#you know... not to get all sappy and maudlin. but i really have the best friends ever

[widevibratobitch]

Son Jagoda, son ricca d'onore, Baccelliere mi fe' [redacted]; Sarò presto in belcanto dottore, Che di studio ancor poco mi manca. Di là la groupchat mi tolse da un anno, Ed a tumblr con sè mi guidò. Non trattenne Jagoda alcun danno, Per le amiche il suo core parlò. Della poll dei blogger stranieri Colà Verdi le avean trucidato, E le amiche, da pro' tumblrine, La vendetta ne avean giurato; Lo rebloggammo, con tag combattiva N�� il poll fatal si aggiustò. Per le amiche Jagoda soffriva, Che il suo core per esse parlò. Là e dovunque vaguebloggar che del pari la groupchat con lei complottava, Che a una zuffa con i rossiniani, i cuccioli nel sole calciava. Io dalla groupchat allor mi staccava, ognuna di loro softbloccare giurò. Verso [redacted] il treno prendeva,

E Jagoda ai suoi studi tornò!

❤

Ah, tu miserrime vicende avrai they told me. i should have listened...

[bardofthursdays]

Your Love is Sunlight...

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier 

Rating: Gen 

Content Warnings: None 

Summary: Geralt finally visits Oxenfurt and sees Jaskier interacting with people like him in an environment that suits him and... feelings present themselves.

Read on Ao3 here

Jaskier sighed, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at his companion. Geralt was being unusually huffy and unusual huffy-ness from the Witcher usually indicated one of three things. Lack of food, lack of sex, or a struggle to suppress unwanted emotions.

It couldn't be hunger, Jaskier reasoned. They had been in Oxenfurt for almost a week now, feasting so much every night that even a Witcher’s hunger would be easily satisfied. And at said feasts, more than one particularly brave student had propositioned the Witcher, most likely emboldened by the many tales Jaskier often spun of the man whilst wintering there.

You see, Oxenfurt was a safe haven of sorts, a place where Bards could sing their more heartfelt ballads. Songs the general public would find too maudlin or sappy. So, of course, every winter Jaskier would sing of his hopeless pining and endless longing, with thinly veiled metaphors and pronoun changes that fooled absolutely no one.

Anyway, surprisingly enough, the Witcher had turned every one of those brave students down. So it was likely not the second option... besides, Jaskier could practically hear him thinking over there with his creased brow and the fact that he’d been fucking pacing around the Bard's chambers for the last half hour.

Option three then. Lovely.

"Alright, spit it out then Witcher, what's got your emotional knickers in a twist?"

He winced at his own word choice before pulling his travelling companion over to the hutch in the corner. They sat next to each other in silence for a beat.

Jaskier sighed loudly.

"We both know I'll get it out of you eventually, so we might as well skip the…" He waved his hand around, racking his brains for the right word. "Haggling."

Geralt let out a sigh of his own, opening and closing his mouth a few times before sighing yet again. Frowning slightly.

Jaskier ached to reach out and smooth the creases from his face, take all of his cares away and share the load for a while. He pushed the desire down, rubbing his fingers together instead. An old nervous habit.

The Witcher ran a hand over his face before finally speaking. When he spoke, he spoke in groups, as he often did when searching for the right words.

"Seeing... seeing you here, in your home... with your people... this, this is where you belong, Jaskier. This place is filled with everything you love. Music, color, endless food and ale. People who not only listen to you, but hang off your every word..."

The words Geralt couldn't say weighed on him heavily, clawing at his throat, filling his every last thought.

It's by the coast. You love the coast. I'm sorry I never took you there. I wanted to. Even though I hate the coast. It's beautiful here, you're beautiful here. It feels like you. Smells like you. Flowers, and those stupid perfumes you like. You... You. You. You-

"You belong here..." He finished lamely.

A series of emotions crossed the Bards face, eventually landing on something forlorn.

"Are you... are you trying to say I don't belong by your side?"

He smirked, putting on an offended front. But Geralt saw right through it. His voice was too quiet and uncharacteristically shaky...

The Witcher's eyes widened, and he quickly realized that despite his best efforts, he had once again managed to fuck up his wording.

"No! No, Jaskier I-" He grunted, scowling as the words refused to come out. "This. This is what you... what you deserve. You deserve a warm bed every night... friends... friends who listen... who understand you-" He paused, looking down at his clenched fists and taking a deep breath. "Friends who aren't afraid to admit that they care for you..."

He heard the Bard's breath hitch, and somehow managed to power on despite his sudden urge to pull the other man into his arms. To run his hands through his chestnut brown hair and tell him just how important, just how loved he truly is. But he wasn't even sure he was ready for that conversation. No matter how overdue it was.

"You don't deserve sleepless nights on the dirt. Fearing for your life not only on the road, but in towns... travelling with a mutant that often gets you kicked out of the few taverns you actually get to stay in."

Jaskier nudged him slightly with his shoulder at the word mutant, giving him a look he knew very well. It was his 'stop degrading yourself, Geralt, it doesn't suit you in the slightest and you know it isn't true' look. Geralt huffed, rolling his eyes and continuing.

"You could be here, you could teach, share your music. Be bright. I mean- I just don't understand why you follow me. Me, of all people."

"Oh, Geralt..." The Bard's voice was shaky, as was the hand he laid hesitantly upon the Witcher's too slow heart. Geralt suppressed a smile at the familiar gesture. It had started when one of his hunts had gone wrong.

He'd stumbled back to camp, half dead. His heart had stopped, and luckily Yennefer had been there to start it again. When he awoke, Jaskier had his hand pressed to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. The Bard had tried to apologize, taking his hand away with obvious effort, but Geralt had only pulled it right back.

Now it was a sort of grounding method, for both of them. A way to connect and fully be there with each other in the moment.

Bright blue eyes flicked up to his. He paused, taking a shaky breath, and then suddenly began to sing, ever so softly.

"The moment I met you the colors of my life began to pool..."

Geralt easily recognized it. It was from one of his ballads. One of the real ones, the ones he never played. Not in dingy taverns nor grand courts. No, these… these he sang late into the night, when he thought the Witcher was asleep. With only the trees and the moths that flitted near their dying fire as an audience... and Geralt, always Geralt. For he'd never admit it, but those ballads seemed to speak to his very soul, in ways he never knew possible. He recognized it, but he didn't understand.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, he hadn't expected him to understand, but he never missed an opportunity to quote himself.

"Geralt, Oxenfurt… Oxenfurt may very well be bright and colorful, filled with my admirers, and endless food and ale." He chuckled softly. "But… Without you by my side, the colors of the world seem... dull. Without you, my music fades and the colors fade with it. You are my muse, Geralt of Rivia, a life without you is a life without music. And a life without music is one I simply cannot live."

Geralt reached out and pressed his thumb to the Bard's cheek, wiping away a tear Jaskier hadn't noticed fall. The Bard continued, shakier yet.

"Besides, these people, they- they listen, yes, and they care, and they… Ah, They understand what I'm saying, sure. But... They don't 'understand me' like you say. That's the thing, Geralt, and listen well. That's what makes this- this... friendship work. Against all odds. We aren't as different as it seems. No one understands us and, frankly, we hardly understand ourselves most of the time." He laughed wetly. "But we understand each other. Somehow, we understand."

He let the tears fall, not feeling any need to hide them. Geralt wiped away every one of them, each touch more tender and gentle than the last. Who ever would have guessed that a Witcher could be so soft. Well, Jaskier would have. But still.

"Because Geralt, Oxenfurt was never my home, nor was my birthplace... I-I never had a home... until, until you."

His voice broke, and the hand not cradling the Bard's face fell, tangling with the hand still pressed against his heart. Jaskier threaded their fingers together happily before continuing.

"You are my home, Geralt. You are my light, my sun, you are everything to me and more. I know you. Know you better than almost anyone... And-"

"Jaskier-"

Geralt rasped.

"And I love you."

All of the air was punched from Geralt's lungs. Jaskier reached up, resting his fingers on the Witcher's chin and gently tilting his head to catch his eyes.

Gold met cornflower blue.

"I know you... And I love you."

Geralt let out a choked noise.

The bard smiled sadly then.

"I am aware that you don't feel the same... but that doesn't matter because- because y-"

Geralt cut him off with a kiss. Because he was being idiotic and it seemed to be the right solution.

he had no regrets as the Bard's lips were impossibly soft against his. Softer than he had imagined… and he had imagined. The kiss was short and surprisingly chaste, as Jaskier seemed to be having trouble breathing. A smile tugged at Geralt's lips, and he let it.

Resting their foreheads together, one hand still tangled with the Bard's on his chest, the other cradling his neck softly.

"I love you too you idiot"

Jaskier laughed, a hint of hysteria to it.

"Took you long enough to tell me you buffoon."

Geralt smiled then, really smiled, crinkly eyes, overly sharp teeth and all.

Jaskier kissed him then, because it was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Geralt broke off rather quickly, much to Jaskier's annoyance. He had been waiting quite long enough, they both had...

The Witcher soothed him by running a hand through his hair. The Bard hummed and leaned into the touch as Geralt spoke.

"I was just thinking... well I always thought you were the sun, all bright and warm. But you said I'm your sun... I don't understand."

Jaskier grinned crookedly, wrapping his arms around the Witcher's neck.

"That’s incredibly poetic of you, Geralt. But no, you are the sun, I am the moon. Because I am only bright and warm because of your light, dear Witcher. Besides, have you seen your eyes? Golden like the sun. Or like fresh honey or- or a wheat field or-"

He kissed the bard once again. Finding it a quite effective and mutually beneficial method of shutting him up... though it wasn't the only one that came to mind. At this thought he grinned, a feral thing, and lifted the bard, carrying him to the bed and promptly shutting him up once more.

And again...

And again.

Their laughter and general, ahem, noise making, rang in the corridors until even the Bards had had quite enough of their merriment.

Luckily, the open road had no such complaint.

Needless to say... Geralt was rarely found to be in an especially Huffy mood after that day.

[batboyimagines]

Neon Lights PART TWO [Tim Drake x Male Reader]

Reading part one is not necessary to understanding the plot!

You may be a thief for hire, but that doesn’t mean you’re a dummy. You know when something big is going on.

For the past month, a client has been running you, and your dear Red Robin, completely ragged. Nearly every night, they had some new demand for some high price piece of tech from some hotshot company with hotshot security. While they made their demands under different names each time, it was pretty easy to tell it was the same schmuck. 

It was easy to tell because usually it’s weeks before someone pays you for stealing things, even then the gigs are really small and easy so they don’t pay much. Like, 100$ at least. That’s not enough for your 600$ rent. 

This thief for hire thing isn’t actually your main job, you work at a coffee shop. It’s gross, it’s terrible, but it’s more steady then thievery for hire will ever be. 

But this client, jeez louise. By the time they’re done with you, you’re gonna be stinking rich. Which is good, because you had to quit being a barista so you could do all of their dirty work without burning out. Literally. Your powers can run out of juice if you use them too much.

After a day of lazing around the house to conserve energy, your client has you out on a mission for this odd little gizmo that Wayne Tech has under its belt. They didn’t tell you what it is, they only provided a picture and the general area it’s in.

There’s an alleyway where the air vent has an opening. It’s not big enough for a regular human being or even a little kid. But it’s the perfect route for you. So when night falls, you slip into the alleyway and stand before your entrance.

You burst into a flurry of photons and neon. From there it’s easy to slip through the cracks in the vents and make your way all the way to the lab. You manifest in a deserted office, right next to the lab. 

The office is minimalistic with almost zero personality besides the overflowing trash bin. You wrinkle your nose at it. Someone drinks way too many energy drinks. Ugh, it’s even the worse brand. You’d buy that over your dead body. 

You glance at the name plaque on the glossy, neat desk. Tim Drake-Wayne, huh? You feel a thrill at being in the office of someone so important. Especially since they’re not here.

Hmm, how much time do you have? You check your watch. Plenty. So, it won’t throw off your schedule to leave a little surprise for Mister Drake-Wayne. 

Delightedly, you take one of the paint markers you made specifically for this purpose and on the underbelly of the desk- wow you’ve never seen a desk with no gum stuck to it- write ‘Nightlight was here :-)’. With a grin, you recap your marker. It’s not a very big mark, it’s likely he’ll never notice. But just the childish glee of vandalism is enough for you.

After your little detour, you quietly creep out of the quiet office. There’s always an otherworldly feeling to being places after dark. The silent, empty halls with no conscious life to be found. You’ve never quite pinned what makes things feel so off, but you enjoy it. 

Growing up, you think you never quite got the hang of being with people or having friends. It always felt so shallow when you talked to people, always following the general how are you, I’m good, how are you sort of conversations, never knowing how to delve deeper and hold on to someone. You can wing literally anything other than a conversation, people are just too hard. So, you just... gave up. 

It’s sort of depressing, Red Robin is probably the one person who you talk to the most. He’s just so funny to mess with, he has the best reactions. If it weren’t for him, you probably wouldn’t have ever started the graffiti. The first time you did it, it was because he had chased you into a paint store and the spray cans were just there. A whole section of neon. So you grabbed one, left him a gift on the alleyway wall, and the rest was history.

You smile a bit at the memory, wow you’re feeling sappy tonight, aren’t you?

You wave off your maudlin inner monologue and focus on the task at hand. You’re finally in the lab and give it a once over. It’s huge. As all Wayne brand stuff usually is. Haha, that could make a great dirty joke. 

No no, it’s serious time, you’re on a mission. 

Waving off your funny thoughts, you make your way to the general area you suspect the gizmo might be. You pop your knuckles and get looking.

After about fifteen minutes of searching, you still haven’t found it and you’re already getting a little antsy. It’d be dumb of you to assume Red Robin isn’t onto you, he’s always onto you. So you know this is time sensitive. It’d be so much more convenient if people kept their valuables out in the open. 

Just when you’re starting to get a little stressed, you see something out of the corner of your eye. A box you missed, under the desk. You pull it out and rummage through the contents. Then you beam.

Triumphantly, you hold up the gadget. Mission accomplished, baby! 

You go to stand, but a paint marker slips from your jacket and clatters onto the ground. As you bend to pick it up, something whizzes over your head and buries itself in the wall.

A birdarang.

Shit.

You whip your head around to see Red Robin standing in the doorway. He strides towards you casually. Uh oh. Casual is never good with him.

“Heyyy Red,” you greet, standing slowly, hiding the gizmo behind your back, “how’s the family?”

“The family’s fine.” He says stopping a few yards away, not moving. Fine, he says. That’s so not a good sign.

“... nice seeing you here,” You say after a small pause, “Working late?”

“These are my normal business hours.”

“Right, right.” You both begin to circle one another and wooow, Red really is pissed at you. 

It suddenly hits you as to why. 

“... did you like the paint job?”

Red Robin whips out his bo staff and lunges. You dart to the door, forgo any stealth, and kick it open. Birdarangs fly by your head as you skid down the hallway.

“OKAY, I GUESS NOT!”

Oh man, oh man, Red chasing you has never felt so scary. Jeez louise, is Redbird that important to him? 

Footsteps pound closely behind you and just as Red Robin tries to snag your collar, you burst into lights and slip back out the vents. Red, too distracted to realize how close he was to the wall, isn’t able to stop himself in time and he slams face first into the wall. He falls back, clutching his nose and cursing up a storm. You’d have giggled if you had a voice box in life form.

And so, like all your encounters before, you get away.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Hot Chocolate (and Goddamn Marshmallows)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~2530

Warnings: It’s SO FLUFFY. Straight up marshmallow fluff. Just a dash of angst for seasoning. Um. No warnings that I can think of. 

A/N: Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for checkin it over. For @katymacsupernatural​ and her 6K Golden challenge! Congrats Katy! 

“I fuckin’ can’t, man, I barely made it here to begin with, Baby was slippin’ all over the place,” Dean grumbles. He holds the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear so that he can pour another glass of whiskey. He only has half a bottle; if he can’t get out tomorrow, he’s fucked.

Even aside from the alcohol situation, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. He’s supposed to be at Jody’s, drinking eggnog and doing all the Hallmark bullshit with his family, but if the snow doesn’t stop early… well, fuck that, he’ll find a way. He’s gotta make it back for Christmas. 

“The cabin’s still stocked from the last time we were there, right?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, I won’t starve to death, at least,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice light. It’s the truth, although the cabinets basically contain black beans, a couple packs of ramen, and some skunked beer. Dean won’t starve, but this is just not how he wanted to spend his night. This Christmas was supposed to be different. 

“Still not gonna tell me what was so important up there?” Sam says. 

“Nope.” 

It’s his own fault, really. Sam told him about the Christmas plan a month ago. It had taken Dean a while to figure out where Mom’s stuff had been stored without Sammy realizing what he was up to, and then their last hunt took longer than they’d expected… it was just one thing after another, and he’d been in such a rush to get up here he hadn’t checked the weather forecast. Typical. 

“Fuck,” Sam sighs. “It’s supposed to let up tomorrow, we’ll mount a rescue mission, okay? Donna’s got four wheel drive, I think.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says gruffly, and he clears his throat, trying to sound cheerful. How many Christmases has he spent, now, telling Sam not to worry? It’s a Winchester family tradition. “I’ll figure something out. Give everybody hugs for me. Tell Jody she better save me some of that pork roast.” 

“Love you,” Sam says quietly. 

Dean kinda likes the big goddamn marshmallow who’s replaced his brother lately. Amazing what Eileen and a general lack of apocalypses have done for the kid’s temperament. 

“Love ya, Sammy. See you tomorrow, one way or another. Hey, don’t do it without me, okay?” 

Sam laughs at him. “Obviously. Bye, Dean.” 

Dean hangs up and looks down at the little box on the table. As much as this situation fuckin’ blows, Sam’s reaction is gonna be priceless. 

He opens the box again, peeking for the zillionth time before he slips it into his pocket. It’s still surreal to think about that ring on someone else’s hand. Mom stopped wearing it at some point after she came back, and Sam probably assumes it’s long gone. 

He’d said something about how Eileen’s practical, they talked about it, she doesn’t want him to go out and blow a bunch of money on jewelry, they can pick out the actual bands together when it’s time… but Dean’s pretty fuckin’ excited to see the expression on his face. And hers, of course. Practical as she may be, Eileen’s a goddamn marshmallow too. 

Dean’s happy for Sam, he really is. Sometimes he just feels a little lonely, watching the two of them; must be nice, having someone look at you like that. They just kinda fit. They finish each other’s fuckin’ sentences, sometimes, or sign the same things at the same time, moving in perfect unison, and Sam just smiles so much more than he used to. Dean looks at the way they are together and thinks it looks comfortable, like a warm fuzzy fuckin’ blanket, and he’s only just starting to realize that sometimes… sometimes he gets really cold, is all. Sometimes he could use a little more warm fuzzy in his life. 

Like, hey, now, for example. He shivers and drains the last of his glass, pours himself a fresh one, and then he shakes off the melancholy and goes to get a fire started. 

There’s no cable, or anything, but they hooked up an old DVD player to an even older TV a couple years back. Dean finds a stack of dusty DVD cases and shuffles through them, rolling his eyes at the selection. Love Actually? How the fuck did that end up here? 

Or… huh. Now he thinks about it, there’s a chance he might have bought it at the dollar store, one time, while feeling mildly tipsy and severely sentimental. He also has a vague recollection of he and Sam both getting a little bit teared up while watching it. Just a little. 

Dean looks down at his drink and sighs. It’s gonna be a maudlin drunk kinda night. Might as well just put on a chick flick, while he’s at it. He tops up his glass, puts in the disc, throws another log on the fire, and settles onto the massive, squashy couch. 

Fuck his fuckin’ luck, seriously. There’s just this cold, dull ache in his chest that won’t seem to go away, and even though he keeps trying to tell himself that it might end up okay, the snow might stop in time, he can’t seem to shake it. Baby’s not at her best in the snow, what are the odds? He can’t ask Sam to drive however many fuckin’ hours to come pick him up, he won’t ask, and he just wishes a single damn thing would go right, for a change. 

He knuckles at his eyes and pours another drink, but no matter how much whiskey he puts away, he can’t seem to warm up. 

***

About an hour in, as he’s eyeing the whiskey bottle and deciding whether he should just go ahead and polish the thing off, there’s a knock on the door.  

“The fuck,” Dean mutters. He’s stumbling awkwardly to his feet, reaching for the gun he’d put on the coffee table, when the door slams open, letting in a gust of freezing-cold air and a flurry of snowflakes. There’s a figure in the doorway: massive coat, bundled up, and they’re carrying two big paper bags, and Dean blinks stupidly for a second, gun still cocked. 

Is that -

“Holy shit,” he blurts out. He sets the gun down and rushes to help her, but she’s already kicking the door closed behind her, setting the groceries down, and by the time he gets over there she’s unwinding the scarf from around her face so that he can see her eyes, sparkling and happy, her flushed cheeks, her bright smile. 

“Good to see you, Dean,” she says, still breathless from the cold. He wraps her in a bear hug, stunned and speechless. 

“Holy shit,” he says again, eventually, as she pulls away to get her gigantic puffy coat off. There are snowflakes caught in her hair and she’s beaming at him, and she laughs at his look of disbelief; she’s got the cutest fuckin’ laugh, Christ. 

“Little birdy told me you might need some company,” she says. She’s giving him this impish smile and he wants to say something clever, but all he can do is wipe a hand down his face and shake his head. 

“Shit, how’d you even get up here? Roads were bad when I got in.” 

“Maybe for your little Baby,” she grins, shrugging off the big coat and stomping snow off her boots. “But it wasn’t a big deal for the truck. The plows will be out tonight, we can hit the road as soon as the sun’s up. I’d say let’s go now but I hate driving in the dark when it’s snowing. it’s like making the jump to hyperspace, y’know?” 

Dean blinks slowly at her. “Wait, seriously?” 

“You know, when the snow comes at the windshield and it looks- ”

“No, I mean, we’ll be able to get out? You’re really… you don’t have to drive me all that way, shit.” 

“I mean, unless you’re set on sticking around? Got big plans?” She glances pointedly over his shoulder to where Love Actually is still playing, and Dean makes a face, but he’s so relieved he’s getting a little bit choked up. 

“Options were limited.” 

“Hey, you’re in luck. I came prepared.” She grabs her big puffy coat and rummages in pockets until she pulls out a DVD case. Dean’s mouth drops open. 

“Die Hard? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my favorite.” 

She rolls her eyes and shrugs it off, but she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet a little, like she’s pleased with herself. “Here, help me with these?”

She picks up the grocery bag and brings it to the kitchen, and Dean trails after her with the second, which (judging by the clinking when he sets it on the counter) is mostly booze. She pulls out a pie, first, one of the supermarket ones in its plastic box. His stomach does a happy little flip-flop, and he has to hug her again. He wraps his arms around her from behind and squeezes hard. Her hair smells the same as he remembers. 

“Did you turn into a marshmallow when I wasn’t around?” she teases, and Dean blushes. 

“Guess it runs in the family,” he says quietly, laughing, and he steps away. 

“Huh? 

“Never mind. I might’ve had a couple drinks. Gettin’ sappy.” He leans against the counter next to her as she starts to unpack more food. “Last I saw you, you were in New York. Are you back in this neck of the woods? You shoulda called!” 

“Just came back recently. I guess Jody heard through the grapevine, she’s the one who called me. My dad died,” she says matter-of-factly. “Been staying at his place trying to get everything sorted out.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” 

She shoots him a little sideways half-smile and pulls out a carton of eggnog, a bottle of Jack, and a bottle of peppermint schnapps. “Thanks. I don’t mind being back, mostly, but I’m glad she called. The holidays have kinda been a bummer this year.” 

“I know how that goes,” Dean says wryly. 

“Yeah. Nice to have something to do. When Jody found out I was gonna be alone she about had a cow, so I guess I’m having Christmas with you guys now. Anyway, I can never say no to rescuing a damsel in distress.” 

She winks, and Dean’s so goddamn charmed right now it takes a second to realize she just called him a damsel. 

“Hey,” he protests. He tries to look affronted, but she’s giggling, so it’s probably not working. 

“Should we start with the ‘nog? Or peppermint hot chocolate?” she muses. 

“Dealer’s choice.” 

“Hot chocolate it is. Boil some water?” 

Dean grabs the old kettle while she peers at mugs, trying to find a couple that aren’t too dusty. He sneaks a glance at her out of the corner of his eye; she’s pretty, Christ, and she’s all pink-cheeked from the cold, biting her lip absentmindedly, and… yeah. Dean maybe can’t stop staring. 

She catches him looking, but she just smiles back, shy and sweet, and starts pouring hot cocoa mix into two passably clean mugs. 

“You never told me what you’re doing up here,” she remarks. “Secret Christmas mission, Jody said?” 

Dean fumbles for the ring box and shows her. “Had to get something out of storage.” 

Her eyes go wide and shocked, and her mouth opens and closes silently for a second. 

“Oh,” she says, voice strained, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t realize you were…” 

“No, not for me!” he says hastily. “God, no. Not for me. For Sam.” 

“Oh!” she says, high-pitched. She laughs and fidgets nervously with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, okay.”  

Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining the look of relief on her face, and something in his chest goes all fluttery. 

“I am very single,” he says, and he can’t quite manage to keep his tone casual. “Just… to make it clear.” 

She nods, trying to hold back a smile, like she’s laughing at him but also maybe (hopefully) like she’s charmed at the same time. 

“Good,” she says softly. 

***

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he wakes up, sometime in the middle of the night, it takes him a moment to remember where he is. 

He feels sorta dazed, like maybe he’s still tipsy. That’s normal enough. What’s not normal is the person next to him; they’re curled around each other, fully clothed, and she’s tucked under his arm with her hand resting on his chest. They must’ve dozed off during the movie. Dean smiles to himself. 

The fire’s mostly embers at this point, and he should get up, put a log on, before it dies completely. Maybe he should just go to his room, too; find her a blanket and then give her some space. That’d be the gentlemanly thing to do. 

He takes a second to breathe, first. There’s something so perfect about the moment. He wants to memorize the way she feels, curled against his side, the way they fit together, the way her hair smells, the way her breath tickles his neck when she exhales. He feels boneless and heavy-limbed, like he could melt into the couch cushions, but there’s this tightness in his chest, the knowledge that he should enjoy this while he can, because it won’t last. It never does. 

He’s careful when he gets up, trying to slip away without disturbing her, and he’s quiet as he stokes the fire. When it’s blazing again, he grabs a big quilt from the back of a chair and covers her up, tucking her in gently. He turns to head to bed. 

“Hey, wait,” she murmurs sleepily. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Where’re you going?” she asks. When he looks back, the fire is illuminating the adorable grumpy pout on her face, and she’s all sleepy-eyed and pillow-creased and fucking gorgeous. 

Dean shrugs. 

“Come back?” she asks. 

He slides under the quilt, and she snuggles close. When she tilts her face up to look him in the eye, her skin glows orange-gold in the firelight. She leans in slow, pausing just before their lips meet, and when they kiss Dean feels it through his entire body, liquid heat curling out to his toes. Her mouth is soft, and she makes this sweet, happy sound when he sucks on her lower lip; it makes his head spin, and he cups her cheek in one hand, feels her velvety skin under his fingers. 

Her lashes flutter when she pulls back, her eyes still half-closed. 

“Go to sleep, Dean,” she whispers. “We’ve got a long drive in the morning.” 

She fits herself against his side, nuzzling into his neck, sighing contentedly, and he strokes her hair until her breathing evens out again. 

He likes the way she fits in his arms, and he likes the sweet smell of her hair all mixed in with the woodsmoke. He likes the weight of her on his chest and the heat of her body against his, the way she’s wrapped around him, the way she’s half draped over him like a living blanket. 

Warm and fuzzy, he thinks, and he’s smiling as he falls asleep.

.

.

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[kinetic-elaboration]

April 6: Mr. Robot 4x04

Watched another ep of Mr. Robot today! It was the only thing I accomplished outside of the work day (not bitter about that AT ALL lol) but I did it.

This episode was SO atmospheric. Like, not that the other episodes aren’t, but that was my primary impression of it as a whole. Elliot, Mr. Robot, and Tyrell wandering around in the woods through the snow, and on the side of the highway, in the moonlight, with howling animals in the distance... Very desolate and beautiful. I was into it.

I’m not a Tyrell fan but having him as an Elliot minion is probably his best use imo. And I actually appreciated his incredibly Dramatic nature today. Like to the point that I kind of wanted him and Elliot to be friends? Even though prior to this I never thought their relationship was objectively anything special outside of Tyrell’s head. Like he obviously has a crush on Elliot (or possibly Mr. Robot) but that never seemed requited on any level--not just in the sense that Elliot is straight, in the sense that he didn’t seem to enjoy Tyrell’s company at all and didn’t really seem to... get Tyrell. (Or maybe I’m projecting lol.) Anyway, I’m vaguely aware that there was a subset of fans who thought their relationship, however defined, was Very Important and I occasionally wondered if Tyrell and Elliot scenes were specifically catering to them, at least a little bit. I felt similarly about some of the dialogue in this ep, but also vindicated by it, because it basically confirmed my reading. But it also made me sad about it! Like it’s true Tyrell really does honestly like Elliot. Maybe they could have worked something out, friendship wise.

That said... not exactly sad to see Tyrell go. He’d basically reached the end of his story line, he got a great final episode and some significant scenes with Elliot, kinda concluding their own personal story, and he got to walk off into the snowy, wintry, full-moon mist like the Drama Ho he is. Plus whatever that last scene with him ‘walking toward the light’ was. Not sure if that was supposed to be symbolic, a feverish hallucination, or something else. Cool enough aesthetic though.

I was a little wary of Darlene’s story line because Darlene in a car with a sappy, drunk Councilman Jamm, I mean Tobias the Santa, hearing his sad stories, is... a little on the nose, a little too depressing for me. I can’t really explain. It’s like at the crossroads of cliche and grim. BUT the plot twist at the end--that made it more than worth it. He was just being maudlin while drunk and she was projecting all of her own fears about Elliot’s suicidal ideation on him. I also loved his super-Christmas-y house. Like...yeah he really just is drunk! And that’s why he’s so weird. Otherwise, he’s just a good guy, who loves Christmas decorations, loves his wife, does good things for kids, is into Christmas movies... and is even willing to be nice to Darlene and encouraging. It was like weirdly heartwarming. Basically exactly what you’d expect from a Mr. Robot Christmas.

Then there’s Dom. Oh, Dom. I have to say, I’ve always really liked the scenes where she’s being emo in the dark in her apartment and I liked this one, too. Cannot believe she’s rubbing one out to Darlene’s interrogation video. True love lmao. I really did think that the RL encounter with the “woman” was real until the point where she became Dark Army. That’s probably on me because it is very unrealistic but like... I don’t know, it was vaguely plausible. I think Dom might really be that reckless, especially in her current state. And... idk people can be fake on the internet?? I don’t know. Again, as with the Darlene twist, it worked better as a dream. I hope that scene of Dom washing her face at the end was meant to be a bit of a turning point for her. I want her to be okay!

The scene at the gas station was legitimately hilarious. “I didn’t know you were on Big Brother!”

AU where Tyrell goes on Big Brother.

It also amused me how Elliot continuously spoke as if they were three people (”all our phones” instead of “both of our phones,” not that he and Tyrell don’t probably have more than one, for example) even though physically speaking, there are only two bodies experiencing this adventure.

I loved the music at the end: it was a really great combination of Christmas-y and creepy. Like the soundtrack to a Christmas horror movie or something.

I’m still a little uncertain about structuring the last season as basically a new hack (exactly what Esmail chose not to do in S2), one last big bad to take down. Like on the one hand, you basically have to do that in order to not only have a coherent season, but have a coherent final season, with a satisfying ending. But on the other hand, this is a show that has staked so much on its own complexity, on showing the vast ripples of unintended consequences in a highly connected world, and on fully acknowledging the realities of power and money, and their effects on the protagonists and their plans. Like, it’s not satisfying to see Elliot lose. And it’s also not satisfying to see a villain as great as whiterose taken down with anything like ease. Not that it’s been easy thus far. I don’t know. I’m probably judging WAY too early. I still have quite a few episodes before the finale.

I really expected Darlene and Elliot to meet up in this episode, at the end. It might have been a little too deus ex machina if they did, but that said I expect they’ll find each other early in the next ep, since they seem to be together for it (based on the summary).

I think this season is doing a really good job of emphasizing the themes of each episode, as shown in the titles, of keeping each episode relatively simple and tying all the story lines together. And not relying TOO much on narration to do it (since I’m not that into the Mr. Robot voice overs still tbh). The concept of searching for what can’t be found, and the parallel but never meeting journeys of the Alderson siblings at the center of the story, was really deftly done.

Elliot and Darlene remain the Most Important.

[jamlally]

Merry and Bright

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by  @panicfob .  The Day 22 Challenge prompt was Favorite Christmas Song

Warnings: Fluff, soft kisses and mushy feelings

Pairing:  Tony Stark x OFC (Belle Porter)

Summary: There is meaning in even the small things 

Retiring back to Tony’s apartment after watching Holiday Inn Belle felt content.  Usually by the end of the movie she was left feeling a little maudlin and in her own head, but tonight by sharing her feelings with the others, she felt lighter.  Tony turned on the lights to the Christmas tree they had put up before heading to one of the consoles and tapping away.

Coming back towards Belle he smiled at the wonderful woman that had come to mean so very much to him.  Tonight his heart had broken a little at her story, that her favorite movie was about not being as lonely as she usually was. Thinking on it he supposed that his story had a little of that in it too, as did some of the others.  It was funny that even though they had each other they still all felt the same loneliness. 

The opening of White Christmas came through the speakers and he held his hand out to Belle becoming her to come close with his fingers.  Her smile warmed his heart as she stepped forward and rested her head on his shoulder.  He tightened his grip and started to somewhat waltz around the room with her held close to him.  He hummed as they danced, his mind for once blissfully quiet as he relaxed in her warm embrace.  He was coming to realize that this, being close with Belle was what home was.  It didn’t matter where he was, when he was close to her this was home

“So tell me then is this your favorite Christmas song?”

He felt the smile he couldn’t see “No.  It’s a beautiful song and I will always think of it at Christmas time, but it’s not my favorite”

“Oh really , let me guess then, it’s something more modern and bouncy.  Maybe have a holly jolly Christmas, or I saw Mommy kissing Santa Clause ?” He had joked.  He was sure that those wouldn’t be er choices.  She was an old soul and would pick seething more classical

Belle laughed pushing her face a little more firm against his chest “Not quite no”

Tony rested his cheek on the crown of her head “Oh is it a mystery that I need to work out.  Well now let’s see - your movie choice would suggest you like older things, as does your friendship with the ice pops, so I am guessing that it’s an older song.  How am I doing?”

Belle pressed a kiss to his chest, feather light but still there

“Ah ha - I must be on the right track - a kiss can’t mean anything else.  An older song.  Oh god it’s not that awful drummer boy song is it?”

Belle gave a soft chuckle “No it’s not that, though it is a fun song.  Tell me are you just going to work your way through every song that you can think of or do you have a plan ?”

“I was thinking if we could keep dancing then I would work my way through as many of the songs as I could knowing that they wouldn’t be your choice”

Belle lifted her head and looked him in the eye. The warmth he saw there made his heart pound in a most pleasant way.  This would be the way to live the rest of his life, dancing peacefully with the woman that he loved

Lowering his head Tony brushed his lips across hers gently, softly once and then again before pressing more firmly and using his tongue to softly coax her mouth open.  Her moan encouraged him to deepen this kiss further, a warmth starting to grow in his belly.  His hands releasing hers and pulling her closer, before one moved up to support the back of her head, while the other went south and grabbed a handful of her ass.  His own answering groan had Belle’s arms looping around his back, and her fingers carrying through eh shorter heals at the back of his neck.

If you asked him how long they stood like that he honestly couldn’t have told you, minutes, seconds, hours - It didn’t matter.  All he knew was that he could have stood there with her in his arms forever.  He was sure that the smile he gave her was all soft and sappy, but he could be that with her.  She was his safe place. Kissing her forehead softly he stepped back and took her hand pulling her over to the bar where he filled a glass with a little ice and a large shot of scotch for them to share, before then heading to the sofa and pulling her down next to him.

When she curled into his side he marveled for just a second at how well she fit there.  It was like she knew how to curve her body just so to make it fit perfectly with his,  Holding the glass to her lips he had her take a small sip, before he did the same, enjoying the slight burn and the rich malty taste.  They sat for a moment, taking sips, and watching the lights on the Christmas tree.

“White Christmas” Tony’s voice broke the peaceful silence “That’s my favorite.  My folks - well my Mom would sing it every year.  I like the idea that even though things are good, the singer is always talking about his dream of what Christmas could be.  For a long time that’s how I felt but more recently I’ve found that what I really want for Christmas I’ve had.  It’s why I don’t want gifts usually.  The stuff doesn’t make Christmas any better, being happy with people and sharing wit them, that’s the Christmas’ that I really wanted and now I have them”

He felt Belle tilt her head back and then her soft lips were kissing just under his chin

“For me it’s Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas when it is sung by Frank Sinatra.  I always felt comforted by the words. It gave me hope that there would be a Christmas where I could be happy and not worried or lonely.  Even if it was only for a day.  That was always the feeling that the song gave me, that for that one day things would be better”

“Do you think you’re any closer to having that feeling for real” he couldn’t help but ask. He knew that if she said no a piece of his heart would be broken

“I think I’ve achieved it, and probably not just for Christmas.  Being with you all r, I have relationships and friends that I never even dreamed of. You know I wondered if having siblings would be a good thing. I used to dream of having them you know, when I was younger.  I use to wonder if I would have been less lonely, but then I would worry what if my Mum loved them more. or what if I resented having to look after them.  In the end I figured that it was better that I didn’t.  With these guys I think that friends and siblings might have been cool”

“Well I’m going you don’t think of everyone here as a friend or sibling”

“Well you are my friend as well as a lot more besides. You know the this year I think the final line now means something to me.  I guess its a hope more than anything”

“Through the years we all will be together, If the fates allow?” Tony asked

“Yeah, I know that things won’t always be like this but I hope that there is always a group of us that can be together”

“There is a lot I can promise to give you Snowflake, but that one is not in my control. I promise I’ll try though”

“Tony I don’t need you to promise me things like that.  It’s just nice that for a chance I can have that hope”

They were quiet again for a time before Tony broke the silence again “We could make it so we all felt like we were closer, so no one was forgotten”

“Well that is an interesting idea but other than video calls I am not sure how even the great Tony Stark can manage that”

“The ornaments.  The ones on the big tree. I’ll get a full set for everyone, minus their own.  Then no  matter where they are they can have a bit of us with them”

Belle moved turning her body and rising on her knees, both hands coming up to bracket each side of Tony’s face.  Her eyes seemed to bore into his, there were tears forming then spilling over before she pressed her lips against his in a slightly desperate slightly sloppy kiss.  When she puled away they were both a little out of breath

“You Tony Stark are the best man I know” She pressed another kiss to his lips before snuggling into him, chest against chest, her head resting on his shoulder, her lips kissing and occasionally sucking on his neck. 

Tony let out a contented sigh closing his eyes for a moment before reaching a hand out tp put the scotch glass down and wrapping both arms around Belle.  “I’ll try my best to always make your days merry and bight Snowflake” 

[ilosttrackofthings]

Biospecialist + “I’ve been waiting all my life for you.” Bonus points for nothing dark.

“No,” Jemma says. And then, as she storms into the nerve center, even louder. “No!”

“Agent Simmons-” Hand begins.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma says, but not to her, to the specialist leaning against the row of computers beside her. And that’s mildly terrifying: a specialist leaning on something. It makes her wonder if the sling he’s sporting is the full extent of it. “I’m sure you’re very-” she gestures to his body, muscles and cheekbones and all- “qualified-” she turns to Coulson- “but he’s injured! How can you expect Fitz to go undercover in a war zone with a specialist who isn’t even at his best?”

Coulson looks like he’d very much like to agree with her. Hand looks like she’s toying with the idea of having her dropped back down to level three for this little outburst. And Fitz … well, Fitz is turning an impressive shade of mauve. 

At least Trip seems amused. He followed her in here and, while he vouched for the injured specialist, doesn’t seem terribly put out that she hasn’t taken his word for it.

“She’s got a point,” Agent Cheekbones says. “Besides, I’d rather not go anywhere right now.” 

Jemma finds herself suddenly facing him again. Her hand is in his and that surly expression he’s been wearing since the moment she first laid eyes on him is gone, replaced by what might - possibly, she is aware specialists are quite adept at faking such things - be a smile. 

“Because I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you.”

From behind Jemma, she hears a great many things. There’s a groan from Fitz, what might be stifled laughter from Coulson, and Trip lets out a faint and approving, “Smooth.” Not that she pays much attention to any of that. She’s busy looking at her soulmate. 

He may have been waiting his whole life to meet her, but she’s been waiting all of hers to hear those - admittedly sappy; she does hope she’s reading that hint of teasing in his eye accurately or she’ll have to get used to a cavity-enducingly sweet future - words.

Hand and Coulson are arguing now. SHIELD of course has protocols in place for soulmates to spend time together after first meeting, but this mission he’s meant to go on (and she does need to ask his name, doesn’t she? she’ll have to do that just as soon as she finds the will to extract her hand from his) is important. Important enough they want to send Fitz, who is about as qualified as one of his beloved monkeys.

Before she can worry they will be separated - every study she’s read on the subject says that is a very bad idea so soon after meeting - her soulmate gives her a slight tug and she finds herself very deep in his personal space. Deep enough she can feel his breathing and he has no trouble at all wrapping his uninjured arm around her waist.

“Hi,” he says. She might, she realizes, have been better off with a genuinely maudlin soulmate; his smile is rather devastating. 

“Hello,” she returns and hopes it doesn’t sound as breathless as she feels.

“Hey!” She twists in his hold at the sound of Trip’s voice and catches sight of him just in time to take note of the watching you gesture he throws over her head. The chest pressed up against hers shakes with silent laughter.

“Understood,” her soulmate says.

Her turn resulted in her hand resting on his chest, an error she makes no move to amend once she’s facing him again. In fact, she allows her other hand to join it. He looks from her hands to her face, curious.

She fingers the edge of his sling. “What happened?”

“Dislocated shoulder,” he says, making it sound as though such an injury is commonplace.

Her frown deepens. He was, according to Trip, the specialist originally lined up to join their team but supposedly it was this injury which prevented that. It’s been more than two months, surely he should be well by now.

He sighs heavily and she knows a moment of pleasure that he would so easily identify the source of her confusion. “Caused by a bullet hitting my scapula.”

She gasps. That is far more serious. 

His arm tightens around her. “I’m fine. At this point the sling’s mostly so I don’t forget and overexert myself.”

“Really?” she demands. “Then you won’t mind letting me see.”

He arches one of those eyebrows. They’re as dangerous as his smile. 

“I’m serious. I may not have as much experience as Trip, but I’m perfectly qualified. Let me see.”

“Uh, Simmons?” 

She pauses, hands curled around the strap of the sling, suddenly aware of just how many people are watching her. 

“Maybe,” Fitz goes on in a not-soft-enough whisper, “you shouldn’t undress your soulmate in the middle of the nerve center.”

Right. He does have a point. She feels her cheeks burning, something that is not helped at all by her soulmate’s arm moving to her shoulders. She attempts to hide the blush in his good side, but then that only makes it worse. Goodness, why did no one ever tell her meeting her soulmate would be so bloody awkward?

“Ma’am?” he asks.

“Go,” Hand says, sounding put-out. “But don’t get comfortable, Ward. We’re still discussing options.”

“Understood. Thank you, ma’am.” He pulls Jemma out of the room amid thoughts of whether Ward - Trip called him that too, didn’t he? - might be a first or last name or even a nickname. “So,” he says once they’re in the hall, “I don’t have quarters on base.”

It takes her three steps to realize he means because quarters provide privacy. “I have a Bus!” she says. “Er, a plane, I mean. We’ll likely have to deal with not-so-subtle staring from our team’s resident hacker, but it has a lounge.”

“Sounds good. Lead the way.” Despite the order, he doesn’t extract his arm from her shoulders. And she certainly doesn’t make a move to pull away.