave him a “servant”

If Hector needed anything, you were to let the the vampire Queens know.

And so you sat with Hector, he was silent and he never looked your way.

You were a vampire, and yet charged with his remedial task?

He didn’t understand.

‘Do you need anything Hector?’

“Stop talking to me.”

That’s as far as you get with him when you ask.

You don’t press him.

Lenore said he might try to choke you out but she said she “tamed” him so it should be fine.

You bring his food, his work tools, and books.

Never does he acknowledge your presence.

It’s like you’re a ghost.

As you set down his plate you move around to clean his room.

He wasn’t doing it himself and Lenore wouldn’t stand for a messy or dirty forgemaster.

He ignored you for a good thirty minutes.

For twenty-five more minutes, he watched you.

You were quiet, introverted and shy.

You were only just doing your job and being polite for these past few days.

He was being nothing but awful to you.

Not that it bothered him, in the slightest given his treatment by the vampires.

Carmilla and Lenore more specifically.

Your reservation is what drew him in ultimately.

“You don’t have to clean this you know.”

‘You aren’t so, I do. Lenore doesn’t like messes.’

Hector scoffed at the mention of her name and looked away from you.

Still he was cold, but he talked more.

“I’d like to go out for a walk if that’s possible.”

You escorted him on a stroll through the castle grounds.

When you two stopped by a balcony over a snowy cliff he sighed out.

“I’m trapped here, forced to create an army...I should’ve died back in Dracula’s castle.”

You frown, reaching out to touch his face he quickly smacked your hand back and stared at you hard.

“Don’t touch me. I know how all of you vampires see us humans.”

He was bitter.

“Food, or a pet play thing. I will not let you do the same to me, Lenore did that just fine.”

He left, walking back to his little corner of the castle.

A few more days a had passed.

Your attitude did not falter towards him which only confused the forgemaster.

He was an asshole and yet you were kind.

The only one to show him a shred of true kindness since he’s arrived there.

“What’s your name?”

He randomly asked, you look his way a faint smile on his face.

Was he finally going to open up?

Isaac

A traveler you were, there was a lunatic old man who had someone you loved dearly under some kind of mind control spell.

You sought out to free them, or so you thought.

You passed the old forgemaster woman a while ago.

Finally you came across what looked to be a mass genocide.

You looked around in horror, seeing night horde creatures and bodies littered around the entire area.

You were going to run but a giant winged beast dropped down in front of you.

What the fuck is that!!!

You fell back and crawled back as it dawned on you.

You were about to get eaten by a monster.

All you had with you was a a measly little curved dagger.

You gripped it tightly, if this was your fate you weren’t going to go down easy.

“I see you’re a fighter.”

Who said that lmao.

No one was in sight, before you knew it the wingged beast swept you up.

It dropped you on a stone walkway that lead to the castle Issac took over.

You scrambled to your feet, holding the dagger out as the creatures of the night began to surround you.

“Why have you come here?”

That same voice..

It only made you look for it harder, you twirled your head to the left and then to the right

Finally a man in a cloak and dark clothing showed his face.

Staring at you blankly.

“Speak now or be eaten”

He wasn’t giving you much of a choice so you told him.

He looked you over before looking away from you.

“Whoever you’re looking for is long dead, they’re likely one of my night creatures.”

Issac’s red eyes drifted over to catch your expression.

It wasn’t sad, you looked to be relieved more than anything.

Were you different than the humans he has come to know?

‘They’re no longer suffering.’

His eyes widened, he wasn’t expecting to hear that.

He was silent for a brief moment, still undoubtedly curious about you.

“Yes..that is true.”

Everything you came there for was gone you had nothing, you looked over at Issac and he met your eyes.

Subconsciously your cheeks warmed a bit and his eyes narrowed.

‘Are...you gong to make me a creature of the night?’

“That entirely depends on you.”

He twirled his knife idly, a faint smile on the corner of his lips.

“I can’t have you leave yet, prove your worth as a human then maybe I’ll consider letting you go.”

You wondered how you could do that, by the way he spoke you could tell he was a man of deep intellect.

You knew just how to prove your worth.

“A conversation?”

He pondered it, and accepted. A conversation on philosophy and morals.

He wondered if he’d like what you had to say.

After a few hours of talking he seemed to be content.

The views you both were akin to on another, he didn’t protest to you staying a bit longer than you first intended.

He liked hearing you talk.

After all, you had nowhere to go and Issac was the kindest human you’ve met in quite a long time.

[aevapollo]

As I Am

My entry for the @trans-mages exchange week, my gift for @wellbelesbian. I hope you enjoy it!

My prompt was: Non-binary Baz, perhaps experimenting with pronouns and presentation and feeling affirmed by Simon and his friends.

(The title is from this quote from Carry On: "I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to carry on. As I am." -Baz)

Read it on AO3 or continue here!

Baz

Simon looks peaceful, looking up at the sun like that. Blissfully unaware of my fidgeting hands. I think about what he said just now--what he said about the vampire hotel, how happy and natural I seemed. The worst part is, he’s not wrong. Obviously, I didn’t want to stay there. That would’ve been a nightmare. But there was something about that night… I think it made me see myself in a way I never had before. That night, I got to be the gayest, sparkliest vampire there ever was. I got to be the most me I’ve ever been, and I liked it. Shit, I loved it.

I dunno. I’ve always been something less-than-masculine, much to my father’s chagrin. All those times I let my hair get just a little too long, whenever I wore a shirt that was just a bit too silky… he always had some carefully selected words. I never cared much for what he said about me. My goal back then was to push the limits of what he’d allow, but… maybe now that I’m with Simon, things will be different. Maybe I can finally be an adult about it and communicate. I could make up for all those years of repressed emotions.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey, Simon?”

“Hmmm?” He turns his head back to me but barely opens his eyes.

“ I-I need to tell you about something. And I don’t want to make you more stressed than you already are, or-or anything like that. So don’t feel like you need to understand me or act differently around me or feel--”

“--Baz, are you okay?” Simon cuts me off. He’d opened his eyes now, and seemed concerned.

I take a shaky breath. “Listen, I- I’m- I don’t really know if I’m totally… a guy. Like, I don’t think I want to be a girl, but what if I’m… neither? What if I’m non-binary, or something… like… that?” It all comes out in one big waterfall of words. Crowley, I hate feeling so out of control like this.

Simon’s brow is knotted. He’s thinking. “Alright, so non-binary… do you want to use different pronouns? And I shouldn’t call you ‘boyfriend’ anymore, right?”

“I...yeah. Yeah, exactly. I have wanted to try out they/them pronouns, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course I don’t mind. Baz, I-- you know I’d love you no matter what, right? I won’t stop just because you’re not a boy. Christ, I still don’t know if I’m gay or what, but I know I love you.”

He loves me. He said he loves me, that’s the first time he’s actually said it. The tears are coming. For once I don’t try to stop them or even hide my face. Simon pulls me into a hug, and I just melt into his arms. Somehow, nothing is wrong anymore now that I’m here.

***

I knew I would tell Simon first, and maybe I should leave it at that, but I just want to get this off my chest as soon as possible. After a while of being disgustingly vulnerable with him, I make my way back up to the house and onto the balcony. Shepard is here, too. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Deep breath. “Hey. Um. Can I say something? I’m fairly sure I’m non-binary, and I’d like to try out they/them pronouns for a bit.” The words are coming out much easier the second time around.

Bunce’s eyes light up. “You are?! Oh, I’m so glad you told me! Wait, wait, I think I just saw an article about this the other day… some American celebrity who came out as non-binary? Hang on, I can find it real quick--”

“--That’s fine, but I appreciate it. Really,” I can’t help smiling at her excitement. Somehow this whole “coming out” thing has sapped me of all my sarcasm.

“Cool. I know some non-binary folks. Have you got a new name, or are you still going by Baz?”

“I’m still Baz, thanks.” Shepard hardly looks surprised, and I can’t say I blame him. I haven’t exactly been trying to act straight since we’ve known each other.

Just then, Wellbelove slides the balcony door open, looking anxious. I prepare myself to give the speech again, but she speaks first. “Hey, Baz, I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know anything yet but I… Well, I heard everything. The doors aren’t exactly soundproof. Still, I’m happy for you.” She manages a nervous smile.

“No, no, it’s alright. Makes things that much easier on me.” Everything happened so quickly. I’m not sure how I feel about Wellbelove finding out, but it was bound to happen eventually. I guess it’s good that she knows now, even if we’re not exactly close friends. Maybe that’s another thing I should work on, now that I’ve decided to be an adult. I could leave all these weird grudges in the past.

***

Later, Simon comes back inside and we all eat dinner in relative silence. It’s less like a family meal and more like the casual school dining halls we’re all accustomed to (except for Shepard, I suppose. Or maybe he had something similar). Wellbelove has been looking at me weirdly since she found out. I know she said she was happy for me, but I can’t help but worry about what she really thinks. I try to focus on Shepard spilling barbeque sauce everywhere.

Simon leans over to me. “Hey, Baz, I was wondering… does this mean you would want to wear different clothes? Or, like, makeup or something?”

I had expected questions like this. “Well, yeah, I have wanted to try wearing a skirt. Just to see if I like it, I mean.”

To my surprise, Wellbelove speaks up again. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps she’s also attempting to mend our strange relationship.

“I’ve got some skirts that you could try on. If you want to, that is. I… don’t wear them much, anyway.”

“I--yeah, that would be really nice. You’re sure?”

She nods and stands up. I hesitantly follow her into an (unnecessarily posh, even by my standards) bedroom and can barely take in the surroundings before she shoves an armful of skirt in my face.

I crane my neck over the pile of fabric. “Um. Thank you, really. You didn’t have to do this, but…”

She looks down. “No, I wanted to. You know, I’ve been kind of questioning myself as well, but I didn’t want to say anything about it until I was sure,” she lowers her voice, “and at this point maybe I never will be. But this is the least I can do, right?” She offers another half-smile, and I do my best to return it.

“Well, that’s… thank you. Again. And you can talk to me about it. If you want to, of course. I… It might be nice to have someone to relate to.” I’m not sure if I’m reassuring her or myself at this point. Wellbelove seems to understand, and brightens up a bit.

“No, thank you. And you can keep the skirts if you want. I don’t think they suit me.”

She leaves me to sift through the pile. I eventually land on a possibility: it’s a deep forest green, smooth and swirly. When I hold it against my waist, it comes down just above my knees. Part of me feels like I shouldn’t be holding this; like nothing I do will ever turn me into the person I see myself as. But part of me also thinks skirts are fun, and that’s good enough for me. Nothing left to do but try it on.

I look in the mirror and-- Crowley, not again. I’m starting to cry again. It’s just a skirt, but-- well, something about this just makes me feel… different. A good different. More like myself.

Okay, take some deep breaths. I dry my eyes and stand up straight, twirling around a bit. I’m smiling like an idiot now, but I don’t mind. This is the happiest I’ve been for a long time.

I grab the doorknob and throw the door open, shamelessly strutting out and modeling the skirt for everyone. I hardly ever get to be myself like this, and I’m going to enjoy it if it’s the last thing I do.

Everyone’s looking at me. Everyone’s looking at me. Stay calm. Wellbelove is beaming, though she’s trying to hide behind her hands. Shepard just grins and gives me a thumbs-up. Simon’s face is bright red (can’t say I don’t enjoy that), and Bunce puts her hands in front of her mouth and squeals.

“Baz!! You look so good! The color really suits you!”

“Thank you,” I can’t control my smile at this point, “I--” Wait. I have an idea. My mother’s scarf--it’s still folded up in my shirt pocket. I unfold it and tie it around my hair, just like how she used to wear it. Simon’s regained his senses by now and gives me a small smile. I wonder what my mother would say if she could see me now.

Simon gets up and pulls me into a hug. I hug him back, and any apprehension I had fades away. Something about this is familiar; much as we used to hate each other, seeing Simon at Watford always felt like more of a home than my “real” family ever did. Now it’s still the same: I’m at home wherever he is. Nobody can tell me who to be anymore.

***

Bonus:

Simon

Baz looks so good in a skirt. Of course, they do. They look good in everything. Still… something about the way they carry themselves now, how comfortable they look… this is more meaningful. I can’t pretend to know how they feel, or what they’re going through, but I do love them. I’m finally brave enough to say it.

As I pull Baz into a hug, I whisper it into their ear once again: “I love you. So much.”

They squeeze me tighter and return with an “I love you too. Even if your hair smells like barbeque smoke.”

Thank you for reading! This is the first fic I’ve ever published so hopefully I did good haha

This was like… wAYY longer than I planned to write but in my defense, this prompt was lovely and I just wanted there to be more. #noregrets this was very fun and I hope it’s fun for others as well :)

Also, I planned to post this earlier today but..... my laptop died and then I had to catch a flight. And then I thought "you know what would be a great idea? Writing a bonus section!!" ...so r.i.p. my schedule I guess ://

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Can we get angsty fic of Yvette and Vuz-ass make a deal for curse removal? Yvette isn’t aware of the catch. Vuz took MC’s humanity away at the same time as Yvette’s curse removal. Mc joins Vuz and make deal with demons for powers.

Written by @an-awkward-ghost

“It is always a pleasure to see you, my child.” The greeting was raspy, amusement coating it like honey. Vuzgamad never felt truly threatened by Yvette, no matter what she did or what she said. It was all a game to her, like an owner who didn’t expect their dog to bite them, and only watched fondly as it growled and whimpered and barked.

But Yvette did know how to bite, and she would draw blood when she did. It was only a matter of time.

“You said you wanted to make a deal.”

Years of experiences had taught Yvette everything she needed to know about deals. It was similar to a battlefield, where each party needed to plan their movements and proposals to the full extent. They couldn’t allow their opponent to have an unfair advantage. Quite ironically, however, they were willing to go to any lengths to cheat the other party to gain said unfair advantage – so long as they weren’t caught, anyway. Yvette wasn’t planning on letting anything slip past her, because there was no doubt Vuzgamad wanted to cheat her.

The day the demon did one thing even the slightest bit truthfully, would be the day hell froze over.

“Straight to the point,” She hummed, making a small tsk sound right afterwards. “That impatience will do you no good, girl. Don’t you want to chat a little?”

Yvette gave her a fulminating glare, blue eyes glinting dangerously. “If it doesn’t regard whatever deal it is that you want to make, I have nothing to say to you.”

“So ferocious. So brash. Well, it is to be expected, I suppose…” Vuzgamad finally, finally turned to look at her, a small smirk playing at the edge of her lips. She got the gesture and movement right; if Yvette hadn’t known she was a demon, if she hadn’t been able to see marks and the hollow eyes, she would have thought it was just another human, if a little awkward.

Vuzgamad had learnt too much about human behavior recently. It set Yvette on edge.

“Simply put, your curse has reached its peak. It’s about time to remove it.”

“…Excuse me?”

She must have heard the demon wrong. She fought to keep her breathing steady, to avoid giving Vuzgamad the reaction she wanted, but she could feel excitement bubbling inside her all the same. She schooled her expression – no, no, she couldn’t dare to hope. She couldn’t dare to believe her, not when she had been the one to curse her in the first place.

She couldn’t let her emotions override her logic. She needed to keep her yearning in check. She needed to. She needed to. The disappointment would crush her otherwise.

For a second, Vuzgamad’s eyes flickered from her expression to her hands, scanning for the slightest twitch. Her smirk stretched.

Then the demon feigned disinterest, turning to whatever she was writing. Yvette felt eerily like a child that had stumbled into their parent’s office and interrupted their work. The sensation made her shudder with disgust.

This demon was not her mother. She would never be, because Yvette had left her real mother – and any chance she had at a normal life – behind when she had decided to run away from home.

“The power your curse provides can be harvested, so that’s what I will do. Take it away.”

Her heart leaped. Yvette worried for a second that Vuzgamad could hear it. She cleared her throat, trying to crush her rising hope. Focus. She had to focus. “There must be a catch of some sort.”

“Isn’t there always, dear?” Then, silence. She was enjoying this – perhaps she wanted to see Yvette fidget? She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – play right into her hands.

“I do not trust you, Vuzgamad. I will not accept your deal.” She intended to say this with conviction, but her voice wavered. Vuzgamad huffed, rolling her eyes.

“I have not finished speaking, child.”

“Could have fooled me…”

“Oh please, it was a dramatic pause. You know all about those, don’t you?”

“You were doing an excellent job at getting straight to the point.”

“Ah, so you are the only one who can have a dramatic flair?”

Yvette’s scowl deepened. “Stop. Wasting. My. Time.”

“So brash! Where did your manners go, child?” Another tsk sound. Vuzgamad turned the paper over so she could continue writing. “Yes, yes, there is a catch. The energy I harvest from you – your curse with it – will be used to bring about the end of the world. You must have known that already.”

“I hardly doubt you could destroy the world with-”

“Do you honestly think I’d have wasted years for a plan I wasn’t quite sure would work?”

Yvette bristled. With a quick movement of her hand, her cane snapped into existence. She twirled it artfully, a warning. “I do not accept.”

“Really.” The demon’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Do keep in mind there is no other way for you to get rid of that curse, save for that girl’s ability to love. We both know you won’t choose that option,” another brief, amused look, “or you could kill me, but I hardly doubt you’ll have much luck this time.”

There it was, that overwhelming desire. To be free. To be normal. To have the one thing she’d wanted almost all of her life. And it was locked behind a word and a sense of duty to her Assassin Title. If Yvette accepted, then…

Then… what?

Vuzgamad was sure her plan would work. Yvette knew it would fail.

Whatever it was that Vuzgamad believed, her curse didn’t feel powerful enough for the feat she was suggesting. Yvette was quite used to keeping the energy in check, after all. She would know better than anyone if her curse was truly at its peak.

Now this was the perfect opportunity to cheat her opponent. Yvette put on an act, refusing at first, to keep Vuzgamad from realizing what she was trying to do, before she finally agreed.

She could shoot two birds with one stone.

…

“Sounds like quite the big catch, though. Are you sure about this, Yvette?”

“I’m aware of the danger. Vuzgamad doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Vinca gives her a sidelong glance, wary. “Is it tonight?”

“It is.”

“And I probably won’t be able to talk you out of this.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Does the pipsqueak have a better chance?”

The corners of Yvette’s lips quirk upwards at the mention. “Not any better that yours.”

Vinca moves to touch her gloved hand again, giving the interaction with Vuzgamad a few days ago another look. “I guess it’s worth a try. If she does anything, we can just gut her.”

“Assuming we’ll manage this time,” Lazareth mumbles, looking just as uneasy as Vinca is. Yvette ignores them both, fiddling with her phone to get in contact with MC. She can’t wait to share the news.

…

“You brought company,” Vuzgamad notes, drily.

“What is it that you always tell me…? The more the merrier, was it?”

Vuzgamad laughs. It’s an awful sound, like a claw scrapping metal, inhumane and atrocious. Yvette winces. Vinca glares daggers at the demon, hands twitching towards the tiny knives on her dress, though she grits her teeth and makes no other movement. Lazareth casts the room a quizzical look, obviously on the hunt for a hint regarding whatever ritual Vuzgamad was going to use.

MC stood beside them, the very definition of calm. Yvette smiled to herself, knowing MC had taken her lessons about how to school her expression to heart. Having everyone by her side meant the world to her, emboldening her, giving her the strength she needs to face Vuzgamad and emerge victorious.

The thing is… nothing went as planned.

The curse removal was less painful than she expected it to be. Energy swirled out of her and into a device Vuzgamad had prepared, a small gray stone which quickly turned into a bright, pulsing orange. It was an odd sensation, not having to subconsciously keep the curse in check. Yvette felt almost hollow, but she quickly shrugged the feeling away.

She felt cold. For the first time in ages, she felt cold.

The chill of the wind bit into her skin like tiny knives laced with a numbing substance. Vinca moved to her side, watching her worriedly, her hand hovering over Yvette’s elbow and sending a shock of warmth through her system.

The curse had been blindingly hot, never warm. Yvette half-expected it to be scalding, but this warmth was soothing. Yvette found herself unconsciously leaning into it.

Smiling, Yvette looked up to meet MC’s eyes. And her whole world shattered when she saw none of the loving support MC had always given her, just stony indifference.

MC then walked towards Vuzgamad, who gave her the stone without a word.

Lazareth bristled at the sight. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

They glare at each other, the tension skyrocketing by the second. Yvette blinks. Blinks again. Blinks once more, trying to comprehend what’s happening, trying to understand why MC is standing beside Vuzgamad and not her. It doesn’t make sense. It is unexpected, and for a second Yvette feels a different kind of cold – it descends on her with a rush of panic

Vinca steps in front of her like some sort of human shield. Yvette can’t see the blonde’s expression but she can easily imagine it, all furrowed eyebrows and stormy blue eyes.

"You have one minute to explain before I gut you out. Both of you."

Vuzgamad chuckles. She turns in MC's direction with a maniac grin. "Yes MC, do explain to my child and her friends your decision." The glint in her eye reminds Yvette of the day she has first meet the demon, when she had ruined her life with the curse. She looks at it now and immediately understands her life will be ruined yet again.

MC shrugs. "Helping you was kind of pathetic. I decided to join the winning side."

"Pathetic?" Vinca repeats, her voice like acid. "I don't know if you hit your head or something, pipsqueak, but the only pathetic thing around here is your existence. Are you trying to shy await from that fact? Or are you just too delusional to-"

"MC." Her voice wavers, but it still rings sharply through the room. Vinca stops talking, choosing to seethe in anger while Lazareth gives them both one long, worried look. Yvette ignores everything - Vuzgamad's amused stare, MC's own disgusted one - and focuses on the woman she remembers MC to be. The woman she fell in love. The bike mechanic in front of her is a stranger, an illusion. "It's a lie. S-some sort of joke in very poor sense. It must be."

MC smiles. "The only joke around here is you."

Everything she is feeling is replaced by anger. Anger at Vuzgamad, anger at herself, anger at the world. The thing she desires the most slips through her fingers once more, as it seems destined to do.

The person she trusted above everything else. The person she can't believe is turning her back on her like this. The person she had given everything for, standing before her, letting all those precious, precious memories rot at the edge of her consciousness, not showing any remorse at all.

Yvette's first thought is that she is possessed. One look into her eyes confirms she is not.

The cold is but a distant memory, her pure being enveloped by the heat of her frustration.

Vinca gasps, taking a few steps back. "Yvette, your eyes!" Her eyes open wide, "your curse!"

Lazareth brandishes his weapon, bewildered. "The ritual was a hoax."

Vuzgamad bats his words away with a hand, still chuckling. "Hardly. I merely gathered enough energy for the curse to weaken, not to break. Yvette's conflicting feelings have strengthened it beyond comprehension." She pauses to bark a small laugh when Yvette's eyes snap towards her, blazing. "Child! What did you take me for? Did you think I didn't know your curse wasn't ready for harvest yet? It would have taken another decade, probably, but this little event speed the process up. Isn't it glorious?"

Yvette took a deep, calming breath. She could feel the curse's energy replenishing, fueled by her anger. It wasn't close to its usual amount, but Yvette could feel it nonetheless. The curse was stronger. One slip and everything would burn.

 "Where are the tears, Yvette?" MC asked. "I was expecting some serious waterworks from you! Too bad."

“Oh, that is it!”

Vinca’s knives flash. The realization MC has turned into an enemy – an enemy she will have to fight – locks Yvette in place. She can only watch as the knives soar through the air, directly towards MC’s shoulder. Ah, Vinca wants to paralyze her. Maybe so they can focus on Vuzgamad first. Yvette can get behind that plan, she wants to interrogate MC further.

But her thoughts quickly dissipate when the knives stop in mid-air. MC smirks, tapping the side of her head with a lazy, confident motion.

Lazareth grunts. “Telekinesis?”

“Isn’t it cool?” She asks. A flicker of her wrist, and the knives turn.

Yvette summons her sword with a trembling hand. Its weight offers some semblance of comfort, of control, but a quick look around reveals they are at a disadvantage. Eyeless demons are pouring out of the shadows in one big, crazed mass of bodies. They could probably take them on with little to no problem, but Yvette doesn’t think she’s in a good emotional place to endure the fight.

Her concentration spills into reality, turning it into a distraction that won’t last more than a couple of seconds.

It’s enough time to escape.

And so, she meets Vinca and Lazareth’s questioning gaze and orders a retreat, gritting her teeth, wondering how and why everything turned out the way it did.

She should have never assumed she could cheat Vuzgamad.

[bigskydreaming]

Making this its own post because replying to the ask got so weirdly formatted I can’t even. Oh tumblr. You work so well.

@themessofthecentury  asked:

jsksjf my tumblr notifs are bugging and i didnt see your post but!!! The patron Saint of Robins?? I am much intrigue!!

(This is from this ask game, just....gotten to late, lololol. And I still have more I’m getting to, no worries. Just had a rough couple days is all, laid me up a bit.)

Okay, so The Patron Saint of Robins is kinda like the situation at the end of Grayson, except also not at all. And actually this is one of my older WIPs, and according to Scrivener I started it in 2015 afhislfhalhfalf, so it really has nothing to do with that. Also, its Young Justice-verse, but for two specific reasons:

1) YJ-verse is my go-to for Good Dad Bruce Wayne, when I don’t want to actually tackle the issues I have with his and his kids’ dynamic in comic book canon. I don’t carry over things like the adoption issue or the Robin succession into YJ fics, as I don’t think there’s anything that suggests they’re ever a specific issue in YJ and I don’t feel a need to make them one. So pretty much anything and everything I write in YJ goes with the backstory that Dick’s already adopted by Season One, and he’s the one to grant each later Robin permission to use the mantle, with no conflict over that, and more of a pre-Crisis transition to Nightwing than the post-Crisis firing from Robin. And this fic inherently needs Good Dad Bruce Wayne to work, lol.

2) I needed Klarion the Witch-Boy. Who of course exists in comic book canon, but is muuuuuch different there, and I just needed him to be a little demonic evil shithead, who sets everything in motion to get payback on the heroes for thwarting the Light in Season One, and he targets Robin due to being the oft-cited ‘first of the baby brat heroes’ and the ‘heart of the cape community.’

You don’t really need to be familiar with YJ canon at all for this one, as it goes sharply AU from after Season One, and only faintly and vaguely references specific events from that season. And I use my own YJ-ized version of the Titans as much as the actual YJ Team.

So basically, the plot of this one is to take revenge on the heroes for spoiling his game in Season One, Klarion plays a new game, by putting a chaos curse on Robin. It essentially erases him from peoples’ memories, though he’s perfectly able to make new ones. If he re-introduces himself to someone ask Dick Grayson, for instance, they don’t suddenly remember who Dick Grayson is or was, but they don’t forget about him again from that point onward, its like they meet him for the first time as a stranger.

But the curse part of things is only Batman can break it and restore everyone’s memories of Dick and his actual history, and only by identifying him for who he really is. And Dick can’t be part of breaking his own curse or else it seals it and makes it permanent and unbreakable forever.

Which of course leaves Dick completely miserable at first, understandably, and Bruce (and everyone else Dick knows, to varying different degrees) feeling some kind of loss but with no idea what it is they think or feel that they’re missing. Dick makes some half-hearted attempts at starting a new life for himself in Gotham, and in the process befriends a street kid named Jason Todd, though Dick introduces himself to Jason with just the name Robin.

The way the curse operates is it restitches together peoples’ memories to cover up the gaps where memories of him would go. So for instance, even though Jason never knew Dick before the curse, he was familiar with Batman and Robin just as much as any Gothammite was.....but due to the curse, the name Robin, upon meeting Dick, had no special meaning to him or anyone else. As far as he knew, Batman had always operated on his own in Gotham, the first teen superhero was that Speedy kid in Star City, etc. So when Jason first meets Dick, he just thinks he’s some dude whose name happens to be Robin.

Eventually, because Dick’s been kinda torturing himself by spying on Bruce just to ‘keep an eye on him’ and still watch his back, and he’s recognized by now that Bruce is mourning his loss without even knowing that he’s missing something....so Dick, who has also kinda come to see Jason as a little brother figure due to watching out for him as well....decides to kill two birds with one stone, unfortunate pun not intended. (Jason doesn’t die in this one, lol). Basically, Dick puts in motion the chain of events that lead Jason to stealing Batman’s tires, because he doesn’t know EXACTLY what Bruce will do but he knows it’ll get his attention in a big way and Bruce will take it from there.

One thing leads to another, Jason ends up living with Bruce and when eventually he wants to be trained by Bruce so he can do what he does and protect kids like he used to be.....when asked to pick a name....Jason names himself after the guy who always looked out for him, and who led to him being found by Bruce in the first place. He doesn’t know that his friend ‘Robin’ steered him towards those tires deliberately, just to bring him and Bruce into contact, but he does credit him with making the suggestion that ‘inadvertently’ (as far as he knows) enabled his and Bruce’s introduction, and so he names himself in honor of the boy who helped him and who he tried to track down again to similarly help, after Bruce adopted him, but was never able to find again.

Over the years, Dick also ends up steering Tim, Cass, Duke and Damian to Bruce in different ways than comic book canon (Steph and Babs’ debuts remain their own, as family adjacent but not family specifically) and thus is integral to the forming of the Batfam and has a connection with them even before the curse ultimately ends up broken and he’s able to reclaim his full identity. And each of them end up Robin at least briefly, like Steph is never Robin in this AU, and sticks with Spoiler, whereas Cass IS briefly Robin before becoming Batgirl after Babs. I did this for a few different reasons...

One, I really like that Cass is never Robin in main continuity as it creates a different dynamic between her and Dick than most of their siblings have, BUT I’ve always been curious to play around what Cass-as-Robin might even be like, just for an AU. Two, part of the Black Bat and Batgirl but never Robin sequence of mantles for Cass in the comic book continuity is like.....although it doesn’t get explored nearly enough, Babs was as much a kind of mother figure for Cass as Bruce was a father figure, despite Babs’ young age. So it makes more sense for Cass to stick more to just Bat-mantles than to ever be a Robin in the comic books. But in YJ, Babs is even younger, and just way too young to have the specific kind of dynamic that leads to that in the comic books, so its not as unreasonable IMO for her to have a different dynamic in her early days in the family here, before becoming closer with Babs and taking up the Batgirl mantle after she moves on to become Oracle.

And then also, and this is also the primary reason for making Duke a Robin briefly, before Damian is old enough....I got hung up on the title and it just didn’t work as well if it was Robins + Cass and Duke, lololol. See, in addition to helping steer the family into the points of introduction that make them a family, over the years he also acts as like, a guardian angel figure to the various family members, looking out for them and interceding in times of extreme danger, like when Jason is almost killed by the Joker. He’s always in disguise, but the kids eventually compare notes and realize there’s a singular figure behind each of their introductions to Bruce and the guy swooping out of nowhere to save their behinds whenever they’re most in danger, and Jason eventually connects this back to the guy who apparently NOT so coincidentally suggested he go after the Batmobile’s tires that fateful night, and the kids end up jokingly/not-so-jokingly referring to this figure as the Patron Saint of Robins. (Shout-out to the occasional mentions/allusions of Jason’s Catholicism).

They never tell Bruce about this figure (at least before Bruce starts to put together clues on his own), because they all figured out that for whatever reason, this person despite wanting them all to meet Bruce seems to want to avoid Bruce himself, and they kinda want to respect that as a kind of payback for his help, and also like....Bruce, even a kinder, gentler Bruce, is still Bruce. And when Bruce is gonna Bruce, that means Batparanoia. And all of them for various reasons DO trust that this guy has nothing but good intentions towards them, and so they don’t want to like....ruin or tarnish the positivity they associate with his intercession in their lives with paranoia or treating him like a bad guy. Which ultimately is really just smoke and mirrors for saying that he’s kinda a ‘just for them’ secret. Its a Robin thing.

(Until its not).

Because meanwhile, Dick, in between meeting the various Batfam members and pulling strings and looking out for them from the shadows, at first travels the world looking for ways to break his curse. But when ultimately its clear that the only way to break it is the loophole built into it already, Bruce identifying him for who he really is, but without Dick doing anything to steer him towards the answer, Dick settles into a new hero identity as Nightwing, and forms the Teen Titans, a public group of young superheroes (minus Roy and Wally, unfortunately, but still with Donna, Garth, Raven, Kory, ignoring season 3 Vic and also Terra because AU redemption arc what what, etc). And the Teen Titans avoid both the Young Justice Team and the Justlce League with EXTREME measures, much to the other heroes’ confusion and aggravation, because in the early days of the Titans, in a moment of what he’d term weakness, on one of his ‘bad days,’ Dick tells them enough of his story that they’re able to put together a good sense of what happened and who he really is by reading between the lines and what he leaves unsaid....

BUT as a result, all end up extremely committed to not mixing and mingling casually with the rest of the cape community because they don’t want to risk dropping any hints about the guy under Nightwing’s mask, in case that might count as steering Batman towards clues and seal the curse for good. So I have a lot of fun with having the Titans just nope out of the scene the second the bad guys are defeated even when they have to team up with other heroes, leaving the other heroes confused as hell and trying not to be all ‘WHY DON’T YOU LIKE US??”

Anyway, so yeah, that’s the gist of this one, lol. With it of course following the eventual plot that like...the Batfam starts to Detect and put things together.

ANYWHO!

Snippet

Damian versus Klarion: Round One

“Aww, its adorable that you think you’re in my league,” the Witch-Boy cooed in an absolute mockery of sympathy. Damian bristled, but before he could do anything more than that, he was faced with a much more pressing matter as reality completely lost its mind.

The walls of the cavern fell away in an instant, only to be replaced with a whirling dervish of winds all around them, as if they now stood in the center of a cyclone that bled red and silver and black. It shrieked and wailed in a chorus of voices just on the other side of being comprehensible, a symphony of the damned that set every nerve in Damian’s body aflame with a primal instinct to get out, to find silence, to be anywhere but here.

He’d barely staggered a step backwards when the ground erupted beneath him, splitting apart into jagged obsidian shards that bobbed precariously in the sea of magma barely glimpsed through cracks now spiderwebbing their way across the floor. Spears of lightning burst upwards through them, stabbing impossibly at the heavens rather than raining down from them. They hissed and crackled as they flickered like forked serpent tongues of electric violet and black. The forks becoming branches, the pillars of sky-shattering light transforming into the trunks of great trees that grew upwards and outward, weaving a canopy overhead. One that wept violently red leaves that fell gently to the ground, only to hiss and bubble like acid once they did.

“See, normally this is when I’d hit someone with a little razzle-dazzle like this,” Klarion called out over the song of madness he’d created, as it crooned and careened wildly all around them. He snapped his fingers, and in the span of a second it all ceased. Reality reaffirmed itself, and all was right with the world once more…except now the two of them stood at the end of a hallway in Wayne Manor.

Damian stumbled, the sudden reappearance of firm ground paradoxically being the thing to challenge his balance. The demon boy standing beside him crooked his thumb and forefinger in the semblance of a gun, the smile pasted across his face one of wickedly gleeful malice.

“But you, kiddo, you’re special. Cuz there’s nothing I could do to you now that could top what I’ve already done, so why try when I can just savor the moment instead?”

“What are you babbling about?” Damian demanded roughly. In the wake of what the Witch-Boy had just conjured up with nothing more than a gesture, he was keenly aware of how flimsy a shield his bravado made. He just had absolutely no idea what else to fall back on.

Klarion only threw back his head and laughed though, skipping merrily down the hall as he did.

“I know something you don’t know,” he sing-songed and Damian lost what little grasp of his patience he’d managed to hang onto.

“You overestimate my need for an answer. Attempt to intimidate me all you wish, but I have no desire to indulge your little game any further.”

Klarion jerked to a stop and spun around, his face screwed into a childish pout. He stomped his foot, petulance personified. “I’m not intimidating you anymore, I’m gloating! Ugh, you’re so stupid! They’re completely different, how can you not tell?”

Every light in the hallway flickered and fizzed abruptly. The walls wavered, bubbled, momentarily molten as if made of wax.

Again Damian was reminded just how mercurial this being he was faced with was, and how dangerous. Perhaps, as Father would say, this was not the time to indulge his own instinctive inclinations. Or as Todd would put it, just because you’re already fucked, that’s no reason to fuck yourself over more than you have to.

Crude as his older brother was, there was occasional merit to his…pithiness. Not that he would be admitting that any time soon, of course.

“Fine. What is it you wish to gloat about then?” Damian grated out. The appeasement, such as it was, tried its best to stick in his throat before finally clawing its way free. But at least it proved worth the effort when the godling’s mood reverted back to impishness as readily as with the flip of a switch.

“Well. Its like this, you see.” Klarion said. He dragged it out as he folded both legs underneath him to sit cross-legged in the air, plopping his head into his hands. “I did a baaaaaaaaaaaaad, bad thing to your family, a loooooong time ago. And none of you have done anything about it, because you don’t even know! Isn’t that funny? Doesn’t matter how big a hero Daddy Bats is if he doesn’t even know what needs saving huh? Little Catch-22 there, you might say.”

“Yes. Quite hysterical,” Damian said dryly. “So what is it you claim to have done then?”

The Witch-Boy just sat there, regarding him with amusement, and the seconds marched on into minutes. Damian’s skin crawled. Prickling with impatience and possibly something…more. He wasn’t quite ready to name it anxiety or something as melodramatic as all that yet. In fact, he’d rather not put a name to it at all, but today did not appear to be a day for configuring things to his liking.  

Klarion’s wicked grin grew as if sensing his thoughts, though to the best of his knowledge (and Damian did quickly ransack the library of his memory just to be sure) there was no indication telepathy was included among the Chaos Lord’s many, many powers. And still that detestable smile stretched slowly wider all the same, in perfect synchronization with the rising tide of Damian’s unease. Perhaps the Witch-Boy’s file was in need of annotation.

“How many doors would you say are in this hallway?”

“What? Seven.” Damian snapped out his answer, annoyed by the non sequitur. Not to mention baffled. Was it too much to expect even a semblance of linear thought from the Chaos brat?

“Are you suuuuuuure?” The Witch-Boy stretched his query out obnoxiously. “Maybe you should count again. Just for kicks and giggles.”

Damian throttled back each and every retort attempting to spring to his lips, stuffing them back down and cramming a lid on everything he most dearly wished to say to this most vexing of…shitheads. Once again, it appeared as though nothing less than Todd’s preferred form of nomenclature would suffice. Wonderful. On top of everything else Damian had to deal with today, he seemed to be finding common ground with the man all over the place. Was there no end to the indignities he must suffer?

But marshaling his own formidable willpower, Damian took a deep breath and indulged the Chaos Lord, glancing his eyes down the length of the hallway and counting out each doorway one by one. There was his own room of course, with Cassandra’s to the right of his, and the room Brown used when staying over to the right of hers. That was three. Then there was Thomas directly across from his own room, with Drake to his right and Todd just beyond that, with Father’s room at the very end of the hall, his master suite staggered and with no direct opposite like the others. Seven.

Except all of a sudden there was a door directly opposite his father’s. For a total of eight.

Damian’s brow furrowed in consternation. The faint whispers of uncertainty already seeded throughout him bore fruit, ripening into poisonous stabbings of doubt.

“That’s not real,” he stated with as much conviction as he could muster.

The Witch-Boy’s smile only grew wider still. “Isn’t it, though?”

“There’s never been a door there before,” Damian persisted, striding confidently down the hall towards it. The Chaos Lord flitted ahead of him, inverting til he was upside down and skipping merrily once more, though this time from the ceiling.

“Or has it been there all along?” He sing-songed some more.

“I would think we might have noticed if it had been,” Damian growled.

“Yes, you’d think, wouldn’t you? You are all supposed to be a family of detectives, I thought. Makes you wonder…if you could miss this, what else might you have failed to notice?”

Damian snarled to himself and did his best to shut out the demon boy’s prattling. He quickened his strides, eating up the length of the hallway in his haste to reach its end. He wasn’t sure what opening the door would prove, let alone what bewilderment the godling had conjured on its other side, but it appeared the only end to this game of his was through it, so let there be an end to it already.

And yet, for all his certainty - or best facsimile of it - he couldn’t help but pause once he reached the door in question. His hand hovered within reach of its brass knob, but some instinct, some…caution, held him at bay. As much as he wanted to dismiss all this as just one more of the Chaos Lord’s inane charades, there was a tension in the air that felt too weighty to be the product of just magical conjuring. Something more was in play here. Real forces were at work. His father might disdain magic, but Damian had been around enough of it himself to know when true power had been raised. And the span of empty space between his hand and this hither-to-unseen doorknob held more of it than Damian had felt throughout all the mad warpings Klarion had made of reality thus far.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Klarion asked from somewhere overhead. His voice, usually pitched to carry, was so soft for a moment Damian mistook it for his own inner doubts. “Some doors are easier to open than to close again, you know.”

Even knowing the goading for what it was couldn’t stop Damian then, and with a simple breath to fortify himself, he reached for the knob, spun it once, and shoved the door open all in a single sharp movement.

The Witch-Boy giggled up above.

The door swung wide, a forceful arc that should have revealed anything and everything within it all at once; the better to react quickly to whatever that might be. Fine in principle, perfect in execution, but thwarted by one small detail:

There was nothing on the other side.

And not in the sense of it being just an empty room, but true nothingness. A pitch-black abyss darker than the deepest night, yawning forth from the doorway in a vast, impenetrable shroud. Nor was anything hidden in the darkness, Damian knew, even if just intuitively. He could feel it, that he stood on the edge of an impossible cliff, that there was nothing beyond this threshold but an aching chasm of emptiness and loss. The surety of it hung in the air, thick and heavy, a miasma that seeped through to his side of the doorway and clung to him like the moisture of a fog beads upon the skin.

Klarion’s head suddenly popped up alongside him, hovering just over his shoulder.

Albeit still upside down.

“Well that doesn’t seem right,” he mused, tapping at his lips with a forefinger. “What do you suppose is meant to be in there?”

The last of Damian’s brittle patience shattered.

“Enough! What is the meaning of all this, demon? Speak plainly, for once in your miserable existence!”

His self-preservation instincts and the reminder of just who it was he was shouting at kicked in too little too late, but he wouldn’t take his exasperated fury back even if he could. He was who he was after all. But fortunately, that described the Witch-Boy just as accurately, and rather take offense or perceive any actual threat from Damian’s rage, the Chaos Lord just shrieked with laughter and sprung backwards. He flipped right side up, still hovering in mid-air, and clapped his hands with glee.

“Oh, I should have done this ages ago,” Klarion sang out. “Why, you’re almost as fun as he used to be. Back before he got all droll and serious, that is. He’s no fun at all anymore, nothing like this. Never wants to play, always just running back to his tower with that little bitch of a demoness.”

His face soured like he’d just sucked on a lemon. But rather than stop there, his countenance kept morphing into an increasingly savage scowl, the longer he ranted. The hallway was suddenly sweltering, baking with unseen heat that twisted the air into shimmering ribbons. The small horns sprouting from his forehead burst into scimitars of flame that cut through those ribbons and set them similarly ablaze.

“Always putting on airs like she’s some kind of royalty, just because her Daddy Dearest put the fear into a few peasants back in the day,” the Witch-Boy snarled viciously. “As if that’s enough to put her on par with the likes of me. No one is the likes of me. NO ONE!”

Reality itself quaked with the force of his shout. White-blue flames spat forth and crescendoed down the length of the corridor, splashing against its walls and searing them to a crisp. Damian braced himself for all the good it would do, keenly aware of the void still gaping hungrily behind his back, but before the fire could become an actual danger to him as well, all was quiet once more.

Silence hung in the air much like the demon boy, poised yet motionless. Suspended. Waiting.

And then Klarion simply inhaled and brushed his hands down the front of his garments, smoothing out the wrinkles as he reclaimed his calm. The corridor restored itself to its former self, curtains of vintage reality unrolling from the ceiling to the floor as though papering over the damage. Damian felt rather than saw when the portal behind him swung shut and was replaced with the expanse of ivory paint and ornate sconces he was used to seeing in its place.

“I am one of a kind, after all,” Klarion finally remarked. It was a casual drawl offered forth almost off-handedly, as if more a reminder to himself than uttered for anyone else’s sake. He used one hand to spell out letters in the air. They appeared and vanished again in bursts of fireworks and fluorescent flame. “U-N-I-Q-U-E.”

“As I, apparently, am not,” Damian said, seizing upon the Chaos Lord’s restored calm and good cheer. “Who is this ‘he’ you mentioned? If I’m to be pitted against him as entertainment in your eyes, might I at least know his name?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the Witch-Boy scolded. He wagged his finger at Damian. “No spoilers. That’s not how the game is played.”

Keenly aware of the boy’s power once more, Damian gritted his teeth and pressed on. “Well, if there are to be rules, shouldn’t I at least know what those are?”

Klarion sucked in a deep breath, drawing himself up along with his inhalation as though preparing for some great speech…and instead just toppling backward, flopping onto an extravagant fainting couch that suddenly appeared beneath him, though similarly floating in the air.

“I can’t recall at the moment.” His now-faint voice drifted up from where he lay buried amid a mountain of pillows. “I’ve had a terribly exhausting day. But you’re supposed to be a detective, remember? Go…I don’t know. Detect things.”

He flapped an arm at Damian dismissively, and then crooked a finger into a twirling motion that set his divan to spinning in lazy circles.

“Isn’t life grand?” Klarion sighed fondly. “With all its twists and turns, its eddies and swirls. I mean, take the two of us. Scant hours ago, we were mortal enemies, and just look at us now.”

The Witch-Boy lazily rolled his head to the side as the couch drifted to bring him face-to-face with Damian. His lips spread wide in that malevolent, wicked grin of his once again, but somehow it managed to be even wider than any he’d shown off before. His eyes blazed with a hellish inner light, and his voice, when next he spoke, dropped deep into a demonic register. A bass that boomed forth and set Damian’s very bones to rattling.

“Ain’t we got fun?”

[libsterslobsters]

Celebration Day

Summary: Bucky and the Reader's long-awaited wedding day is just around the corner. The only trouble is, with Pepper Potts serving as wedding planner, it's a little more elaborate than either of them had imagined. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands and create your perfect out of what's around you.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced!Reader

(Reader sees bits and pieces of the future at random, understands all languages, and is also a super soldier)

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Author's note: As always, the reader's name is never mentioned so that this can be read as a self-insert, but when I write this character, I imagine her as a Violet. Also, the song at the end of the fic can be anything you like, but I wrote it with Unforgettable by Nat King Cole in mind.

*************************************************

“Whoa.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but as he takes in the huge stone building that, according to Pepper, they’ll be getting married at in two weeks’ time, he’s almost certain his eyes have gone as big as his fiancee’s. What the actual fuck? They could fit a small army inside this place.

“Is this the right place?” He’s half-way hoping she’ll say no, it was a big joke, but with a grimace, she nods.

“That is, if she sent us the right address. If not, it’s pretty remote here….” She trails off, biting at her lip.

“Does Pepper know that between the two of us, we can count the number of people we call friends on our fingers-”

“And the ones we’d actually want around to watch us make a life-long commitment to each other is even smaller? Yeah, I mentioned it.”

That’s what he was afraid of. Despite having been through some of the most intense situations known to man (fighting Thanos, anyone?), as he pulls the door closed behind him, his palm starts to sweat. Logically, he knew giving Pepper the go ahead to plan as she saw fit without any input from either of them (she did insist on footing the bill after all, so being particular would be ungrateful) meant that things would get more elaborate than he’d feel comfortable with, but this is completely out of hand.

“I’m starting to think that waiting until two weeks before the day of to take a look at things may have been a mistake.”

He chooses not to add his two cents to that (a fucking huge one, on both their parts). It turns out to be the right decision because, a huge bouquet of… are those lilies… in her hands, Pepper emerges from a side door.

“Good, you both found the place.” Yeah, it was kinda hard to miss. It’s a literal castle! “Isn’t it just beautiful?” The high-powered executive is gushing in a way that’s usually reserved for the first time seeing a great work of nature, like the Grand Canyon or possibly Niagara Falls. Not… whatever the hell this is.

“It’s very eye-catching.” The grip on his hand increases to where it’s almost painful, and he glances over at her. “Right?” In other words, don’t just stand there. Say something.

“Yeah. It’s…” Huge. Kind of reminds him of a medieval palace that would have a secret torture chamber down bellow. Decadent, but not in the “This is really great chocolate cake” kind of way. “...really something.” If that look is anything to judge from, he’s definitely in the dog house tonight… which, oddly enough, means the dog will probably spend the night cuddled up to her on his side of the bed.

Fortunately, Pepper seems not to have noticed that he’s less than enthusiastic about her choice of venue (either that, or she’s assumed that ‘vaguely unsociable’ is just his natural state), because she beams at the woman on his arm.

“Of course, it’ll look much different the day of. There will be floral arrangements in every window and…” She goes on, but he’s stopped listening, too busy trying to calculate how many people can fit in this auditorium alone.

“Any questions?” Pepper peers between both of them. He should really read the room and say no thanks, it all sounds great, but he actually is wondering about something.

“Yeah, I have one. What’s the final tally on the guest list looking like?”

“We’re standing at around 500.” 500… does he even know that many people? Scratch that; between the two of them, do THEY know that many people?

“Wow.” He glances at the woman next to him. Yeah, that’s a fake smile if he’s ever seen one. “That’s quite a turn-out.”

Pepper says something else, but he doesn’t hear it past the buzzing in his ears. It’s only when he feels a tug on his hand that he realizes they’re supposed to follow Stark’s widow out of the room.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, she turns to him, wearing a worried frown. “You okay there, Buck?”

He nods. “Yeah, but is it too late to go with your idea? Just go to the courthouse and sign a paper?”

She sighs, a rueful smile on her face. “I think that ship has sailed. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She deserves the best, and if Pepper has anything to do with it, this wedding will be just that. He can deal with it. It’s just for a few hours, after all.

“Does this mean I get to pull out the ‘I told you so’?” It’s a joke, meant to lighten the mood. He knows this, so he takes the bait.

“Yeah, Doll. You get a free pass.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“How’s it coming?” She’s honestly not sure how to answer Shuri’s question. In traditional “Say Yes To The Dress” fashion, her female friends are all gathered outside the dressing room doors waiting for her to step out in the gown Pepper had designed specifically for her. The only trouble is, she’s never felt more out-of-place in her life.

It’s a beautiful dress, highlighting every single positive aspect of her body. The shade of ivory works well with her skin tone, and the material is cool against her skin. She looks exactly like a picture from a bridal magazine with her hair still styled from a trial run of that and makeup earlier today. Perfect… but not like herself.

Shaking her head, she tells herself she’s just not used to looking so formal, and pushes open the door.

Wanda, Morgan, Nakia and Shuri make appropriate noises of approval as she steps into the room. Pepper is smiling, a hand pressed to her mouth and tears rolling down her face. Only Okoye looks less than pleased.

“You look so fierce.” Shuri informs her, rushing forward to adjust her train.

“A total knockout.” Nakia nods.

“You look like a doll!” She chuckles at the four-year-old’s exclamation. It’s very sweet, probably the best compliment she’s ever gotten. Plus, she’s starting to feel like a doll.

“Okoye?” The general eyes her up and down, expression unchanging.

“How are you planning to fight in that dress?”

Wanda and Pepper freeze, unsure of how to react, but Nakia laughs and Shuri rolls her eyes.

“It’s her wedding day, General. She isn’t fighting anyone.” Shuri exclaims between giggles.

“This is an American wedding. The most physical thing they do is dance.” Nakia adds.

“Until the wedding night, that is.” And now she’s trying not to snicker at the princess’s innuendo.

The rest of the appointment is a blur. A tailor checks and rechecks the measurements, pinning up whatever he deems too long or large, letting out anything too constricting. Girl talk ensues and the champagne flows. By the time they go their separate ways, each with a bridesmaid’s (or in Morgan’s case, flower girl) dress in their possession, she’s the only one who’s not at least slightly buzzed.

She should really head home. It’s late in the afternoon, and she’s still got papers to grade. However, she finds herself driving in the opposite direction of where she lives. After today, she needs some time to herself, away from anyone else and the possibility of unintentionally seeing their future.

At a red light, she stops and dictates a voice-to-text message, informing Barnes that, “It’s going to be a late one. Stopping by a few places on the way home. Let me know if you want me to pick up something.” The reply comes thirty seconds later. “Take your time. Text me when you’re on your way. Stay safe.” This wedding may not be exactly what she’d pick for herself, but the man she gets to spend the rest of her life alongside certainly is.

She drives aimlessly for a while, no destination in mind. Finally, she decides that while she’s out, she may as well kill two birds with one stone. Pepper mentioned that they’re still lacking the “something old” from ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue’. She considered joking that the groom is over a century old so they’ve got that covered, but as an antique store appears on her right, she decides to go in and see if anything catches her eye.

A bell rings as soon as she steps inside, and although she can’t see anyone, a voice calls out from the center of the store to, “Shout if you need anything.” It’s a hodgepodge of various items, most in disrepair, all covered in a blanket of dust. She comes across a coin in the display counter minted in 1917 and is about to ask if she can get a closer look at it (there’s something about a sixpence in a shoe if she’s remembering correctly), but that’s when she sees it.

The wedding dress is clearly vintage, more than likely an original. As she takes a closer look at the tag, she sees that it reads “hand sewn, 1942”. The price is marked $25 dollars, a good deal even if it were in disrepair. Instead, she can’t find a thing wrong with it. It’s almost as if someone unearthed this in the back of a closet, perfectly preserved, and thought, “Here’s a way to make a quick buck.” For a moment, she allows herself to dream of how she’d look in it, but as the salesperson appears, she pushes that daydream to the side.

“May I see the nickel from 1917, please?”

With one last longing look at the dress, she pays for her purchase, and leaves the store behind.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not unusual for him to have nightmares. Most times, he can tell that what’s going on around him is a dream, not real life, and wake himself up. Not tonight, however. It all feels too real, not one of his usual dreamscapes, so that he’s stuck reliving a scene from earlier in the day.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Coming out of the pet store on his way home with a few bags of dog food (not to mention more toys than the mutt really needs because, despite himself, he’s a sucker for their tripod of a dog), he got recognized. There was the flash of a picture being taken to his right, and when he turned, a man holding a smartphone asked, “Hey, you’re that Winter Solder guy, aren’t you?” In reality, he pretended not to have heard and kept walking, and that was the end of it. In his dream, he’s driven all the way home, only to be cornered as he’s stepping out of his car and activated by HYDRA.

“Longing-”

“Stop.”

“-rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak-”

“Not again. Please.”

“-furnace. Nine. Benign-” As the HYDRA agent speaks, he realizes that she’s in the room with him. Oh no.

“Get out of here! Run!” He tries to warn her, but she just smiles at him, and although he can’t hear what she’s saying, he can see her lips forming the words, “I love you.”

“-One. Freight Car.”

“No!” He bolts upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. It’s only when the chill of the night air makes him shiver that he realizes it was just a dream.

“Whoa.” He’s still trying to catch his breath when he feels her hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay, Bucky. Take some deep breaths. That’s it.” He used to be embarrassed whenever this would happen, especially if he managed to wake her up in the process. But since Thanos, all of that has gone by the wayside, and it’s a common occurrence for her to wake up screaming and flailing also.

Practice makes perfect, so it’s only a few moments before his breathing returns to normal and he feels his heart regain it’s rhythm. He turns to her to apologize, but stops short.

“You were already awake.” She nods.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. My mind’s too busy.”

“Busy with what?” As he asks it, he settled back into bed, turning on his side to face her.

“Are we just gonna ignore that you had a nightmare?” He nods

“For now, yeah. It’s still too fresh.” A look of understanding settles on her face. He’s eternally grateful that she’s not one to push him into talking before he’s ready.

“I can’t stop thinking about the fucking wedding.” He snickers at her profanity. “Five hundred people, Buck. Five hundred! I don’t even know that many people, much less like them.” It’s like she’s read his mind.

“All of them staring at us…” She shudders. “It’s silly, but what if I have a vision and instead of saying “I Do” I say, ‘Watch your head!’ or something else just as stupid?”

“Then you’ll be doing better than me.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “I keep having this recurring dream that we get around to the vows and I forget how to talk. Then I look down and realize I’m not wearing pants.” That reminds him… “You still haven’t told me how trying on the dress went.”

She sighs.

“It was an experience.” That can’t be good.

“Didn’t it fit?”

“Oh, it fit.” She nods. “Like a glove.” Then what’s the problem? “It’s a beautiful dress, and I really appreciate all the effort Pepper put into it, but…” Oh. Now he thinks he understands.

“It’s not quite what you imagined.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“No, but then again, I never imagined my wedding dress because I never imagined getting married.”

“But you still want to, right?” He shouldn’t ask that, but there’s a niggling fear at the back of his mind that she’s realized she doesn’t want to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives.

“Of course I do.” They’re facing each other, crumpled sheets between then, and she reaches out to caress his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Barnes, nightmare wedding or not.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the air vents circulating a cool breeze through the bedroom. Then she asks,

“Did you ever imagine it? A wedding or getting married?” It’s not something he’d easily admit to most people, but he nods.

“Yeah, I did. Back before the war.”

“Tell me about it.” She closes her eyes, and he can’t help but feel a slight wave of excitement that he gets to see her like this forever.

“It wasn’t like I spent a lot of time daydreaming about it, but…” It was just one of those natural things, a given in life; you get a job, find a girl, get married, and settle down to have a houseful of kids. When the war started, he saw so many of his friends go ahead and tie the knot with their girls before they shipped out, and he took it for granted that one day, he’d do the same thing.

“I guess I figured on having Steve there, standing up with me.” Of course, now Steve is an old man, physically as well as chronologically. He’ll be there of course. Even serve as the best man. However, it looks a little different than he imagined. “It’d probably be small, because we weren’t dirt poor, but we weren’t exactly rich either. Friends and family.” She nods, eyelids still lowered. “Didn’t put much thought into decorations or clothes, but I imagined walking out with her on my arm, whoever the girl ended up being-” Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a woman as incredible as this. “-and dancing together after it, then heading back to our house, just the two of us.”

“It sounds-” She yawns, and he knows she’s nearly asleep. “-perfect.”

It does to him too, but over time, things change. Even if it sounds nice, a 1940’s shindig probably wouldn’t cut it in today’s busy world with it’s easy access to perfection. Still, a huge chunk of him wishes he could just steal her away and make their promises to each other in private. That makes him wonder: what did it look like when Steve and Peggy got hitched? He supposes he can ask soon enough. Steve’s arriving tomorrow after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You need any help in there?” Steve thinks about shooting back that he may be old (well, ancient is probably more accurate at this stage) but he can still manage to put on his pants without help, thanks. Instead he just answers,

“Nope. Just giving you a few extra minutes to primp before I come out and embarrass you by pulling off this suit better than you do.” As he pulls on his jacket, he hears Bucky laugh.

“Whatever you say, punk.”

He’s lived a full life, made plenty of other friends. However, he still hasn’t clicked the same way he does with the jerk from Brooklyn, even if said jerk is now seventy years younger than him.

“Alright, I’m done making myself pretty. Get out here, old man.” Chuckling, he pushes open the changing room door and joins Sam and Bucky.

“I don’t know what you two are bragging about.” Sam grins and straightens his tie. “Clearly I’m the best looking person here even without being hopped up on super soldier mojo.”

Bucky fakes a frown and elbows Sam.

“Remind me again why you’re invited to my wedding?”

“Because the bride likes me.”

“No accounting for taste.”

“Clearly, since she’s marrying you.”

Even though it’s obviously a joke, Steve internally winces. He’s already half-way expecting to talk Bucky down off the ledge at least three times in the next two days, convince him that yes you you are good enough for this girl, no I don’t think she’s making a mistake entrusting her future to you. Back in the day, he was the shy one with a lack of self-confidence. After everything HYDRA did, it’s his best friend who believes he’s unworthy of a second chance at life.

However, throughout most of the morning, there’s absolutely no sign of the impending breakdown. Steve’s nearly convinced that he’s guessed wrong, that there won’t be any fires to put out when, on the drive back to his hotel room, it happens.

“Can I ask you something?” He can’t really read his best friend’s facial expression since the other man is driving, facing straight ahead, but if the tension in body language is anything to judge from, this isn’t going to be a casual conversation.

“Sure.”

“Were you nervous before you and Peggy tied the knot?”

He nods.

“More like scared shitless.” It wasn’t the fact that, for the rest of their lives, they would be tied together, not just emotionally but legally as well. If anything, he was nearly giddy with excitement over that part. “All those people with their eyes on you and your dearly beloved? Don’t tell anyone, but five minutes before I had to be in place, I was in the bathroom losing my lunch.” Bucky snickers, and even he chuckles at the memory. “But I got through it because it was her. She was what I wanted at the end of the day. I would’ve gone through with it in front of a million people or in a broom closet. It didn’t matter. Everything except Peg was just trappings.”

Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the trip. On Steve’s part, he’s mentally reliving the day he married Peggy Carter through his memories. In fact, he’s so busy reminiscing that he doesn’t realize the car has stopped moving and they’re parked outside the hotel until his name is called for what must be at least the third time.

“Sorry.” He smiles apologetically. “It’s just a side affect of getting old: you spend a lot of time stuck in the past and forget about the present.”

“It’s okay.”

He reaches to open his door, but before he can-

“Do you have anything going this afternoon? Maybe need to take a nap or something?” This time, he doesn’t swallow down the sarcastic comment that springs to mind.

“Yeah, right after I finish rubbing liniment on my joints, I’m gonna go down to the old folks’ home and play bingo, maybe yell at some kids to get off my lawn. That is, unless you have something else in mind.”

“Well, I was gonna go interrupt my girl’s day and ask her if she’d go down to the courthouse and elope with me since we’re both dreading the trappings, but it sounds like you’re busy, so…”

It’ll smart later, but he tags the back of his best friend’s head.

“Go get your girl, jerk. Just tell me when and where to meet you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a nap?”

“Respect your elders!”

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s elbow deep in clothing (when the hell did they acquire that many tshirts between them), attempting to make a dent in the number of things they still have to pack before next week’s move-in date, when she hears the apartment door open. That’s weird. He’s not supposed to be home until later in the day. It’s unnecessary, a reflex at this point, but she feels for the hidden knife she still keeps on her at nearly all times. It’s most likely not an intruder, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The funny thing about living with someone is that the little things about them, details you never forced yourself to pay attention to, become ingrained in your memory without you realizing it. In this case, she recognizes the speed and heaviness of the footfalls, and that’s what makes her lower her guard.

“In the bedroom.” He hasn’t asked, but it’ll save him from looking through each room that comes before this one. And, if he’s home this early, they’ll probably have something to discuss.

“Hey.”

As she repeats the greeting back to him, she studies his expression. A smile, small but genuine. Also… nervous? That’s strange. She’s gotten good at reading the tiny tells that are still there behind the perfect, unflappable mask, but usually it takes her a lot longer to crack the code. Something major is going on.

“How’s the packing coming?” As he asks, he picks up a shirt (one of his, although it’s not folded) and tosses it into a box.

“It’s coming along fine. Do you want to talk about it some more or dive into why you’re home so early?”

“That depends. Do you already know what I’m gonna say?”

She shakes her head. No visions so far, at least not about this.

“Then I guess I’d better quit stalling.” That doesn’t sound good. “So, about the wedding.” For a moment, she’s worried he’s calling it off, that he’s decided he’d rather not spend the rest of his life with her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have mentioned it last night when they were both lying there unable to sleep, discussing things? “Is it safe to say we’re both dreading it? Not what comes after, but the part where five hundred of our closest friends stare at us?”

Her lips curl into a smirk.

“You could say that.”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe there’s a way to avoid it and still get the job done. Something more like what we talked about last night. You were awake for that part, right?”

Barely. In fact, she remembers her final thought before drifting off being, “I wish we could do things that way.” Still…

“Pepper’s put so much effort in. People are traveling, have already made arrangements-”

“So we still show up on Saturday, but behind the scenes, we would’ve already made things official. Maybe gone to the courthouse like you wanted to, just us and Steve? One other person if you had anyone in mind, since there need to be two witnesses?” It’s an appealing idea. The marriage license is still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting for them to sign on the day of. In theory, all they need to do is make an appointment and show up with their two witnesses. In practice…

“Hypothetically speaking, when would we be doing this?” Immediately, the small sign of nervousness melts from his face.

“This afternoon at four thirty, since that’s the only time before Saturday they had available. Hypothetically.”

She pretends to think about it, but can’t hide the smile that sneaks across her face.

“Then it’s a yes.” Now they’re both smiling like idiots. Taking his offered hand, she rights herself and circles her arms around his neck.

“So we’re really doing this, huh?” His arms wrap around her, and now they’re so close, she can feel his heart beating.

“Looks that way.” She leans up, closing the gap between them and presses her lips against his.

It’s tempting to just stand there, making out like teenagers, but eventually, she has to back away. It’s comical how startled he looks (that and slightly flustered).

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“What?”

She snickers. “I don’t know much about weddings, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to see me ahead of time. Bad luck and all.”

“Wouldn’t want to risk that.” With one last peck, he lets her go. “Do you want me to head out and give you the apartment, or-”

“No, you stay. I actually have some errands to run.” Not saying another word (otherwise, she’ll end up gushing about how she can’t to start their life together), she grabs her keys from the nightstand and heads towards the door.

Once she’s in the car, a memory from the other day of that 1940s wedding dress sitting in an antique store comes back to her. There wasn’t a size on the label, and the material might be too fragile for her to even get it on her body. But it was so… perfect. It’s decided: she’s going in search of it. If it fits her, yay! If it doesn’t work out, she’s still got enough time to stop in at a department store and purchase something else.

The whole thing is slightly absurd. She peals into the antique store and, after eyeballing the dress, purchases it without so much as trying it on. Then, stopping at a fast food place, she undresses in a bathroom stall and pulls on the dress. The material is slightly musty from all the years of disuse, but it goes on easily. As she peers at herself in the bathroom mirror, a giggle rises from deep inside her. For the first time in this whole process, she feels like a bride.

She’s still dressed in the vintage white gown when she steps inside the first florist’s shop she comes across The woman behind the counter gives her a strange look, but doesn’t ask any questions as she sells her the simple bouquet of violets with a few pieces of greenery. She knows she must look odd, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s flying too high. Maybe that’s the reason why, as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup, still in her car, she tucks a few of the flowers into her hair. There. That’s better.

She spots his car in the parking lot, so she knows he’s already there. That’s when the nerves hit her. This is it. They’re actually doing this. After today they won’t just be to people sharing an apartment (among other things); they’ll be husband and wife. She’s ready. God, is she ready. But the enormity of it is intimidating. What if she’s not a good wife? What if he’s expecting her to be the perfect domestic goddess (that’s absurd, she knows, but rationality just flew out the window)? Or on a more practical level, what if he doesn’t like how she looks? There’s only one way to find out. Slowly, hands shaking, she pulls open the courthouse door.

Steve’s waiting for her just inside the building. Apparently, he takes traditions very seriously, because when she asks where Bucky is, he just shakes his head. “He’s here, but you’re not gonna see him until you’re in the room, about to sign the paperwork.” She’s not going to fight it (after all, she’s the one who brought up separating in the first place), but she does still have a question.

“Steve, can I ask you for a massive favor?”

“Sure.” Here it goes.

“I know there’s not a real aisle, but would you walk me inside?” He may be seventy years older than he was when she met him, but the smile is still the same.

“Yeah. I’d be honored to do it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s not sure what the connection is between being so nervous you’re ready to climb the walls and the urge to pace, but regardless, that’s what he’s doing. The clock in the office where he’ll be exchanging vows with the woman he loves more than he ever thought was possible reads four twenty-nine. One minute left, give or take. One minute, and then the rest of his life begins.

The seconds hand seems to move incredibly slowly, but finally, it reaches it’s destination. On cue, the door opens, and all the breath leaves his lungs. Here she is.

It’s not the way he’d imagined it as a kid. Steve’s not at his side. He’s considerably older, rougher around the edges. They’re in a courthouse instead of a church. But as a kid, he also didn’t imagine anything that can compare to her.

It goes without saying that she’s beautiful; that’s always the case. But all the old stories are true: there’s something about seeing her in a white dress walking towards him just before they promise to love, honor, and cherish each other for the rest of their lives that makes her shine like never before. She’s not just beautiful. She’s brilliant.

“Hey.” Right. He need to say something.

“Hey. You made it.”

She chuckles and pushes back a stray tendril.

“Yeah, well I had a date I was really excited for, so I rearranged my schedule.”

Before he can say anything else (he’s not sure what, because frankly, all thoughts except “I love you” have disappeared), the door opens and a man in a business suit sticks his head out.

“Is everyone here?”

He looks at her for confirmation.

“Everyone that needs to be.”

“Then right this way.”

He’s not aware of much that is said during the ceremony after they join hands, too busy memorizing what she looks like so he’ll never forget. This is definitely one of those moments you want to carry with you the rest of your life.

They stick to the standard vows. He takes her to be his lawfully wedded wife to have and hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish ‘til death do them part, and vise versa. As he slips the ring on her finger, he catches her eye and mouths a silent, “I love you.”, which she repeats back as she slides on his wedding band.

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” That’s it. This is real. They’re married. “You may kiss the bride.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

After the paperwork is signed, they agree to go and have dinner. Steve’s come all this way, and something seems right about celebrating with his oldest friend. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to make a reservation so, still dressed in their formal clothes, they slide into a corner booth at a local diner. Nothing important is said; it’s mostly laughter and inside jokes between a group of friends. By seven o’clock, he’s dropped Steve off at his hotel and is on his way back home.

The apartment is mostly packed up at this point. The only things left are their clothes, a few kitchen and bathroom essentials, and their bed. Even the record player she gave him as a birthday gift has been shipped off to the townhouse they’ll officially move into sometime next week. But, he thinks to himself as he lets himself in, the great thing about going to sleep in 1945 and waking up in the 2000s is that while his taste in music may not have evolved by much, technology has. Which means-

“Hey, stranger.” She’s still wearing the dress, their dog sitting next to her on the bed with his head in her lap. It would be a crime to let that go to waste.

“Come here.” He motions for her to join him, and as soon as she stands, starts scrolling through is phone.

“What are you doing?” The confusion melts from her face as the first few notes of the song fill the room.

Holding out his hand, he asks, “May I have this dance?”

A soft smile crosses her face as, nodding, she folds herself into his arms.

“You can have every dance.”

Two days from now, they’ll stand in front of five hundred people, most of whom they've never met before, and make their vows once again. It'll be uncomfortable and even a little jarring, but it won’t matter. Steve's right: it’s all trappings. What’s real is now; the beautiful woman in his arms, his wife, and the life they’ll build together. It’s not what Bucky imagined all those years ago as a naïve kid in Brooklyn. This is far better.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions VII

masterlist

This is a fic i’m writing to try and incorporate more description into my works. You will be happy to know that it’s working ;) There are no pre-written chapters so updates are sporadic and i am just as in the dark as you about what happens next. Please enjoy!

Percy Jackson traces the insignia under his fingers, feels the gravelly texture of the stone and the way each word engraves itself into his skin.

militat omnis amans

He hears Jason's words in his head, let's the conversation loop in his mind.

"What are we doing here?"

"I needed to take a walk in the gardens. I can't stay in that stone monstrosity for another second."

"And you wanted me to come with you?"

"If you don't want to be here you can leave." His husband snapped.

He just hummed in acknowledgment.

"Sorry," The Prince mumbled, "I'm just a little volatile right now."

"What does this mean?" Percy figured it was time for a subject change.

"Our motto?"

"Yes, I've seen it everywhere and I've never managed to ask anyone about it."

"Every lover is a soldier."

He looked at the blonde, caught those dull blue eyes. "Really?"

"It's a long story."

"Shall we sit on the bench so you can tell me?"

And then someone had called them inside to go over the details of the King's address that would be happening in the coming week.

"Another time." Jason winced.

Now Percy sits in the garden on a wooden bench, basking in the warmth and protection of an Arrowood tree in full bloom. The soft pink flowers catch on the wind and shower him with petals every so often. The sky is unusually blue for the winter but the chill in the air makes up for it. It is a deadly bite, waiting for any piece of skin to be exposed. The grass is green and cushioning under his feet and the soft cashmere pants his wearing are keeping the icy breeze at bay. He takes a deep breath in. This weather is dopamine in his bloodstream; is full of new beginnings and life.

His fingers brush against the engraved insignia again and he cannot help but wonder the tale behind it. The story of his own kingdom's symbol is one he keeps close to his heart, treasures with every blink of his eyes. His emblem flashes across his mind: a silver sword slicing through a cresting wave, the droplets from it turn bronze in the sun and fall to make their maxim: datum amore ad defendendum. The story is gruesome and bloody and full of honour. Percy's father used to tell it to him on the rare occasion he would tuck him in bed.

There was once a man, brave and strong.

Like you dad?

His father laughed and ruffled his curls. Shh my Starfish and listen to the story of Arroyo the Saviour.

So Percy snuggled into his cotton sheets, a panda pillow tucked under his chin and blinked up in anticipation.

Arroyo was a little boy who lived with his mom and his sister and his sibling, near the ocean. Everyday little Arroyo went down to the docks with his sibling and they would stand there selling bracelets their family made. It was the only way they could get money to eat.

Did their king not give them food dad? His green eyes were wide with horror.

Not everyone is kind my son. Some days little Arroyo and his sibling came back with no money and his mom would smile at them and say "It is okay. Today we eat fish and tomorrow we feast." So they sat down at the table and ate their fish just like they did every night and not once did Arroyo or his siblings complain. For they knew that a tomorrow would come where the feast would be greater than the fish and it was no use leaving today's meal in the hope of tomorrow's promises.

Little Percy frowned, confused at what his father was trying to say. But the King was lost in his own world now, matching ocean eyes far away from this bedroom, in this time and place.

One day Arroyo's mother got sick and his siblings stayed with her while he went to sell bracelets. But when he got home, a small pouch of coins rattling in his pocket, his house was rubble and his family were gone.

Gone? Percy gasped, Where dad? What happened?

His father snapped his head to the present, looked down at his son. They died my Starfish. Someone killed them.

Tears pooled hot and fast in his little eyes, Why dad?

Because Starfish Arroyo's mother was not who she claimed to be and people do not like what they do not understand. But nobody knew that Arroyo was safe, that he had made it out alive. And when he finally grew up, his mother's blood strong in his veins he came back to the village. And there he demanded to see the people who had layed his home to waste all those years ago. The people trembled before him, his might and vengeance a force they could not tame. Arroyo only asked once. And when nobody could tell him anything he smiled with his teeth and drowned the town. His tail creating waves that engulfed the world.

Arroyo was a mermaid? Percy didn't like it when dad told stories, he always left things out and it was confusing to listen to.

He was a beast my Starfish. His father said softly, eyes glittering with excitement, For you see his mother was the Exiled Queen of the Ocean and she had fallen in love with a mortal man. A forbidden romance.

So what happened to Arroyo? Did he kill everyone?

He drowned the village but saved one person. A little girl by the name of Mare for she had looked at him, with his burning anger and broken soul, and offered him the pearl she kept in a pendant at her neck. For her he bowed down and accepted the gift.

Did she become his queen dad?

No Starfish, she was much too young. Instead Arroyo took her to his home deep deep in the waves and she lived there as his friend, as his family. But sometimes Mare had to go to land for she did not have the blood Arroyo did and she could not survive in those brutal waters for long. Arroyo would take her there every full moon and bring her home every new moon. One night when she was due back on land a terrible, terrible force lurked in the water. But Arroyo didn't feel it and Mare could never have known. They said their goodbyes as they always did, promising to see each other soon.

Percy squeezed his father fingers, little lip trembling slightly.

Arroyo dived back in but something slammed into his side. He smashed into the rocks of the village and the whole town quaked. The creature attacked Arroyo, its huge body and spiked tail hitting him everywhere. Mare screamed but there was nothing she could do. And then Arroyo came up to look at her because he knew in his heart that he was not to survive this fight. He waved to his friend, his family through the years and when she waved back the monster rose from the waves and bit Arroyo. He went down so softly it was almost as if he had chosen to sleep. Mare knew the monster would come for her village next and she would not allow it to destroy the only other thing she loved. So she grabbed a sword, sharp gleaming silver, and ran across the ocean. Her feet light and swift against the rolling waves. The creature burst out in a flurry of rage but it was not prepared for the strength of Mare and when it met her sword it let out a shriek so vile the dead curdled. Blood sprayed everywhere as the sword fell from her hand and into the waves below.

Did Mare live dad? He yawned, fear giving away to sleepiness.

Mare is the spirit of the ocean my son. She lives in here. His father tapped his little chest softly before bending down to place a kiss on his forehead.

I hope I'm brave like Mare dad.

You are braver still my Starfish. He whispered.

Percy blinks out of the memory, rubbing at the ache in his chest that accompanied every thought about his dad. It has been more than a decade since that fateful night but the missing never gets easier.

He hugs his knees to his chest and watches two birds fight over a small peach dangling precariously from the tree. Such simple pleasures and petties. There are at least sixty other peaches, just as perfectly red and ripe, on the tree but these birds continue to chirp indignantly at each other. He wonders if it's purposeful. If maybe they just want the connection. It's not really about the peach. It's about having someone to argue against, talk to, be with. Gods, he scowls at himself, he must really be lonely if it's come to this.

The bench suddenly becomes uncomfortable, like every splint of wood is trying to pierce his skin. With a heavy sigh he pulls himself up and strolls towards the stone castle. In the week that he's been here it still hasn't felt any more friendly. He misses his castle, misses the home he has there. But his husband is here so he must be too. At the very least Grover will arrive this afternoon and they can spend some time together. He needs this meeting, needs to see his friend and some semblance of normal. A little voice in his head argues that he's the one who's been straying from his angered promises. The one that's been sleeping besides Jason under the pretense of nightmares. He pushes the little voice deep down, buries it in the darkness where it can shiver and cower without his knowledge or concern. As if his thoughts summon the man, his husband appears around the corner and offers him a swift smile.

"I was just coming to find you."

"You've changed." Is his reply.

Prince Jason did indeed don a new outfit. Perfectly pressed tunic the colour of the sky and a gold chain attached dangling from the small square pocket on his left breast to the first button of the coat. His pants are a deep blue, the same golden threads glinting in the sunlight. But it's the small white rose tucked into his chest pocket that Percy is focused on.

"What is that?"

"When we mourn in the kingdom we wear white roses to signify gentle death and prosperous living."

He nods stiffly, unsure if it's appropriate to ask if he may participate in the custom. Luckily he is saved when Jason's blue eyes pin on him, "Would you like to wear one?"

"Please. This is my Kingdom now too. I feel it would be a great disrespect to not."

The prince looked at him, blonde hair ruffling softly as the breeze caressed their skin and flittered between his dancing fingers. He stood there unmoving while his husband studied him like a Rubik’s cube that needed just the right pattern to fix it.

"Come with me."

They walk together, through the field of poppies bursting with colour, past the grove of fruit trees equally bright and heavy with sweet delights, over the small bridge that marks the Pond of Storms, or at least according to the plaqued waterfall that fed it.

"Why that name?"

"Just before a storm hits the water goes pitch black like storm clouds."

He stares at the clear, brilliant aquamarine of the pond, his rippling reflection staring back and wonders if it's a lie, or a wives' tale.

"You still owe me a story."

"About?"

They cross the bridge and turn a corner.

"About your insignia."

"Why do you like them so much?" Jason turns to him, curiosity burning in his expression, "Stories I mean."

"They're the easiest way to understand the core of something. A language only the lived know how to speak."

"I've heard about yours, your symbol."

"How?" He's the intrigued one now.

"My father liked us to know about the neighboring kingdoms. I never understood it then, always managed to fall asleep in our history lessons, but I guess it's been helpful."

"My mother didn't know yours." He says softly, "She is the Keeper of Worlds so she was able to tell me all kinds of tales but she said she never knew the origins of Caelum."

The Prince shakes his head, "It's only passed down from king to to descendant. Sharing it with anyone is a crime against the kingdom."

Percy's head snaps back in shock, "For telling a story?"

His husband just shrugs like its the most normal thing in the world.

"Why would you tell me then?"

"Sometimes tradition is bullshit."

"But you'd still be committing a crime?"

"Gives life a little thrill." His smile is wicked as he winks an aquamarine eye and steps through the small wooden door built into the hedge.

"Welcome to the Garden of Hearts."

Spread out before them is a sea of roses so glorious in their beauty it makes Percy's soul stutter. There is every colour under the setting sun. Starting with bleach white the roses lay across the field bleeding into cream then yellow then orange then red then pink. Rows upon rows of soft love and romance.

He doesn't manage to hold in a gasp as he drops to his knees and caresses a maroon petal. The tears in his eyes go unacknowledged even when they spill over and water the earth. He's almost certain the flower blooms in his hand.

"This is..." He breathes. He doesn't have the words. They are dust particles violently swept under a rug. They are grains of sand smashed into the earth under the weight of feet. They are simply gone.

"I'm glad you like it." Jason smiles at him and the halo of sun around his head makes Percy weak at the knees.

"Who did this? Who planted this?"

"My sister, Annabeth." The blonde looks around, caught in a time long ago, "She did it in memory of our mom."

"It reminds me of mine."

What he doesn't tell his husband is that more than that, it reminds him of a friend he left far behind. Of a friend he was willing to marry. A friend he was willing to love.

He reaches forward and plucks a satin white rose from the small bush. But as he's pulling away his finger catches on a thorn and suddenly the rose is disintegrating to the floor and those pure white petals are splattered with rubies.

"Fuck." He mutters sucking on the wounded skin in an attempt to stop the blood.

"Here," Jason winces in sympathy, holding out a bleached pocket square.

"Thank you," He offers a gracious smile through the sting of pain. "And I'm sorry about the roses."

"It's okay, the blood will wash off with the next rains."

He just nods and cradles his throbbing digit.

"Are you okay?"

"I've been stabbed before but somehow the little cuts always hurt the worst."

For the first time in well maybe ever, he hears his husband laugh. And it is godlike, a thing of beauty and splendour. Something deep in his chest unfurls gently.

"We'll go inside and get some disinfectant and a plaster on that." Jason promises before bending down to cut another rose, carefully extracting it from the web of thorns and leaves it buried itself in.

"Here," He offers it.

Percy takes a step closer, still clutching his finger, and silently asks if he can put it on for him. Those blue eyes widen slightly, but that's all the surprise the Prince shows. 

They step together and the blonde softly places the flower in his emerald green tunic. Jason smooths his hand over the area distractedly and stares up at him. Their eyes clash in a look of confusion, and curiosity, and something wholly unnatural.

"We should go." The Prince whispers.

He swallows hard and nods but neither make a move. He can smell his husband’s fresh minty breath and see the micro flecks of grey in those eyes. Gods, how has he never noticed how strong his jaw is. How there's the tiniest beauty-mark on the bridge of his nose. And the small crease in his brow that makes his whole face look so much older, look like the king he will one day be.

A cacophonous shriek from above rips them apart in a jump of fright. The low gliding hawk over head seems to narrow its eyes at the pair before flying back to its master. Report on the Princes: they've almost started tolerating each other.

Jason turns away and starts for the carved door once more. Percy stares at his back, trying to gather himself, swiping the borrowed pocket square across his bruising skin. His kingdom's maxim flashes in his mind again. Datum amore ad defendendum. Given in love for protection. He takes a shaky breath before following his husband back to the castle.

The Pond of Storms flushes charcoal. And behind him, where his blood had spilled, the petals of an ice-white rose turn crimson.

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

If you missed it: militat omnis amans means every lover is a soldier; Datum amore ad defendendum means given in love for protection.

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01​​

@queen-of-demons-and-hell​​

@leydiangelo​​

@sparkythunderstorm​​

@aalikun​​

@makos-bi-awakening​​

[thespacebetweenworlds]

so... i’m not actually in the witcher fandom, nor do i know the most about it...but i still think you should write witcher!hyunjin + bard!jisung. i just approve of the notion idk

I WROTE IT!!!! lmao, be proud of me! this was a whole ride and I loved every second. I hope you’ll find this amusing, too!

Here's the tags: KPOP RPF, Stray Kids Fanfic, Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin, rated T, warnings for violence and blood, Witcher AU, 5k, complete. Read it on ao3 here or continue forth below the cut.

Inspired by this Witcher!Hyunjin edit. Beta’d by Reltic, who writes very good skz fic y’all should go read it <3

Anyway let me know what you think :]

 Hyunjin punched him in the face.

 … by accident. That was important. Or it would be important, if Hyunjin didn’t wish he could punch the annoying bard a second time.

 Unfortunately, they were currently caught and bound in the bandits’ cave, back to back, and if Hyunjin wanted to break free fast, the knife in his arm guard would also stab the annoying bard in the back. And he had to admit that that annoying mouth was currently the only thing preventing the bandits from slashing their throats and leaving them to bleed out in a ditch.

 Fuck.

 So Hyunjin lost himself in the memory of the bard’s stupid soft cheek on his knuckles, the impact he felt before the bard’s head snapped back and he stumbled away. The blood on his teeth when he smiled up at Hyunjin, who had honestly (oh, his past self new nothing) meant to punch the lackey of the village’s head who refused to pay him. The space around the bar had been packed, and someone was pushed into the lackey just before Hyunjin hit him.

 The annoying bard.

 Hyunjin, feeling sorry and embarrassed, had kicked the lackey a few metres away, relishing in the thump of a body against the wall and then the following slump to the floor accompanied with the sudden scared quiet of the room. And then he’d glared at the guys who had been pushing the annoying bard and escorted him out, meaning to apologise. He had not meant for the annoying bard to follow him on the dusty dirt road to the next village and never stop talking.  

 “You really should let us go, my dudes,” the annoying bard laughed – Jisung, oh how Hyunjin wished he didn’t know that name – “I mean come on, have you ever seen a man as beautiful as him? It would be a crime to kill us, a crime.”  

 The first that hit Jisung’s bruised face after that was deserved, and Hyunjin wished he was the one who did the punching.

 “You trespassed into our territory, we will do as we wish,” one of the bandits crossed his head and lifted his chin as if he was almighty. For the moment, he was. “We have heard of a witcher with ties to the queen, and we can’t let him run to her and tell her about our secret drug ring.”

 Hyunjin closed his eyes and groaned quietly. Life was just out to get him specifically.

 “Ah, we don’t kiss and tell,” Jisung said, and Hyunjin just knows he’s winking and putting on his ‘flirting’ face. “Wait, Hyunjinnie, you know the queen? Me too!”

 Hyunjin wished he could close his ears too. Those were definitely the words the bandits needed to hear right now. Yes. Good thinking there, Jisung.

 “Who are you that you know the queen?” Another of the bandits spoke up, walking closer. “Maybe we can exchange your dead remains for money.”

 Jisung, at least, had nothing to say to that. “Ahaha, a joke, of course! How would I know the queen! Why would he know the queen? He’s a witcher, not a witch.”

 Hyunjin groaned. “The queen and I are on bad terms right now, and I won’t tell her about your drug ring because I will kill you all.”

 Finally, blessed silence. Hyunjin counted his heartbeats and breaths, relaxing his shoulders. Quiet. Nice. Now if only there was a breeze carrying some fresh mountain air.

 “Hey,” Jisung hissed, “don’t encourage them!”

 And the room broke in frantic yells and panic as they tried to decide what to do since both their prisoners apparently knew the ruler of the kingdom, except of course if they were lying. Hyunjin sighed.

 “Hyunjin,” Jisung whispered, shuffling around, “how do we escape? You have a plan, right?”

 Hyunjin took a deep breath. “I have a knife in my boot,” he told Jisung quietly, “if we stand up at the same time, I can take it, and cut us free.”

 Jisung let out a breath. “Oh, that’s good! I knew you got this.”

 Hyunjin just brought his legs under him, swiping the dagger from his boot – really, what kind of bandits didn’t tie their prisoner’s legs? – and as he stood with Jisung scrambling to his feet himself, he cut the ropes tying them together.

 The bandits noticed a second too late, and drew their swords a second too late. Two put up half a fight, but soon they all lay dead on the floor, blood splattered all over Hyunjin. Hyunjin wrinkled his nose, and made an attempt to wipe the blood off of his daggers on the only bandit who still had a clean shirt.

 “Where did that second dagger come from?” Jisung, his wrists still bound, interrupted Hyunjin.

 “You’re still here?” Hyunjin shoved the daggers back, one into his boot and the other under his arm guard where it was concealed under black leather.

 “Wait so you could have broken free all along with the dagger in your sleeve? Why didn’t you…” understanding slowly crawled across his expressive face, followed by a bright smile. “Hyunjin! I knew you care about me!”

 “I don’t,” Hyunjin said, but somehow couldn’t stop himself from untying Jisung’s hands. He took his sword from where the bandits had tossed it in a corner and drew the blade. More bandits would still be outside. Jisung picked up his lute and hugged it close to his chest.

 As Hyunjin had expected, a few bandits were in the surrounding woods, just far enough to not have heard their companions’ dying screams. Hyunjin killed the ones that attacked him and let the others run away.

 When he reached the road, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

 Loud breathing and stomping reached him not much later.

 “Hyunjinnie!” Jisung emerged behind him, cheeks flushed under his bruised face, lute strapped to his back. “I don’t understand how –” he gasped for air, “– you can run through the woods so fast. Wait for me.”

 Hyunjin, however, only had eyes for the beauty that approached him now. “Kkami!”

 Kkami was his trusted companion and only friend. And a horse. But she was the best. Better than all humans he ever met. A good listener too. And quiet. Unlike a certain annoying bard.

 “Oh, pretty,” Jisung stumbled towards Kkami, who neatly stepped around him as if he was just an unusual kind of tree.

 “I’m so proud of you,” Hyunjin whispered to her, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking her long neck. Kkami was truly his only friend.

 Hyunjin climbed up on her back in one smooth move. He patted the parts of her neck he could reach and steered her down the road with his legs alone. She started walking in a comfortable walk, one that she would be able to hold for days. The sun was high in the sky, the trees green, the birds singing. It was calm now. The breeze smelled of forest and moss and rotting leaves and flowers in bloom. Hyunjin could hear his own heartbeat as well as Kkami’s, their breaths aligning like they so often did on long journeys.

 It was wonderful.

 Except that his and Kkami’s weren’t the only heartbeats he heard.

 “Oh, can I also ride on your horse? No? Alright then, it’s your horse, I understand. Did you call her Kkami? That’s so cute. Like you! You were so badass back there, I had literal goosebumps. I must admit the blood splattered clothes fit you very well. And did you see their faces when they realised we got free? And oh, we busted a drug ring, if you were on good terms with the queen we could totally go to the capital and receive money for doing good deeds in the name of the crown. But alas, we’ll have to live as vagabonds! Lonely heroes on their way to defeat evil!”

 Yup. There he was.

 “I should write a song about it. I can write a song about us. I will write a song about you! Hyunjin, how do you feel about songs? I promise I’ll also credit Kkami with defeating a villain, of course, she’s lovely. Do you think a long ballad would be suitable? Or a drinking song? If you don’t mind, I’ll try some freestyles, yeah?”

 “Shut up.”

 “Ah, but I write my songs by freestyling! I just start singing, play some chords, and continue until I find sounds and words I like. You know, as a starving artist with only my lute, I can’t rely on making notes and writing my lyrics down, I have to memorize them as I come up with them! So talking to myself helps with that, obviously. And now I have you, too! You will help me, right?”

 Hyunjin contemplated kicking Jisung in the face. It would… even be possible, he realised as he studied the distance between his leg and Jisung’s head. He’d have to stretch weirdly though, and unless he shifted his weight, the kick wouldn’t be very strong. The movement would surprise Kkami though, and while she definitely wouldn’t mind or be inconvenienced, Hyunjin was sitting comfortable and breathing in synchrony with her.

 Why mess that up? He could just pretend he wasn’t hearing anything, anything at all. A fly, maybe. A bee. Human voices? The last time he heard a human speak was one of the bandits, before he stabbed him in the chest with his sword and left the body in the shrubbery.

 Oh, the calmness of the forest… so quiet… so nice.

 In the late afternoon, the trees gave way to the next village, with fields spreading out into wasteland and far away mountains. The village was just big enough to have a bit of stone ground in the middle, with a river and a mill. An inn sat in it’s center.

 Hyunjin sighed. He had exactly no money, which meant he’d have to ask for a job first before he could rent a room. However, he had yet to see a village that didn’t have at least one monster to get rid of. It just meant he’d have to go monster hunting before he could go to sleep for a day.

 “Oh, are we staying here, Hyunjin?” Jisung stood in front of Hyunjin when he jumped off Kkami. And Jisung grinned. He swaggered towards the door of the inn. “I don’t have money, but I’m sure I can get us a room in exchange for entertainment! I’ll sing of your victories, witcher, and the town will love you!”

 “Uh… bard,” Hyunjin said, because he’d actually have to warn him, didn’t he? “Jisung.”

 Jisung turned to him with wide eyes and his grin turned into a soft smile.

 “That might not help. As a witcher, people don’t usually… like… it… when I’m around.” Hyunjin gestured to his appearance, dark leather armour splattered with blood. Long white hair bound together but he knew there were leaves caught in it. It really spoke for itself. His glowing eyes didn’t help his case. “I’ll ask for a monster to kill, which will hopefully get us a meal and a room, and Kkami a place in a stable. That’s all, and only if we’re lucky.”

 A look of something crossed Jisung’s face, there and gone too fast for Hyunjin to read. He squared his shoulders and bared his teeth. “Trust me on this, Hyunjin.”

 And Jisung sauntered into the inn as if he owned it.

 Hyunjin and Kkami shared a look. “I don’t know either, Kkami, sweetheart,” Hyunjin sighed.

 Kkami neighed quietly.

 “I know, I know, I better go and save his ass or something,” Hyunjin cringed. He was actually going to, wasn’t he?

 Kkami snorted.

 Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Yah, don’t laugh at me! Wait here, okay? If anyone comes at you, you know how to drop kick them.”

 Jisung had maybe one minute alone in the inn. Somehow, Hyunjin expected there to be fire and screaming and new bruises on Jisung’s annoying face.

 One minute, and yet what Hyunjin found when he opened the door was Jisung pointing a finger at him, yelling, and cheering from a crowd of mostly drunk farmers and a handful of young women who curiously turned their heads.

 “That’s him!” Jisung was laughing, too. “He saved my life.”

 Hyunjin didn’t have time to process that before he was shoved next to Jisung by a smiling man with a long beard and a cup of beer was handed to him. The women oohed and aahed.

 “Jisung-ssi, why didn’t you say he’s pretty?”

 “Mr Bard, he truly looks as beautiful as you said! A hero!”

 “To have defeated a Barghest! I’ll drink to that!”

 Jisung cheered with the small crowd, and Hyunjin lifted his beer in cheers, setting it back down when it seemed like most people were briefly shifting their attention to their own drinks. Alcohol did nothing for him, and he didn’t like beer. Jisung swiftly switched his own cup with Hyunjin’s, and when Hyunjin brought the cup up to his face, he noticed it was water.

 “I told you to trust me, Hyunjin,” Jisung said quietly.

 Hyunjin could only nod.

 “Oh, your hair is so pretty,” one of the older women said, sliding into the seat next to him. “I’m the co-owner of this establishment, by the way.”

 “Um, thank you,” Hyunjin swallowed a mouthful of water. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you had a job for me here.”

 Jisung, now a few metres away, strung his lute and started singing a catchy song about ‘that time a handsome witcher saved me from the beast’ which, despite his raspy throat, sounded good – if you could ignore the terrible text. And the fact that it was all lies. Well, Hyunjin had to admit that he did save Jisung from certain death, but there was nothing heroic about it, and Hyunjin also hadn’t taken off his clothes to use his undershirt to bind a cut on Jisung’s ankle.

 “We are uncertain still,” the woman quickly tugged Hyunjin out of his thoughts with her serious tone. “A monster dwells upstream. Sometimes the river is dyed red, or pieces of ripped clothing will pass the village. My niece disappeared two weeks ago. One of the farmers went up to see what was causing the issue last week, and he never returned. One of his shoes did, though.”

 “Hmm,” Hyunjin nodded. “I have a few ideas of what it might be, and none of them are good.”

 The woman nodded, smiling worriedly. “If it really is a… monster, as you say, we will of course pay you accordingly. For now, your drinks are on us – see it as a gesture of good will for saving that bard.”

 With a polite smile, she turned to attend a group of newly arrived villagers.

 Hyunjin eyed the sliver of fading daylight streaming in through the dirty window. If it really was a drowner, it might move closer to the village when hungry. Drowners lived in streams and ponds and sewers, but if this one was upstream it might not take long for it to decide to live closer to the village. Hyunjin remembered the mill. There must be a body of water directly connected to it.

 And if the last death was already a week ago, then he’d have to hurry. He finished his water and got up.

 “Jisung,” he said when he reached him and Jisung had taken a small break from singing to hydrate. “I’m going after a monster here. I will be back by moonrise.”

 Jisung smiled a gummy smile, eyes sparkling. “You’ll be back?”

 “I’ll be back,” Hyunjin agreed, wondering if it would destroy his fragile positive image in the village if he punched Jisung in the face right now. Why bother though, Jisung’s bruises were just reaching their darkest point, another one wouldn’t even be visible.

 Hyunjin turned and left, hearing Jisung loudly announce that Hyunjin was going to defeat the monster.

 Kkami was eyeing him.

 “What,” he grumbled. “So, he was right. So what. I still have to go kill a monster now.”

 Kkami snorted judgingly.

 Together, they swiftly galloped towards the mill, and in a slower tempo they followed the water upstream.

 There were a few hills there, some shrubbery that quickly turned into tall trees, the river courving and going into the forest. The smell was the first thing that told him something was wrong here, so he got off Kkami, drank one of his witcher potions – never a fun experience, the way his insides twisted and bones shuddered just wasn’t a good vibe – and he felt his sight sharpening, eyes turning black.

 Kkami, unbothered queen that she was, turned to snack on some leaves.

 Hyunjin followed the smell of blood and death deeper into the woods to a clearing. A dark pond greeted him, and yes, this was it. He would never get the smell out of his hair.

 He kicked a pebble into the water.

 The water made waves, but not the ones physics predicted the pebble would have created.

 In the end, killing a drowner wasn’t that much different from killing a human. They were, after all, human shaped with extra gills and fins. Somewhat. The difficulty didn’t lie in their superhuman strength, but Hyunjin was a witcher, and he had drunk his potions. Not even the coldness and darkness of the water surrounding them really bothered Hyunjin.

 The difficulty lay in the fact that Hyunjin didn’t like the quiet that came after. He waded out of the pond, wet and cold, hair plastered to his forehead, the slippery head of the drowner in his arms, and what greeted him was cold starlight and absolute silence.

 He walked the way back to the village. Kkami was waiting where he left her, but he didn’t want to ruin his saddlebags by getting them wet with smelly pond water and the drowner’s blood.

 The moon rose just as he made it back to the village.

 And when he opened the door to the inn, the first thing he saw was Jisung’s annoying face. Could his day get any worse after this?

 “You’re back!” Jisung smiled again (why did he smile so much, and why did he smile at Hyunjin?) and then he saw the water dripping down his clothes and the monster’s head in his arms. Naturally Hyunjin couldn’t really grab the head in one hand, it was too fishy for that. Jisung winked at him, before turning back to the room. “The witcher defeated the monster! Your village is safe now!”

 Cheers sounded through the room, which seemed to be packed with the whole village and not just the handful of farmers from earlier.

 “Should I leave the head outside,” Hyunjin asked the woman who had spoken to him earlier.

 She took a look and briefly looked nauseous. “Yes, just leave it outside, thank you. I’ll prepare a room and a bath for you, master witcher.”

 Hyunjin blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever been addressed with this much honest respect. “Thank you.”

 “Follow me.”

 Through a crowd of mostly drunk cheering, the owner led him up a narrow stairway in the back, and opened one of the doors for him. There was a fairly big bed, a small window with curtains, and a tub behind a paper screen.

 “Uh, excuse me,” Hyunjin stopped the woman just as she walked past him with the promise of getting someone to bring up hot water, “my horse, she’s outside. Could you send someone for her? If it’s too much trouble, is there a stable I can bring her to?”

 The woman smiled. “Of course, dear. I’ll send my son, he’ll take good care of your horse.”

 Relieved, Hyunjin started to undo the straps of his armour, putting the pieces on the clothes rack next to the tub. Hopefully the leather would be dry by morning. When he was down to his undershirt and pants, the woman returned with two people following behind her, all of them carrying buckets of steaming water.

 “Thank you,” Hyunjin smiled politely, only to be told thanks in return, ‘for saving the village.’

 … Jisung must be composing an epic ballad.

 Tired, Hyunjin decided to not care about that right now, and fully undressed. He was just starting to relax in the hot water when the door behind him opened. Jisung’s familiar heartbeat sounded in the room. Hyunjin closed his eyes and sighed.

 “Are you – oh.”

 “What,” Hyunjin groaned. “Don’t tell me they only have one guest room and thus you simply must share with me.”

 “Ah, yes, actually. How did you know?” Jisung crossed the room and sat next to Hyunjin, keeping his eyes strictly on Hyunjin’s face.

 “Just – a hunch, I don’t know. Are you blushing?”

 “No.” Jisung blushed.

 Hyunjin hummed and started to cover his arms and chest with soap. It smelled too strongly of flowers, but maybe that would cover the lingering smell of blood and forest. He moved on to wash his hair, getting his fingers tangled in the knots.

 “Wait,” Jisung interrupted, “let me do that.”

 Stunned, Hyunjin didn’t move when Jisung grabbed the soap out of his hands.

 “Your hair is really pretty,” Jisung murmured. “I want to braid it and give you a flower crown. Did you know that one of my aliases is Dandelion?”

 “I did not,” Hyunjin said, because Jisung’s aliases were the most conceivable piece of information he just received.

 Jisung laughed and used his hands to wash the soap out of Hyunjin’s hair. “You pretend you’re all tough and dramatic but really you’re a big softie.”

 “Are you talking about yourself,” Hyunjin replied, because really, he did not come here for an emotional evaluation.

 “Aw, no,” Jisung lightly splashed water in Hyunjin’s face, “I never pretend to be all tough and dramatic, I am all tough and dramatic.”

 Hyunjin wrinkled his face in disgust. “You’re annoying.”

 Hyunjin noticed how Jisung’s musician’s fingers lightly lingered on the scars on his shoulders and back when he washed the soap away. He let Jisung hold his hands and massage a pleasant smelling oil into his skin after he dried and got dressed in a long nightshirt the inn had kindly provided for them. He sat still as Jisung used a towel to gently dry Hyunjin’s hair, and in the absence of a comb used his fingers to disentangle the worst of the knots.

 Jisung, for once, blessed Hyunjin with silence. Hyunjin still noticed Jisung. Even when he wasn’t talking a steady stream of nonsense, his presence was still… loud. Strong. The many buttons on Jisung’s jacket were undone with skilled fingers, and Hyunjin pinched himself when he finally remembered to look away. He walked through the room, closing the curtain, locking the door. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and looked everywhere except at Jisung, who pulled the nightshirt over his bare skin.

 “You don’t mind sharing the bed, do you?” Jisung asked at last, sitting down next to Hyunjin.

 “If I did,” Hyunjin replied, raising an eyebrow, “I’d have removed you from this room already.”

 Jisung’s annoying mouth formed a big, heart shaped smile.

 Hyunjin wanted to punch him. With his mouth. On Jisung’s mouth. He shuddered internally. Oh no. This wasn’t happening. He was definitely not going to kiss the annoying bard on his annoying mouth. Nope. Not happening.

 “Thank you for saving my life,” Jisung said, serious. “Not just from the bandits, but you also kinda saved me back at the other village. You also punched me, but I know that was an accident.”

 “I will punch you again,” Hyunjin grumbled, getting under the covers and scooting to one side, “it just won’t be an accident.”

 Jisung laughed. “You’re really funny, you know that? I think most people don’t even notice, which is a shame.”

 “You’re not funny,” Hyunjin yawned.

 “Is that a challenge? Keep thinking that, then. I’ll make you smile.”

 Hyunjin didn’t dignify that with an answer. He closed his eyes.

 “Sleep well, Hyunjinnie,” Jisung murmured, burying himself in the blanket just a hand width away.

 “Night,” Hyunjin returned after a pause.

 It didn’t take long for Jisung’s breath to even out and his heartbeat to slow. Hyunjin listened to the muffled and fading noises of the inn for another while before he allowed himself to drift off. Even witchers needed sleep.

 When he came back to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the early morning light streaming in from behind the curtain. He still had his eyes closed and felt no need to move for the moment. Jisung’s heartbeat sounded steady, his breaths warm against Hyunjin’s neck. Hyunjin was warm and comfortable in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, the sheet comfortable around him.

 Arms tightened around him, and a voice in the back of Hyunjin’s mind started screaming like the house was on fire. Except Hyunjin really didn’t mind burning houses, he was a witcher, why was his brain screaming? He firmly told himself to shut up and enjoy the lingering sleep. Awake time would be later.

 “Hrngg warm,” Jisung murmured, and threw a leg over Hyunjin’s hips.

 That woke Hyunjin.

 Wide eyed, he stared down, only to see Jisung half on top of him. He realised that it wasn’t the blanket that was so comfortably warm and soft, but Jisung, because Jisung was draped all over him.

 Carefully, Hyunjin tried to extract himself, but Jisung only tightened his hold on him.

 “Fuck,” Hyunjin whispered.

 What did one do when one woke up with a human octopus attached? Hyunjin didn’t know, so he tried to breathe normally and not disturb Jisung further. The bruises on his face were thankfully already fading into lighter shades of purple, but Jisung must have been exhausted. One of Hyunjin’s arms was free, and he’d left a bruise balm on the small table beside the bed, in case he hadn’t healed fully in the morning.

 Carefully, Hyunjin reached over, scooped a bit up with his finger, and very carefully started to cover the bruises on Jisung’s cheekbone and temple. Jisung didn’t wake.

 After a while, Hyunjin closed his eyes and fell back asleep. When he woke up again, it must have been late morning – golden light illuminated the room. Jisung was staring up at him, wide eyed.

 “You drool in your sleep,” Hyunjin told him and gently pushed Jisung off him.

 Jisung blushed furiously and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, eyes not leaving Hyunjin.

 Hyunjin stretched and stood. He opened the curtain, squinting against the bright daylight. When he turned to Jisung, he found Jisung rubbing at his eyes, looking lost in the center of the bed, blanket pooling around him. His hair stood around his head and looked – despite all logic – fluffy.

 “I – uh, did I sleep on you?” Jisung averted his eyes.

 Hyunjin hummed, turning to his clothes. His armour was dry, luckily, but he’d hate to wear the same undershirt and pants again. He’d have to find a river where he could wash his clothes soon.

 “I’ll go find the toilet,” Jisung mumbled and left for the door. He almost stumbled in the doorway. “Oh, clothes! The nice lady must have left them for us.” In front of their door, indeed, was a neatly folded pile of clothes. Simple linen undershirts and pants, nothing fancy but of good quality.

 When they had fully dressed and Hyunjin had wrenched his hair into a bun, they made their way downstairs just to find the barkeeper grinning widely at them, reminding Hyunjin that this village thought him a hero.

 Thankfully, Jisung did all the talking, and Hyunjin could eat as much breakfast as he liked. Maybe he should keep Jisung around.

 A handful of villagers came together to bid them goodbye, and the woman from the inn for some reason apologised for being unable to pay him, but instead offered a horse. A cute, mischievous black mare that had been her niece’s favourite, and as such had never learned how to be a proper farm horse. Jisung thanked the villagers profusely and loudly, and sang another rendition of ‘the handsome witcher saved my life’ as they left.

 Out of sight and out of earshot of the last farm belonging to the village, Jisung’s voice went high and panicky.

 “Hyunjin! I don’t know how to ride a horse!”

 Hyunjin just looked Jisung up and down slowly, making his point. Jisung was, after all, sitting on his horse. Sure, he was also hugging his lute to his chest and also gripping the saddle with white-knuckled fists.

 “Ha! I did it!” Jisung whooped then, and pointed a finger in Hyunjin’s face. “You smiled!”

 Hyunjin wiped the smile off his face, furrowed his brows and glared. “No.”

 “You did! I clearly saw – Hyunjinnie you’re so cute when you – ah!” Jisung blanched and cowered over his horse, who had just made a bigger step than usual to nose Kkami in the face.

 Hyunjin laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Jisung was confident, or good at bullshitting confidence, and pretty, and annoying, and brave. And he was afraid of riding on a horse.

 He leaned back just a bit, letting Kkami know to stop just by shifting his weight. Jisung’s horse also stopped, probably because it had decided Kkami was the best living being on the planet. What a smart horse. Hyunjin jumped off and patted the black horse on the nose, smiling at her.

 Kkami snorted loudly.

 Hyunjin grabbed the reins of Jisung’s horse and started walking. “Just relax, Sungie,” he said without looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

 “What about Kkami?” Jisung sounded very relieved and adorably worried about Kkami.

 Hyunjin hummed. “She’s the best. The smartest. She’ll walk with us on her own. You’re the one that needs to learn how to communicate with your horse. What’s her name?”

 “Uh,” Jisung paused. “I forgot? Or they didn’t say.”

 “Well, then you should start by naming her,” Hyunjin replied, and then started to talk about horses. What they liked to eat, how to care for them, what they did when they felt good and what they did when they felt scared, and what to do to calm a scared horse down. He talked about saddle care and the different kinds of signals most horses learnt from humans, and then he talked about Kkami.

 Jisung listened.

 And Hyunjin, the complete and utter fool that he was, talked himself hoarse (ha, get it, horse?) and taught Jisung how to not fall off his newly acquired companion.

 In the afternoon, they rested by a stream, Jisung complaining about sore legs the entire time and whining when he tried to sit climb back up on the horse. Hyunjin laughed at him, which made Jisung smile brighter than the sun in the sky, and they decided they’d just walk next to their horses to relieve the stress put on Jisung’s legs. After a while, Jisung started singing again. Maybe it was chronic. Still, Hyunjin found himself enjoying the company, and if his ears didn’t betray him, Jisung’s lyrics were better now, too.

 As the sun set behind some mountains in the distance, the annoying bard’s voice cracked from dehydration every few minutes. Jisung settled for humming melodies. Hyunjin caught a small animal for them to eat and build a fire on a clearing off the road. Jisung found an apple tree. As night fell, they huddled close together under Hyunjin’s thin blanket.

 “I’m seriously unironically glad to have met you,” Jisung’s loud voice startled Hyunjin, who’d gotten used to the quiet and the fire’s crackling. “I forgive you for punching me in the face, too.”

 Hyunjin took it all back. The annoying bard was annoying and Hyunjin did not enjoy his company at all. He sighed, pouring all his long suffering pain into the release of air.

 “But only because you’re pretty,” Jisung continued his monologue.

 That was it. Hyunjin couldn’t listen to another word. He leaned in, punching Jisung in the face. On the mouth. With his mouth.

 Jisung made a strangled noise and returned the kiss with a small smirk in the corner of his lips.

[lady-plantagenet]

Ship bingo: Anne Boleyn & Henry VIII (I know, I'm not the most original person in this site); and Eleanor Cobham & Humphrey of Gloucester

Hey hey sorry for answering this shipbingo so late hh. Hope you’ll still be interested in my odd and headcanon-y analyses. Since you requested 2 I will write shorter comments if ur ok with that :) x

Anne Boleyn & Henry VIII

‘I broke England from the Church yeah I really am that secksy’ or something along the lines is said by Anne’s character in Six: The Musical. I sorta resent that. I’m not very passionate about this ship nor do I take any ‘sides’, but I must admit I’m more partial to Catherine of Aragon and consider her to be Henry’s true love. The odd thing is, this is also cause a part of my feels like Anne was in some ways to good/evolved for him?? We all know the whole seductress Anne trope or poor set-up pawn Anne, we don’t know which are true but one thing we know for sure is that there was ‘pious outspoken religious reformer Anne’ and that’s what I am more interested in. My admiration grew 1000x when I realised she was heavily critical with where the desolution of the monastery funds were going - how they enriched ministers and lackeys of Henry as opposed to going towards schools. I say all this because my mental Anne Boleyn might be a bit different from most people’s and that will influence how I also see this ship.

I guess the above paragraph explains the ‘I’m picky about it part’, I hate anything that is major baby drama. Delicious and intrigued are oddly left out because I don’t really feel that myself though I understand why others would. It is perhaps because it’s such an overportrayed relationship and because by the time it became a thing Henry was already kind of obese I believe. Sue me, I like both my ship parties to be attractive XD. I would read fic for it just like I would read anything provided it is well written enough. I’m currently reading ‘Chained in War and Love’ by Lady Perserverence on AO3 (you know that one really famous fic in the Tudor fandom) which I suppose counts but since it’s a Francois I of France/Anne Boleyn AU I guess it doesn’t count (and I much prefer this pairing). This ship is one of those historical pairings where it’s hard to deny it was not romantic and sexual, one must remember that there must have been something about Anne in particular that attracted Henry and her educational background was unusually worldly for a woman of minor English nobility, given the fact that she could very well have been 32 (and age which is considered old for motherhood even by our times) by the time she married Henry simply put there must have been a romantic/sexual attraction beyond just her being fertile. She, herself, may have also had reason to feel attracted to him (despite his fatness) because he appears to have exuded the character of a Renaissance Prince which I feel she could have been drawn towards.

To be honest the ‘it’s complicated and unhealthily’ kind of speak for themselves. I feel like a part of the breakdown went beyond her not being able to hear a son because he does not seem to have properly tried like he did with Catherine of Aragon - the marriage was only three years long. I also feel like he was a bit too set in the past for her and she may have felt disillusioned with how he carried out the reformation. I also feel like Henry thought he would find a woman with Catherine’s brand of strength but with an ability to bear children, but despite both women having education in common Anne’s Protestant beliefs made her someone entirely different. Their feelings were strong but they clearly were not made for each other. With that said, theology fasincates me so to an extent I am more interested in the consequences (the reformation and how it changed the fabric of England) then even the ship itself - that is not to say the ship doesn’t interest me. And yes. I could/want to be convinced that this ship is interesting but if anyone wants me to get on board you will have to first throw off ‘seductress Anne’ or ‘poor maligned pawn Anne’. Only mercurial Henry and reformer Anne will do for me. With that said, I really wouldn’t mind the unrequited love trope thrown in there but with Anne accepting him only because Cromwell and co convince her that this is the only way England’s religion can change. I also liked the ‘Anne of One Thousand Days’ spin where it’s unrequited on her side and then turns unrequited on Henry’s side. Now that’s super tragic and would grab my attention. Overall, I like Anne Boleyn but I don’t ship them because I don’t think they were compatible, I don’t like Henry and I hate how the reformation was carried out and how the knock-on effect was the death of the Tudor figures I care the most about: Cardinal Fisher, Thomas More and Margaret Pole.

Eleanor Cobham & Humphrey of Gloucester

I love ships where both figures were described as intelligent by their contemporaries because there’s also a meeting of minds there. It also gives this partners in crime vibes which I really like. This connects to my whole ’delicious’, ‘romantic’, ‘best friends’ and ‘I’m intrigued’. A lot of fun things could be done with this ship and so I would read fic for it but I remain unpicky (except for , you know, prose as per usual). As it happens I also already read fic for this pairing and unless you are her, I would recommend @nuingiliath who writes loads for this couple and is the resident shipper - I believe this is her OTP. On Ao3 she is ‘heartofstanding’ she has plenty of stuff both on her tumblr and on that site so just follow the tags. Also all I know about these guys is from her pretty much.

The thing is, Eleanor Cobham is like Jane Shore for me, she brings out very weird feelings because I am very traditionalist and boring and hate my infidelities and tend to have an aversion towards mistresses. However, like Jane Shore, Eleanor Cobham appears to have had some virtues and was more than a pretty face (apparently Jacobia herself was quite dull and that’s one of the things that turned Humphrey off her but I’m not sure if that’s hearsay). So just like that, I don’t get an ‘ugh’ feeling like I would with people interested in the Bourbon mistresses in the 18th century or such because I much feel like it wasn’t that physical. This is where ‘softly’ comes, the age difference makes me imagine Humphrey as having that dad-aura Idk (and btw no I’m not pleading daddy issues at all - I feel like it quite undermines this couple), his incredible level of learning further feading into this wise persona but obviously his skirmishes with the administration give me an impression of this grand daring man as well. He seemed the picture of true aristocracy and in all the way he falters from those expectations (eg lack of martial talent) I also like to see. As I said, Eleanor also being described as intelligent makes me feel that she was at his level and while I am satisfied that the necromancy charges were shams it does indicate that she was considered bright enough by her contemporaries in order for such charges to be levelled in the first place. While it is true that the whole affair was targeting Humphrey, I really feel like Eleanor herself possessed (or at least was perceived by others as possessing) a certain dangerousness and this course of action was pursued by their rivals in order to kill two birds with one stone. After all, we have seen how easy treason charges can be conjured against magnates who though not technically speaking guilty have acted against the wrong faction eg Clarence’s case. With that I also put ‘best friends’ because I feel like like all those traits derived from the facts I’ve been privy to point to the fact that the two were friends as well as in love and attracted to each other. They really give me a partners-in-crime vibe and I’m always all for that. Not to mention I’m also a sucker of one part of the ship dying (preferably the woman) with the other following not late after or at least never living a fulfilled life as a widow-widower. It’s cruel but I love my doomed couples. So yeah, I ship it, I really do. I also have a great admiration for Humphrey as I have a soft-heart for scholarly people, I also admire how he was not blindly loyal and quite brazen. It’s a personality that intrigues me.

[unsettledink]

Back in the days of LJ, I used to try and do a post at the end of each year, looking back primarily at fandom and fic. I fell out of the habit when everything moved to tumblr, and then it seemed like I didn’t have anything to say since I wasn’t writing or really participating any. 

But I always liked the idea of it, because I love to be overly reflective on stuff. And talk about my fic. Any excuse! I shuffled around some of the topics I used back then and added a few I’ve seen around that I liked. It got… long, because I TALK, so I split into two sections. 

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Your main fandom of the year? 

    Marvel (MCU) for sure. Primarily with characters from Spider-Man and Iron Man movies.

Your favorite film watched this year?

    The Old Guard - I saw a couple trailers and everything about it looked like catnip. ‘It’s probably going to be so dumb, but I don’t even care,’ I thought. And then it was so good. It was so much fun and so much smarter than I expected and I loved each and every character and it just made me happy in so many ways.

Your favorite book read this year?

    Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston - I read it twice this year actually. It’s so… cute isn’t the right world. Sweet and hopeful and soft and comforting and intense. I liked every single character which is pretty rare. I cried during the sad parts and then again at the happy ending, like straight up sobbed - both times. I already want to read it again.

Your favorite tv show watched this year?

    Schitt’s Creek - I started it on a whim and because a lot of people had said it was good. The episodes were short so it wasn’t a huge time investment. The first season was a little rough, but there were enough funny moments that I hung on, and then… I kept getting fonder and fonder of these idiots as they grew. And THEN… it kept not disappointing me? 

     You grow to expect certain scripts, twists, jokes, especially in queer story lines. To wait for the bad thing to happen, because it always does. Instead, Schitt’s Creek kept going, ‘hey, here’s the set up for that! Guess what? We’re not doing it. Here’s the happy version instead.’ The relief of having that happen again and again - the last season I’ve watched (I’m sort of saving 6) I cried a bunch but it was always because I was happy. 

Your favorite album or song to listen to this year?

    1896 - I’ve been waiting for the new Steam Powered Giraffe album so eagerly for aaaaaages. Finally getting recordings of Zero’s songs! Lying Awake remains my favorite off the album, with Eat Your Heart and Bad Days on the Horizon high up there as well. I’m loving what Zero brings to the band.

Your best new fandom discovery of the year?

    I don’t know if I really did discover that much? I stuck pretty closely to old fandoms and the ones I picked up in 2019. Maybe Zodiac? It was definitely inspiring, and I want to write and read more in it. 

    Maybe the couple discords I joined? I still really dislike discord and am not on there much, and mostly lurk when I am, but having somewhere vaguely like the comms I remember makes me feel a little less isolated. It’s the potential, that maybe if I said something I might make a friend, or someone might actually want to hear what I say. 

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

    The Watch - I mean, I knew it was going to be a disaster with every word said during pre production. I wasn’t ever going to be happy with it. And then it came out and was even worse and uglier and … disrespectful not just of the source material but of actual people connected to Terry. I’m beyond disappointed that this is what we got, and it’s probably going to be a long time before we get anything else. 

    Devil All the Time was terrible, but I didn’t have especially high hopes. It still didn’t manage to meet them. Yikes.

The most missed of your old fandoms?

    Maybe MASH? Someone I follow started talking about it and I was reminded all over again of the wonderful fics in that fandom. I went looking and a lot are gone (still on my computer, lol, but not online), but rereading was such a trip. A slightly depressing trip, but still. 

The fandom you haven't tried yet, but want to?

    Hmm. I’ve kind of not had the energy to invest in other fandoms at the moment? When The Witcher was having it’s big moment back in January, I had a feeling I might enjoy it enough to fall headfirst into the fandom, so I avoided watching it. Ikr? I don’t have the time or the energy to actively seek anything out. 

Your biggest fan anticipations for the New Year?

    SO EXCITED about Winter’s Orbit. I mean, the third Spider-Man movie for sure, with worry. The second Venom movie, ugh yes. I have tentative hopes for Jungle Cruise? Jumanji was stellar and I always enjoy Dwayne. I have both hope and dread for the new Suicide Squad - I did love Birds of Prey, so if it’s along those lines, yay. The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard because it should be some fun garbage, my favorite kind. I don’t know how I feel about Dune, but, uh, I’m anticipating it. It seems highly unlikely it will actually happen, but The Wheel of Time TV series. 

I want to be excited about Black Widow but it’s hard. It’s not the story I’ve been wanting to see, and I’m angry about Natasha not getting a movie until she’s dead.

You know. If any of it is released for real.

The Good: 

I moved to a better place. I got a better paying, better benefits, better environment job that lets me work from home. The house acquired 3-7 more cats depending on the month. I was able to get some serious problems on my car fixed. I have insurance and was able to start on some health stuff. No one I know got sick or died. I wrote a LOT.

The Bad: 

Aside from the obvious? Depression hitting extra hard during the winter. Having to put two kittens to sleep. Have my car be hit three times in our parking lot. Being driven INSANE by one of the cats for months while the vets were all closed. Kidney stone. Dealing with several health problems. Stalling for months on Gotcha.

The Indifferent: 

Not leaving the house often or easily. Enjoying a new fandom but not doing great at making connections (still real awkward, bud). Raising kittens and saying goodbye. Need new tires. Reading a lot of fic but not a lot of books. Having more pay but more expenses as well (wth insurance??). 

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2020 fic stats

Number of stories: 39

Number of fandoms: 6? Or 2, if you cluster the others under mcu

Total number of words: 152049

Average word count per story: 4kish

Longest fic: Causality (18k, P/Q)

Shortest fic: Can’t, Won’t (1k, P/Q)

Most comments received: Sieche (49, T/P)

Fandom you wrote the most of: MCU Spider-Man - I only wrote TWO fics that didn’t feature that fandom, wow. And one of those was still MCU.

Fandom you wrote the least of: Zodiac (1!)

Events you participated in: Marvel Trumps Hate, Kinktober, IornspidersGeorg Exchange, Starker Festivals Exchange, MCU Secret Santa, Spiderio Big Bang

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Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

    SO MUCH MORE OMG. I mean, even just counting posted stuff! (I probably wrote a solid 300k of Gotcha this year.) I did not expect or plan on doing Kinktober, so that’s a whole 31 fics right there. I also wasn’t planning on doing any exchanges - I have a History - but then I did three? And beyond that, I did not expect for everything to get so LONG.

Topic you wrote that you would never have predicted in January:

    Tony/Quentin. Goddammit @the-me09 They were like hey, they could be interesting! And while I agreed, I had no ideas for them. THEN they had to go and write Just Bodies That Collide and next thing I know, I’ve got ten fics featuring them and two-six series focused on them or Peter/Quentin/Tony. What the fuck. 

Leitmotif of the year:

    Vulnerability, I think. I had a bunch of things typed up and they all circle back to vulnerability in the end; sex, being seen, being wanted, sharing trauma, asking for help, trying something new. Offering a soft spot in the hopes it won’t be hurt. 

Favorite character to write about: 

    Tony Stark, for sure. There are just a bunch of slightly different takes, and a lot of canon to work with (kind of frustrating too though). And I’m a sucker for emotionally damaged snarky traumatized characters that are viewed poorly both in universe and out. 

Favorite kind of fic to write:

    This year? Fluff and smut combined. Maybe that’s not the right term really. I keep looking for and writing, even in the angstiest fics, for those soft moments. Sure, maybe it’s a super smutty kink scene, but I want the affection to be obvious. Maybe everyone is consumed by guilt, but I want it to be based in caring too much. Maybe there’s no real love, just sex and even that’s messed up, but I want to find that tiny bit of fondness. 

    And I want happy endings. Or endings that look like they’re going to be happy, at least, even if there’s all the angst first. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone this year? Who AM I? 

Biggest disappointment:

    Not finishing the rough draft of Gotcha. I was making such good progress in 2019, from August to December. Even after the move, I basically finished part 6 in January. I fumbled around and fussed with 1 a lot, but that had already been given one draft, really, and I got through half of 4 before I slowed to a stop. I’ve barely gotten anything accomplished on it since June. Bits and pieces here and there, but nothing significant, not like I was doing. I can excuse October, due to 80k invested in Kinktober (yikes!), but aside from that… I’m sad. I’ll finish it eventually, but I really thought I could have the first draft done in a year. I’m sitting at about 480k out of what I’m almost certain will be 700k. 

Biggest surprise:

    Kinktober! It was kind of spur of the moment, decided just a week in advance. I’ve tried month long or even like, 20-25 day long challenges and I don’t think I’ve ever completed one. I thought there was a good chance I’d do so again, so I gave myself a little help and made my own list of prompts, things I knew I liked and hadn’t done much of yet. And it worked? I actually completed it, what the hell? Despite spending five days travelling near the end! Despite falling behind in getting ahead and writing a bunch of stories the day they were to be posted! Despite apparently forgetting how to do short form! 

    I, uh, could have done without the spawning of eleven series or sequels or continuations jfc WHY SELF.

Something you learned this year:

    Ideas breed ideas. I swear to god, the second I sit down to think through a current idea, I wake up the next morning with three more. 

    Words need to be restocked. I need to consume new - not rereads, not fic - content every so often to refresh my word bank. It is astonishing how quickly writing goes again after I’ve done so.

    I can write so much more than I thought I could. I can do so much more than I thought I could. Yes, I can complete challenges without dropping out early. Yes, I can do exchanges and not regret it. Yes, I can write more than 100k, more than 200k, more and more - and I can write 10k+ easily too. Though I wouldn’t mind if I could once again write less than 10k without feeling like I’ve cut off in the middle. 

    My time is shrinking, and if I want to write as much, I’m going to have to make the time. I can’t rely on three days off a week, on seven hours of uninterrupted overnight shifts, on hyper focused writing binges that leave everything else around me on fire. 

Most memorable comment: 

    So, so many! I can’t pick one. I’ve been really lucky to get a bunch of really detailed, enthusiastic, analyzing comments across all different fics. One of the types that always sticks with me are the ones like ‘I didn’t think/know I liked this ship/kink/twist, but fuck, apparently I do? You made me, what the hell?’. 

What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

So with writing Gotcha but not posting until it’s done, my view of what I’ve written vs anyone else’s is extremely skewed. I’m sitting here thinking, hey I’m 400k in and got another 10k done today, so much writing! While anyone looking at my AO3 account (for most of the year) is like, you’re averaging three months between fics :(

    All that to say I want to try and get something posted more frequently while I’m working on Gotcha.

    Also, writing for kinktober was really interesting - pushing myself to write every single day, often for that day’s post, forced me to get back into shorter form fic. Which used to be all I did? But it was surprisingly hard to just stop and not write more. So I’d like to challenge myself to write more fics under 10k at least. Maybe even under 5k though that might be asking a lot lol. I might get there with the many continuations of those fics I’d like to do. Does that count?

Goals:

   I want to hit 365 fics. :) I’m only 32 away!

    Aside from writing - 

    I’ve really enjoyed the reading record sideblog I started this year. I’ve let it lapse a little the past month or so, but I’d like to keep it going strong. 

    I’d like to leave a lot more comments. I want to get better about allowing imperfection - I want to write The Best Comment, but in the end? Probably 90% of fic writers are going to be happier with a comment expressing enjoyment in any way over no comment at all. 

And not just on fics, but on general posts as well. It’s hard not to feel… weird and stupid and invasive and rude leaving any sort of comment on someone’s post if I don’t know them at least a little. I have godawful rejection sensitive dysphoria and a lot of interactions that ended poorly; I’m really not good at people. But as dumb as it feels to say those things, I know I am thrilled and warmed and happier when there’s a reblog with tags or a note or a comment or an ask or just, any small interaction that shows someone out there notices and cares, at least a little. There’s no reason I can’t at least try to offer that to other people. 

    I’d like to make/run a couple challenges of my own, later in the year. I’m still figuring out what I want to do and what I could do. I’m really interested in doing something that’s not focused on creators, but the readers; some sort of comment or rec challenge maybe.

    I want to find a cheerleader for Gotcha. I’m struggling to keep up my motivation to write it when it’s already in my head, where I can ‘read’ it any time. There’s a line between depending too much on external validation and trying to generate all your validation yourself, and I’m getting to a point where I think I need to ask for help (gasp! The hardest thing EVER). 

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(Part Two: Pick Some Fics)